Sussex, England, 1785

White mists rose from the ground. A chill in the air hinted at the arrival of autumn. Tails swishing now and then, the horses, harnessed to a closed carriage, stood at the ready. Anxious, Coachman and postillon held the animals’ heads. Their master had cautioned them not to wake anyone, not even a bird.

The well-timbered forest surrounding Rosewood Park lay indeed in silence. Shadowy grey against the night sky, the ancient walls of the manor rose high. Moonbeams fell through leaded windowpanes, to play across Lady Melinda’s face. They illuminated her harmonious features and touched upon the silvery strands among her unbound, dark hair. Careful not to make a sound, she bent low over her sleeping daughter and kissed her gloved fingertip to place it on the girl’s forehead.

Such a beautiful child! Two years, no more, and Leonora would outshine any female unfortunate enough to suffer comparison. How many years before life would etch lines even onto this fair face? Melinda shivered. Sheer folly to entertain such thoughts...

Straightening, she stepped back and walked away from the tent-bed without bothering to close the curtain she had tied back. She had reached the half open door when her daughter’s voice arrested her.

“Mama? Is something amiss?”

A flash of fear tightened Melinda’s chest. Ignoring the discomfort, she turned to face Leonora. The girl left her bed in a swift motion, then stood, holding her head high. She had an air of strength about her that struck Melinda as challenging. To lie? To prevaricate? No. Nothing for it but to speak the truth.

“I am sorry I woke you, Nora,” Melinda said. “Now, I suppose, I must trust in your discretion.”

“My discretion? Of course. Let me light a candle, Mama.”

Resigning herself, Lady Melinda watched as Leonora set the wicks of three candles aflame. The scent of beeswax drifted to her. Papa never begrudged his beloved grand-daughter the use of luxuries. He doted on the girl as he once had doted on Melinda. A lump forming in her throat, Lady Melinda fought the onset of tears.

“Why, you are clad for travel, Mama! What time is it?” Leonora looked at the porcelain-encased clock upon the mantelpiece. The fireplace loomed black and empty, a brass screen half hiding its dark cavern. “Two o’clock? Has something happened?”

“Yes, Nora,” Lady Melinda lifted her chin and met her daughter’s gaze. “I am about to depart.”

“At this hour? Where to?”

“Come sit with me. Here on the settee.” When Leonora had obeyed, Melinda took her daughter’s hand in her own. “Nora, I fear this will deal you a blow, but you are old enough and strong enough to bear it.”

The girl remained quiet. One of the candles caught a fine draft. Its flame flickered.

“Perhaps it is for the best,” Lady Melinda said.

“For the best?”

“Yes. You might as well hear it from me. I am leaving. Tonight. I won’t come back.”

Stunned, Leonora merely looked at her mother.

“I have a chance at happiness, Nora.” With a nervous glance at the steadily moving hands of the clock, Melinda elaborated. “I met a man who loves me, and I love him. I cannot spend the rest of my life at your father’s side, all the while pretending my heart was not with my lover. Oh, don’t look so shocked! I beg of you. You are of an age... You cannot be so innocent of such things!”

Leonora shook her head. “What are you saying?”

“I say I came to bid you good-bye. Take this. It was your grandmother’s. Heaven knows why, but she cherished the locket. Perhaps her own mother gave it to her as a memento, or perhaps it was a gift from Papa. I think it rather plain, not a single gemstone...”

Melinda loosened the ties of her cloak, while she spoke, and fumbled with her silvery necklace. Unable to open its clasp, she lifted the long chain over her head. For just a moment she held the pendant close to her breast, then she pressed the thing into her daughter’s hand and closed the girl’s fingers over it.

“Here. Guard it well. I had written you a note I was going to post together with messages for your father and your grand-father. Both will receive word of my decision—of my action—soon enough. I had not meant to alert anyone tonight.”

A dark frown creasing her brow, the girl opened her mouth to speak, but her mother silenced her with a “Shush, let me finish!”

“Leonora, I want you to listen,” Lady Melinda continued. “Marriage to a man beneath one’s station leads to nothing but misery. I was little older than you when I eloped with your Papa. A mere music master, of Irish origins at that! God knows I wish I had listened to my own mother’s warnings. I did not, and caused disaster.”

Melinda barely stopped to breathe. “Your grandfather blamed me for Mama’s death. After my escape to Gretna Green, she succumbed to a nervous ailment. She had not been well since I was born, but Papa never forgave me. He rescued Edward and me from a life in poverty only because of you, and even then he disowned me. Rosewood Park will be yours. Honor your legacy! Don’t make a mistake such as I did.”

“I knew all that.” Leonora slid forward, as though to stand up. “You seem feverish, Mama. Have you fallen ill? Shall I ring for Bessie?”

“No, no. Child, you misjudge me.” Melinda tightened her grip on Leonora’s hand. “If I appear fevered, it is merely because I am worried. You can be so willful. It pains me to leave before you are at least betrothed to a man worthy of you. Alas, if I were to stay, I’d suffer a lingering death of sorts. I should die for wanting my Johannes—”