Chapter 1
Asennight later
Misery. Despite the crush of colourful costumes, the strains of a lively quadrille filling the decadent ballroom, and her two closest friends at her side, Miss Heather Morgan’s mood had been sucked into a dark hole of despair.
This was her last night in England, and she’d been forced into attending Lord and Lady Ashford’s masquerade on the arm of her affianced, Arnold Fitton, the Earl of Hanley.
On the morrow, they were to board a navy frigate and sail to the Americas.
Heather was being removed from everything she knew and everyone she treasured… including her beloved plants.
It was, however, for good reason.
Once their assignment had been completed and their client released from her entrapment by the “Earl of Shite,” the man had latched on to Heather to fulfil his apparent duty to his aged cousin in the Americas.
He’d not yet given a reason for his urgency to marry—or why, precisely, he required them to wed in the Americas—but he was firmly resolved.
Naturally, upon learning of her circumstance, her superior, Miss Grace Huntsbury, and fellow runners had set into action a plan to garner Heather’s freedom. Their reconnaissance, however, had unearthed notable scandals and gross transgressions, including—quite possibly—treason.
That was Heather’s new assignment: to feign capitulation, journey with the Earl of Shite to the Americas as his affianced bride, and take every opportunity to glean information—and preferably proof—of his dastardly dealings.
Once she found what was required, she would make good her escape.
And that was where her team came in. Percy, their fighting trainer, was already commissioned on board the frigate and would no doubt prove incredibly useful as a man with seafaring knowledge.
And Cordelia was to accompany Heather as her maid.
Nervous excitement rippled across her abdomen at the thought of Percy being in such close quarters for such a prolonged period, but she determinedly stifled the feeling. He is my trainer and a member of my team on this assignment. Pull yourself together, Heather, for pity’s sake.
A bead of perspiration tickled its way down her spine, and she flicked her fan faster.
“Good Lord, it’s blistering in here,” her friend Maria Sinclair, the new Duchess of Derby, muttered at her side, her fan waving swiftly. “These damned masks don’t help, do they?”
“Indeed not,” Heather muttered.
The ballroom was sweltering, the opened windows and doors notwithstanding, and the air was choked with the odour of perfume and people.
Juliana Notley, the Marchioness of Livingston, nudged Heather’s elbow with her own. “I say, Heather, your affianced appears to be in search of you.”
Suppressing a groan, Heather peered through the sea of bobbing feather plumes attached to ladies’ flagging coiffures, and the plethora of elaborately decorated masks covering the faces of the members of the haut ton, and found her husband-to-be.
Despite his apparent efforts to dress in costume for the masque, his identity was painfully obvious to those who knew him—which was everyone.
Tufts of white hair puffed up around his domino mask, his yellowed teeth stood out against his diaphanous skin, and his belligerent personality was loud and boisterous, even with the chattering around him.
And, indeed, his gaze was scanning the ballroom.
“I promised him my waltz,” Heather said, her stomach giving a wobble.
Maria covered a mirthful snort with the back of her gloved hand. “The man is simply dreadful. Would that you could complete this assignment here in London rather than venturing off to the Americas.”
“Indeed,” Heather murmured.
She shook her head, her heavy, beaded mask jostling with the movement.
“I confess, now that our departure draws nearer, I’m conflicted.
I am eager to begin a new assignment and honoured to take on such a sizeable—and important—challenge, yet there is a part of me that mourns a life that I am no longer capable of living. ”
“That is understandable,” Maria put in. “Your life will irrevocably change when you board that frigate.”
“And once I return unwed, I shall be ruined,” Heather asserted. It was inevitable—and part of their plan—but she could not deny that it stung, even if just a little. “It is fortunate that I have no desire for children, for the burden of my shame would undoubtedly pass to them.”
Of course, shame was not the only reason she was undesirous to birth children.
Two of her mother’s sisters had perished in childbirth, and neither had her mother fared well bringing Heather into the world, though she had survived.
The thought of birthing a child terrified her.
A shiver raced down her spine. Heather’s purpose on the planet was far more benevolent and… botanical.
Juliana scowled. “A failing of our society, indeed.”
“I imagine children are precisely what the earl desires,” Maria added.
Heather grimaced, her stomach roiling at the very notion.
A huff of laughter escaped Juliana as she noted Heather’s expression.
“A woman oughtn’t be required to provide an heir and spare.” Maria frowned.
“But practising is rather fun,” Juliana returned.
Her friends laughed, and Heather’s abdomen gave another swoop of nerves. Her gaze slid back toward the Earl of Shite, who was wandering aimlessly through the crush. Tomorrow I leave.
“You needn’t worry, Heather,” Juliana began, cutting across Heather’s musings.
“You’ve spent enough time training with Percy to sufficiently fend off any unwanted attentions from the earl.
And I daresay you shall have plenty of weaponry at your disposal.
When I fled home, I had naught but a pistol, a handful of coin, and my mother’s jewels. But I—”
“You’re the daughter—and the sister—of a duke, Juliana,” Heather interjected. “And you nearly died, for pity’s sake.”
“Only because my cousin wished to kill me.”
Heather sighed. “I might only have my assignment with which to contend but, despite how close we are as friends, my life and circumstance differ vastly from both of yours. Juliana, you had a means of escape, and Maria, you… Well, you have the freedom to live multiple lives. My family watches me.”
Ever since the death of her parents, Heather’s aunt and uncle had made no secret of their displeasure of having her in their care, and their distrust of her.
She had very little freedom of time—despite what they believed to be her work with charitable causes—no possessions to call her own, and no means to escape.
Not to mention her unfashionably red-streaked blonde hair and full figure.
It was no wonder her aunt and uncle had leapt at the chance to be rid of her.
Heather heaved another sigh, hating the burst of unease that rippled through her stomach.
“Fortunately, once I am ruined, I shall be able to focus more of my time on work, for Grace has generously offered me a room in the Bow Street offices.” From there, she could not only continue as a runner but also begin her work as an apothecary.
Another burst of nervous anticipation tingled its way through her middle.
“Oh, yes,” Juliana replied with a nod. “Generous, indeed.”
There was a beat of silence between them in which the swirling sea of dancers blurred in her vision, and the chatter of conversation, the shuffle of feet, and the clink of champagne flutes dulled behind the pulse whooshing in her ears.
She was eager for this assignment, but there was a chance that she would not, in fact, return to London.
They all knew it was possible, but no one had yet acknowledged it—mayhap out of fear of casting a pall on their last days together. Or out of hope.
“What of a last night?” Maria asked softly.
A frown puckered Heather’s brows beneath her mask. “What happened last night?”
“No,” Maria said with a smirk, sending a sideways glance at the slowly advancing earl, then at her husband, and Juliana’s, who were in deep conversation but a few steps away.
“I mean that you ought to have a last night. Lord knows you deserve it, dearest; your bravery is unparallelled. Find a man”—she lowered her voice to a whisper and leaned closer—“with whom to have a tryst before you leave on the morrow. Experience some of the life and excitement that you so desire. Do not let your sojourn to the Americas and potential spinsterhood dampen what might very well be a fine evening. It shall provide you with a boost of courage.”
“A man?” Heather scoffed. She hadn’t considered the option, but it did appeal.
“As much as I might like the notion of having some man—any man—before my perilous assignment and impending ruination, how am I to find such a someone? I’m a wallflower, Maria.
Or have you forgotten? No man has so much as glanced at me in years. ”
“I daresay any man would fall into your bed with little to no provocation, Heather,” Juliana put in. “Men are…predictable in that way. All you must do is show them a little interest—”
“And some bosom.” Maria nodded.
“And then, with a flirt and a smile, I’m certain you’ll have your man.”
It was her last night in England, for Lord knew how long.
Perhaps if she skirted the card room, she could catch a man’s eye.
Another droplet of perspiration tickled the space between her breasts, and she resisted the urge to scratch at it.
Mayhap she ought to seek solace on the terrace and cool down.
“There you are, my dear,” the earl boomed with false joviality. He shoved his elbow toward her. “I believe this dance is ours.”
With an internal squaring of her shoulders, Heather nodded to her friends, pasted a false smile on her lips, and accepted his proffered arm. The strains of a waltz filled the ballroom, and determination swelled in her chest.