As soon as Ana was able to get time to herself, she went to her bedchamber and locked the door. After a quick search, she found the little book she’d successfully hidden in the bottom of a trunk for almost a decade. The leather cover was engraved with an intricate silver cross which had faded over time, but the hand-painted pictures of the Bible were still vibrant.
Her lips silently moved as she read the thirty-six letter Armenian dialect. It was a rare Bible, one her mother had gifted to her on her sixteenth birthday. The other gift, a gold cross with roses entwined with vines, was also precious. The only time Ana took off the cross was when she’d dressed as Lady Scarlet.
Ana turned to the Bible’s last page where her mother had written a note, not in Armenian but in Arabic, the first of five languages she’d fluently spoken.
To my lovely Anahit. I fear that you will encounter cruelty in life. Do not let other’s weaknesses shape you. May these words provide you with guidance during difficult times.
If only her mother could see her now. Would she disapprove?
Ana didn’t think so. Her mother had been accepting and understanding. She’d experienced prejudice in her life and had learned at an early age not to judge others for their birth, religious beliefs, or the shade of their skin. Ana’s father, the baron, had not been as accepting as a young Londoner, but his views had changed over time from his travels, his research, and—most importantly—after meeting her mother.
Despite their cultural differences, her parents had been a love match. Her father often said he’d fallen in love with her mother, Silva, the first time he’d seen her in a fig orchard in Lebanon. Her mother’s family owned acres and acres of land where they’d grown fig trees and exported the fruit throughout the continent. Her mother’s father had no interest in the figs, but in rare antiquities, and he’d been a scholar who traveled throughout the Middle East. He’d educated his daughter and she’d accompanied him on his many travels. As a result, Ana’s mother was more knowledgeable than any high-born English lady. When the baron had passed through the village to meet with her father in search of an ancient relic, he’d seen her.
The baron had never found the relic. He’d ended up asking for her mother’s hand in marriage instead. The newly married couple had returned to England with Silva’s significant dowry (who knew figs were so valuable!), and the baron had purchased their country estate, Rosedown, and the first prized hunters and stallions for the stables. It wasn’t all perfect; certain members of the beau monde had gossiped about Silva’s background, cruelly prejudiced against her. Years later, Ana had been accepted by most of society. A few had still turned up their noses at her mixed blood, but her own dowry was too large to ignore and had attracted suitors.
Still, they’d been happy until her mother had fallen ill and died from a weak heart. Grief-stricken, the baron started drinking, gambling, staying out until dawn, and spending ridiculous amounts of money. Ana left the London season to return to Rosedown and care for her father and younger brother.
But her efforts over the next two years had failed. The baron had been easy pickings for the Earl of Drake. Rosedown was leveraged, then lost in a game of cards. Thereafter, what little will to live the baron still possessed disappeared along with the estate. Ana found her father dead in his study, a pistol in his hand, a pool of blood staining her mother’s favorite Turkish carpet.
Debt collectors descended en masse, not satisfied until they’d taken all the furnishings, the silver, the carpets, her pride. Thankfully, Ana had the foresight to hide a few of her mother’s jewels and bury them in a box in the garden. Those jewels paid for most of Adam’s schooling but left Ana with little else. Her younger brother may inherit the title, but not a shilling to go with it. Ana could not afford to wait for a proper mourning period to pass.
“I tried, Mama,” Ana said out loud, her voice choking on a sob. “I tried everything to survive.”
After learning the cruel-hearted Earl of Drake had died in a carriage accident soon after her own father, Ana had gone to his heir, Henry. He’d laughed in her face when she’d begged him to do right by her and her younger brother. She had foolishly hoped he would be different from his father. Merciful.
“A small allowance, my lord,” she’d pleaded. “If not for myself, then for my brother who is only ten.”
“You seek employment?” Henry was a tall man, heavyset. His coloring was fair and his eyes a pale blue.
“Anything.” She was a baron’s daughter, a lady, but if employment was her only option to stave off hunger and obtain a roof over her head, then she would happily accept.
“You are quite striking with those hazel eyes and dark hair. Your mother was Arab—a nomad, a camel-riding foreigner, wasn’t she?”
She could still feel the anger that had bubbled in her chest. How dare he insult her mother! She’d been cultured and educated. The arrogant oaf had accomplished nothing in his life but to be born as an earl’s heir.
“You don’t like that, do you?”
“No, my lord.”
“You have much fire in you. A real hellcat.” He’d licked his lips. “I’ll offer you a position in this household. In my bed.”
“How dare you!” she’d spat and raised a hand to slap his arrogant face, but he’d caught it before she could make contact, his grip cruel on her wrist.
“I dare anything. You are the one who seeks my coin.” He had leaned down until she could see the lust in his eyes. “Earn it.”
She’d fled.
Ana let out a held in breath at the memory, her fingers tightening on the tiny Bible like a lifeline. Her mother’s message had given her strength. Her life may not have turned out as she’d expected or wanted, but she’d survived, and her secrets would remain her own.