Prologue

 

Scarlett Hall, 5th of June 1805

 

Scarlett Hall had been the home to the Lambert family for over a century and a half with its jutting parapets and grand towers. It represented a vast fortune and a noble place in society since its inception when the First Baron Lambert gained his title and had the house requisitioned. Yet, Lady Eleanor Lambert, the current mistress of the household, feared it would not endure another year.

Oh, it would remain standing, for it was a formidable manor with strong walls and tiled roofs; however, whether or not its deed would remain in the hands of a Lambert was what was in question. The debt collector had called not an hour earlier, the man offering no mercy as she pleaded for his goodwill. He had left with her promise to pay the debt owed in two months’ time—with interest, of course, which came to no surprise to Eleanor. What had frightened her the most was the promise he made that, when he returned and she did not have the required money, the manor would be taken as payment and the family thrown out on its ear.

Every part of her being wanted to scream, to cry out to the heavens and perhaps even hide in hopes that it would make the troubles disappear. However, Eleanor was no child; she was the mother to three young ladies and a younger heir, and their future depended upon the actions she took in these next two months.

Tracing her hand over the desk that belonged to her husband, she thought back to another time when these worries were not for her to endure. Times when she could focus on her family and not concern herself with matters of business. However, those days where now gone, and she had no other choice than to set matters straight.

The sounds of laughter had her moving to the window, where she watched her youngest daughter Juliet, walking down the garden path with her cousin Annabel, daughter of Lord Lambert’s brother, at her side. They would be up to some sort of mischief, Eleanor was certain, but had not time to deal with their antics.

As the two moved out of sight, Eleanor’s eyes moved to her middle daughter, Hannah, who sat beneath a tree with a book in her hand, as was as commonplace as a cookstove in the kitchen.

However, it was her eldest daughter, Isabel, for whom she was searching, and she found her at the farthest gate of the garden gazing out over the rolling green hills as she was oftentimes prone to do. Although it was not cold outside, Isabel stood with her arms crossed over her stomach and her wrap falling around her elbows.

“Forgive me, Charles,” Eleanor whispered as she allowed a single tear to spring forth. There was much she needed to tell her husband, and therefore, she returned to the desk. Readying the parchment and quill, she considered what she would say. How would she tell him what she needed to share?

Her eyes fell to a letter written two days prior, ready to be sent, and she knew what had to be told.

Dipping the quill in the inkwell, she began to write, allowing her heart to guide her words.

 

My Dearest Charles,

 

There is much to say, although I will keep this letter short, as I know you prefer it so. The truth of the matter is that Scarlett Hall is in near ruins, and I am afraid acts of desperation will be needed in order to save it. You often boasted of the strength, wealth, and wit of your family who built such a majestic home; that those elements are what bound it together.

However, I realize now that the secrets within its walls will soon tear it apart if I do not find a way to save it. There is enough money to secure us for only a few months. The debt collectors are not pleased, nor should they be, for they only wish what was promised them. It was that fear and desperation that I made a promise to them, but I cannot lie to you any more than I can to myself.

 

I knew this day was drawing nigh, and I have prepared a letter in anticipation for the worst. The words contained within are not for you but for the man whose eyes I have seen settle upon our eldest daughter, Isabel. Our daughter who walks in heartache and despair. Soon, I will ask her to do the unthinkable, to take upon a burden that is not hers in order to save our beloved Scarlett Hall.

 

The secrets that threaten to destroy our home shall, and always will, remain hidden. I carry them alone; not for the sake of integrity, but for our children. I do wish you were still alive to see how they have grown, but that age has passed, and another has come. A new era threatens to unravel the very heart of our family. And destroy it. However, I will do everything in my power to stop it.

 

I have made my decision. I will send the letter at once.

 

Your Loving Wife,

Eleanor

 

Eleanor leaned back in the chair, the burden upon her shoulders heavy. Guilt and worry knotted her stomach as she placed her hand on the already prepared letter. She did not want to send it, yet she knew in her heart she had no choice.

A single knock on the door had her turn. “Come.”

The door opened, and Forbes, the family butler, entered. “Lady Lambert,” he said with a diffident bow. “You asked to see me?”

Eleanor rose, the sealed letter in her hand. “I did,” she said as she approached the man. “See that this is delivered immediately.”

Forbes looked at the name of the recipient. “I will see it sent now.” Then, without another word, the man left, closing the door behind him.

Returning to the window, Eleanor’s heart went out to Isabel. Although her eldest daughter had no idea of what was to come, Eleanor did, and therefore, she managed to whisper but a few words.

“I am sorry.”