Chapter One

England, December 1813

Emily unfolded Bennett’s last letter, tempted to burn the harbinger of such sorrow, and read it yet again, as if some vain hope still remained in her heart that the cruel writing would magically transform into words of love.

May 28, 1813, Badajoz, Spain

Emily,

That bare salutation should have been her first clue something had gone horribly wrong. All Bennett’s other letters began with My Dearest Emily, or My Darling Emily, or My Love.

Emily sighed and continued re-reading the tattered letter with the same morbid fascination one watches a serious carriage accident, knowing ahead of time people will suffer.

I will always be grateful to you for your kind letters…

Kind letters. Such a bland description of her loving letters should have been her second clue, but the first time she’d read his letter, she never imagined it would inflict such heartache.

…and the knowledge that you were praying for my safe return. You gave me the encouragement to face a new day, no matter how brutal the battles, or how much suffering I witnessed. However, I regret I must inform you that I can never see you again.

The first time she’d read his letter, she realized at this point something was terribly wrong.

During my stay in a hospital here in Spain, I met someone, a local lady who helped the nuns with injured soldiers. We fell in love.

Emily’s heart squeezed so tightly she could hardly breathe. Dismay and disbelief flooded her as sharply as the first time she read those words three months ago.

Since I have no idea when or if I’ll see you again, and she is here with me now, willing and able to follow the drum, I have taken her to wife.

He took this other woman to wife because she was convenient, never mind that Emily had been willing to marry him and accompany him to the continent while he served king and country in the war. He’d been the one to insist she remain safely at home while he faced all manner of danger and hardship.

I deeply regret the hurt my actions may cause you, but I also hold to the belief that you may feel some relief at your newfound freedom…

Freedom. Freedom from love? What idiotic notion was this?

…from the rash promises…

Humph. There was nothing rash about them.

…we made in our youth.

Two years ago, they weren’t exactly children.

I hope you can find someone else and be happy.

She’d never find someone else. She’d rejected three marriage proposals and knew the moment she met Bennett that she had found her true love. There was no one else. There never would be anyone else. Surely he knew that.

I remain

Your obedient servant,

Captain Bennett A. Seton

Emily glared at the letter in her trembling hands. She should have burned it. She should have burned all his letters. Instead, they remained carefully stored in a box in her nightstand to taunt her that she’d found the man of her dreams, and he’d dismissed her like so much unwanted baggage.

With a sob lodged in her throat, she let go of the letter. It fluttered down to her bedroom floor, a stark white against the blues and greens of the carpet. Firelight from the nearby fireplace flickered on the paper, sending alternating shadows and light in an attempt to chase away winter’s chill. Outside the window, a bank of clouds suffocated the morning sunlight, reducing sunrise to a bleak gray. Ever since the letter arrived, all of Emily’s world had faded to a bleak gray. Bennett’s words still mocked her from the paper on the floor.

Bennett. The cad. The bounder. The scoundrel. He’d broken her heart completely in two and squeezed the life out of it, and yet had the audacity to say he hoped she’d be relieved she was free.

Her so-called freedom had made her a captive of grief for over three months. Today she would break out of her prison of suffering. Resolute, she wrenched open the door and marched down the corridor to her mother’s bedchamber.

Wearing a burgundy carriage costume, her mother sat at a dressing table fidgeting with her favorite traveling hat. A maid stood arranging Mama’s dark hair in a low chignon.

Emily drew herself up. “I’ve decided I want very much to go with you to Aunt Ruby’s house for Christmas after all.”

Mama’s smile warmed the entire room. “Oh, darling, I’m so glad. What changed your mind?”

Emily perched on the edge of the bed. “I’m tired of grieving. I need to stop wishing for what might have been and start living again.”

“Very sensible of you. We’ll delay our departure until you are ready to leave with us.” Mama smoothed her hand over her hair before giving a nod of approval to the maid.

To her credit, her mother made no suggestion of who might be attending the party that she deemed a good match for Emily, nor suggested she make herself available for courting. She simply smiled as if she were truly happy to have Emily’s company during Christmas.

Emily pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek. “Thank you.” With renewed energy, she rushed to her room and pulled the bell.

By the time her maid answered the summons, Emily had already begun throwing gowns she wished to take onto the bed. Within a matter of minutes, Emily and her parents settled themselves in the family coach heading for Aunt Ruby’s house in Cornwall.

“I look forward to the Christmas pudding,” Papa said with a twinkle in his eye.

Mama nudged him with her elbow. “And the extra helping of rum, no doubt. I, for one, love singing carols while Aunt Ruby plays the pianoforte.”

Emily smiled. Yes, spending time with family would do her good. Anticipating the warmth of family love and Christmas traditions lifted her spirits. They began exchanging memories of the joys and foibles of past Christmas parties, laughing as Emily hadn’t laughed in months.

The coach bumped over roads rutted by alternating snowfall and rain but made surprisingly good time. With luck, they would reach Aunt Ruby’s house in time to light the Yule log.

That evening, they stopped at a posting inn for the night. When Emily and Mama arrived inside, the fragrances of fresh bread, beef, and onions greeted them. Emily’s stomach rumbled in response. Noisy diners squeezed into crowded tables, and a plump woman served plates of food to the patrons.

Father stood, his shoulders squared, and the lines around his eyes deepened as he engaged in a sober discussion with a man wearing an apron and wringing his hands.

“Is something amiss?” Mama asked.

Father made a gesture toward the distressed innkeeper. “He says his private dining room is already occupied.”

“Oh, dear.” Mama glanced about the main room at the diners tossing back their drinks, shoveling in their food with the manners of street urchins, and laughing raucously. “Well, I suppose we have no choice but to dine in here.” She fidgeted nervously with the top fasteners of her pelisse.

Emily glanced between the innkeeper and Father. “Perhaps we could dine at a table near the fire, somewhat removed from the others.”

Father glared at the innkeeper as if he’d personally slighted them before he answered. “It gets worse. He has no rooms, either, unless we want to share beds with strangers.”

Emily shivered at the thought. “Is there another inn up the road?”

The innkeeper tugged at his collar. “Th’ next posting inn is at least ’nother two hour drive from ’ere.”

Father let out a long-suffering sigh. “We’ll have to eat here, then move on to the next place and hope they have a private room for us.”

“Oh.” Mama’s shoulders slumped. “It’s already so late, and I’m quite fatigued.”

Father made a gesture. “I don’t mind sharing a bed with strangers, but I won’t subject the two of you to that—you’d be out of my protection.”

Emily put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “I suppose there’s nothing for it.”

A closed door nearby opened, and a finely dressed gentleman stepped out. “Forgive me for interrupting, but I couldn’t help but overhear your difficulty.”

Emily let out a gasp.

It was Bennett Seton.

Dressed as impeccably as a Corinthian in his Cambridge blue frockcoat, skin-tight, buff-colored breeches, and gleaming black Hessian boots, Bennett gripped an ornate cane in one hand. His hair was as thick and dark as ever, and his face, though thinner than before, was even more handsome. A scar bisected his chin, adding to his aura of ruggedness. He drew himself up as his gaze swept over her. His eyes, the color of a stormy sky, narrowed.

“Emily.” His voice dripped displeasure.