Chapter 1

Lancashire, England, 1794

“…Come, ye blessed children of my Father, receive the kingdom prepared for you from the beginning of the world: Grant this, we beseech thee, O merciful Father, through Jesus Christ, our Mediator and Redeemer. Amen,” the rector said, stepping back from the graveside, before concluding with the grace.

Ralph watched from afar as a final salute was taken, and the mourners tossed handfuls of soil into the open grave. He had never understood such a practice – throwing dirt on a loved one in their final resting place. He sighed, brushing a tear from his eye, and glancing at his mother, who stood stoically at his side. She wore a black veil, her head bowed, supported by Anna, her lady’s companion.

The funeral had passed in a blur – the military honors, the rousing eulogy in which a military chaplain had extolled his brother’s virtues, the prayers and promises of resurrection. It all seemed so final. It was final. Max was dead, and Ralph was now the Duke of Lancaster. It was an honor he had never sought, an honor he had never wanted. But that was the tragedy of aristocracy – for a title to pass, death was necessary, and Max’s death had come all too soon. The chaplain had spoken of honor on the battlefield, but Ralph could see little honor in dying on some foreign field in a war which still dragged needlessly on.

“What a waste of life,” Ralph thought to himself.

The mourners were dispersing now, and the gravedigger had stepped forward to cover the grave. They were standing in the family plot, in the churchyard of Saint James’ – the church of Burnley Abbey, where generations of Ralph’s family had been interred. A gravestone would soon be erected, and the dates of Max’s short life carved into the stone. It was final, and Ralph could feel only sadness at the prospect of what was to come – a life lived without his brother, who had been his dearest friend.

“My deepest condolences, Your Grace,” one of the mourners said, passing Ralph and tipping his hat with a mournful expression on his face.

Ralph was still not used to being referred to in such terms. He had been raised as the younger brother, with no expectation of inheritance. He had not yet found his purpose, and now it had been thrust on him through unexpected sorrow.

“Thank you,” he replied, and other expressed similar sentiments as they passed.

All the while, Ralph’s mother, the Dowager Duchess, Lady Diana, stood silently at his side, her head bowed. She had barely spoken that day, lost in grief over the death of her eldest son. In that moment, Ralph did not know what to say to her, though he had done his best to be dutiful in the weeks following his return from Corsica with Max’s body and had taken his responsibilities seriously. He was the Duke of Lancaster, and now he had a duty to his brother to take up his legacy.

“I want to go home now,” Ralph’s mother said, as the gravedigger shoveled earth into the grave.

“This way, my Lady. There’s a carriage waiting,” Anna said, taking the dowager by the arm.

“I’m going to walk,” Ralph said, still staring at his brother’s grave – such a waste of life.

His mother was led away, and it was now Ralph who noticed a woman standing some distance away across the graveyard. It was Teresa, one of the servants, and now she approached, holding a single rose in her hand. It was late summer, and the warmth of the day was giving way to a gathering storm. Dark clouds lay on the horizon, threatening rain, and a breeze was blowing across the churchyard, as though signifying the changes to come.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, might I?” Teresa asked, and Ralph nodded.

“Of course, you may,” he said, as Teresa placed the rose on the now filled  grave.

Teresa was with child. It had become more evident in the weeks since Ralph’s return. There had been whispers, but Ralph had ignored them. She had been a loyal servant, and his brother had been fond of her.

“I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” she said, with a sorrowful look on her face, and Ralph gave a weak smile.

“It’s kind of you to say so. My brother was…a good man,” he said, and Teresa nodded.

“He was good to me, Your Grace,” she said, sighing, as though recalling happy memories amidst the pain.

They stood in silence for a few moments, and Ralph felt the first drop of rain falling, as a rumble of thunder echoed in the distance.

“You should get back, Teresa. I don’t want you catching a chill,” Ralph said, and Teresa nodded, glancing at the grave with tears in her eyes.

“I won’t forget him, Your Grace,” she said, with a look of determination in her eyes.

“I won’t forget him, either,” Ralph replied.

As the rain fell more heavily, Ralph watched Teresa go, bobbing between the gravestones and disappearing through the gate at the far end of the graveyard. It was an ancient place, surrounded by yew trees, the squat medieval church tower rising out of the moorland like an ancient fortification. Burnley Abbey lay a short distance away, on the edge of the moor, and a path ran through woods from the church onto the main driveway. It was this route Ralph now took, sheltering from the rain beneath the trees, though walking slowly, lost in his thoughts.

“A fitting tribute, Your Grace,” a voice behind him said, as Ralph reached the gate leading onto the drive, where the tree line ended.

He startled, not realizing he had been followed, and turning, he saw the now familiar figure of Connor Edge,  the son of  Ralph’s father’s advisor, and now Ralph’s own. He was the land agent for the estate, having taken over the responsibility following his father’s death, a man who knew Burnley Abbey better than anyone, and following Ralph’s return from Corsica, he had been quick to offer his services to the new duke. Max had not trusted him, but Ralph had seen no reason not to, and had relied on him heavily in the weeks following his brother’s death. He was in his forties, with a striking head of red hair, and bright blue eyes. Now he hurried forward, clearly having followed Ralph all the way from the church.

“Yes… I thought so,” Ralph said, pausing at the gate, as Burnley Abbey itself came into view through the trees.

“Your mother seems inconsolable,” Connor continued, shaking his head sadly.

“Grief comes differently to us all. I’ve had so much to think about, I’ve hardly had time to…well, I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel. I miss him, and I curse him for getting himself killed, as terrible as that sounds. He should be here,” Ralph exclaimed, forgetting himself for a moment as his emotions overwhelmed him.

Connor reached out and placed his hand on Ralph’s arm. He had been a reassuring presence in the weeks following Max’s death, always ready to offer his advice on anything Ralph was unsure of. The business of running the estate, of managing the house, and attending to his wider responsibilities had seemed overwhelming, but Connor had been a steady guide through it all, and Ralph was grateful to him for his reassuring presence at this difficult time.

“But he isn’t, Your Grace. A funeral offers finality. It makes the loss real, and the future uncertain. But your brother would have wanted you to take his place. This is your rightful inheritance. It’s yours,” Connor replied.

“Yes…whether I like it or not,” Ralph replied.

They walked together through the gate from the trees, joining the sweeping drive leading up to the house. Burnley Abbey was a fine dwelling, one of the handsomest houses in the county, built around a central tower, in a gothic style, with a grand entrance on its east side, and windows to the west looking out over the moors. The gardens were in full bloom, and despite the rain, a heady scent of roses and lavender hung in the air. Carriages were parked outside, for the guests at the funeral had been invited for refreshments at the house, and Ralph was expected to be their host.

“You’ll find it easier in time, Your Grace, I assure you. You’ve so much still to learn. It’s only natural you should feel somewhat overwhelmed by it all,” Connor replied.

“I feel as though I’m being pulled in every direction possible. I’m demanded here, or here, or here. Responsibilities lie at every turn. When I concentrate on one thing, it’s to the detriment of another,” Ralph replied, shaking his head.

His brother had often spoken of the burden he carried, even as he had marched merrily off to war, leaving the estate in the hands of Connor. But Ralph was not his brother, and he was finding the burden almost too much. In the army, he had been given responsibilities, but they were contained and certain. As the Duke of Lancaster, it seemed he could work day and night and never finish what he had started.

“You’ll get used to it, Your Grace. I’ll help you in any way I can,” Connor said.

Ralph gave a weak smile. He was grateful to Connor for everything he had done. Not only for him, but for his brother and his father, too. Without Connor, he would be lost, and he was coming to rely on him evermore in the day to day running of the estate.

“I couldn’t do it without you, Connor. I’ll get used to it, I suppose. One can get used to anything if one has to,” Ralph replied.

“I noticed the maid, Teresa Baker at the funeral, Your Grace,” Connor said, as they walked towards the house.

The rain had lessened, though a strong breeze was driving it in sheets across the moorland, where blue skies and black clouds, made a strange contrast of light and dark. Ralph paused, turning to Connor with a puzzled look.

“Why shouldn’t she be? Gregson was there, and a number of the other servants, too. I told him they could be – it’s up to the butler how he organizes things,” Ralph replied.

Connor smiled.

“Ah yes, Your Grace, but… Teresa isn’t quite the same as the other servants, is she?” he asked.

Ralph sighed. He had been trying not to think about the matter too closely, but Connor was right, Teresa was different. She was with child, and as much as Ralph had tried to protect her, he knew the matter would soon come to a head. A maid, pregnant out of wedlock, was a scandalous thing, and Ralph knew he could not ignore the matter for long, even as he was uncertain how much of his own involvement in the matter was known.

“No, I suppose she isn’t. But…what do you suggest?” Ralph asked, for he was uncertain what to do about the matter, even as he feared Connor’s response.

“She can’t stay here, Your Grace. She’ll bring scandal on the house when it’s born. Besides, a woman with child can’t work as a maid. She can’t fulfill her duties. She should be told to leave. Immediately,” he said.

Ralph was concerned. He wondered just how much Connor really knew about the situation, and at the same time, he felt terribly guilty. The thought of asking Teresa to leave seemed terribly unfair, for he felt duty bound to protect her – and the child – given all that had happened. Where would she go? And what would happen to her once the baby was born? He thought back to the sorrowful look on Teresa’s face as she had laid the rose on Max’s grave. To cast her out amidst such sorrow was surely a terrible wickedness, and yet Connor was right – if she remained, scandal would engulf them.

“I…well, I don’t want to see her left destitute. I won’t do that. She could be paid off, I suppose,” Ralph replied.

“If you pay her off, Your Grace, what’s to stop every maid in the house taking advantage? You know what these girls are like,” Connor replied.

Ralph blushed.

“I…but I can’t just send her away. My brother was fond of her. I’m fond of her. She’s worked hard here,” he stammered.

“Fond of a maid, Your Grace?” Connor replied, raising his eyebrows.

“I was merely…we have a responsibility to our servants, don’t we?” Ralph replied, despising himself for even contemplating sending Teresa away like this.

“And servants have a responsibility to this house and estate, Your Grace. An unwritten moral contract. A maid, pregnant out of wedlock – an…unknown father. Imagine the scandal. Your poor mother deserves better than that, doesn’t she?” Connor replied.

This was the trump card, and Ralph had no choice but to agree – morals would certainly be called into question, if the truth was known, and Ralph did not like the way in which Connor left open the question of the child’s father. His mother had suffered enough, and the thought of engulfing her in such a scandal was unthinkable. Teresa would be paid off and sent away. There was nothing else Ralph could do, even as he felt a terrible sense of guilt for even thinking as much. They had reached the portico of the house, and the butler, Mr. Gregson, now opened the door for them.

“Good day, Your Grace. You’ll find the mourners in the east drawing room,” he said, with a curt bow.

“Thank you, Gregson,” Ralph said, removing his outercoat and hat.

“Think on what I’ve said about the maid,” Connor said, as they entered the drawing room, joining the throng of guests, who were drinking cups of tea and helping themselves to dainty morsels arranged on a large table by the window.

Ralph’s mother was sitting alone by the window, gazing out at the ever-changing weather, a rainbow now having appeared over the moorland. Ralph approached her, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. She looked up, her veil now pulled back, shaking her head with tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Ralph…it shouldn’t have been like this, should it?” she said, and Ralph shook his head.

“No, Mother. It shouldn’t have been. But we live with what life presents us,” he replied.

There were times when Ralph wished it was he who had perished on the battlefield, and in his darker moments, he wondered if his mother thought that, too.

“And what now? A lifetime of sorrow. Your dear brother, buried in the ground. I could hardly bear to leave him. I’ve asked Anna to take me there tomorrow. I want to sit with him and keep him company,” she said.

“We should let the dead bury the dead, Mother. He’s with God now, not lying in the grave. Think of him as he was, not as he is,” Ralph replied, but fresh tears now rolled down his mother’s cheeks, and she dabbed at them with a handkerchief, bursting into fresh sobs, as Ralph stooped down and put his arm around her.

“I can’t forget him, Ralph, I can’t,” she cried.

“No one’s asking you to forget him, Mother. We won’t. But we can’t live in mourning our whole lives long,” Ralph replied.

The dowager looked up, taking a deep breath and sniffing.

“I don’t think I can make that promise, Ralph” she replied, turning back to look out of the window, where the rainbow cast its covenant across the moorland.

Ralph straightened up, not knowing what to say, even as he knew his mother was right. Life would never be the same again. His brother was dead and buried, and the responsibility for the estate was now his. He had made a decision about Teresa, one he bitterly regretted, and now he wondered how many other decisions he would make in the coming months and years, decisions of life and death, decisions to define him, decisions he would have to live with his whole life long…

Chapter 2

“What a beautiful wedding it was,” Miriam said, as she brushed down her horse.

Her sister, Clare, was sitting on a bale of hay, and she nodded, smiling at Miriam as she rose to her feet.

“Didn’t Grace look beautiful in that flowing white gown? I’ve never seen such a happy bride. They were made for one another,” Clare replied, beginning to plait the tale of Miriam’s horse, Scarlet.

The two sisters had just returned to their home at Podmore Grange, following the marriage of Miriam’s friend Grace to Henry, the Duke of Crawshaw. It had been a wonderful occasion, even as the road to it had been somewhat rocky. Henry was blind, and Grace’s parents had, at first, objected to the match, despite the deep love between Miriam’s friend and her duke. But the inheritance of title, and the obvious qualities Henry exuded had won them over, and everyone had agreed just how well matched they were.

“I’m so pleased for her. You’re right, she was supremely happy,” Miriam replied, as she stepped back and admired her handiwork.

Miriam had raised Scarlet from a foal, and she was now a fine chestnut mare. They were going to ride in the woods bordering the estate of Burnley Abbey, the seat of the dukes of Lancaster, and Miriam was eager to set off, even as her sister had complained she could not accompany her.

“I wish Flash wasn’t lamed. I don’t know what that foolish stable boy did to him whilst we were away. I suspect he rode him into the village – despite my instructions to the contrary. He’s pushed him too hard, and now I can’t ride him myself,” Clare said, looking sulky as Miriam led Scarlet out into the stable yard.

It was a beautiful summer’s day, warm, with a light breeze, and the sky above a deep, cloudless blue.

“He’ll be all right in a day or two, then we can ride together. Don’t be so harsh on Digby, he’s still learning, and he does care about the horses. He was up all night with Jupiter when he had colic. But I’ve been dying to ride Scarlet all week, I’ve missed doing so terribly. Why don’t you go and keep Mother company? She’s not been herself since we got back from the wedding,” Miriam replied.

“I think she’s worried about something, don’t you? She and Father…they were terribly quiet at dinner last night. I don’t know what’s the matter with them. But all right, I’ll go and keep her company. Don’t be too long, though,” Clare said, as Miriam climbed into the saddle.

“I won’t be. I’ll ride out along the edge of the moorland, then into Bluebell Woods and back along the river. I’ll be an hour or two at the most,” Miriam replied.

Her sister nodded, watching her go as Miriam rode out of the stable yard and along the drive of Podmore Grange. The house had always been her home, a fine, red brick building, covered in ivy, with tall chimneys, set amongst lush, mature gardens. The drive gave way to a track between two gateposts, topped with ornamental lions, and the moorland lay ahead, its pink and purple hue shimmering in the sunshine. The wind caught Miriam’s hair, and the fresh air was exhilarating – she felt alive, and urged Scarlet on into a gallop.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she thought to herself, as she rode to the top of an incline, from which the full vista of the moor could be seen, disappearing into nothingness as far as the eye could see.

This was Miriam’s favorite ride, and now she took the bridleway running along the edge of the moor, entering the woods, whose name was now realized in the carpet of bluebells beneath the trees. Here, Miriam slowed the horse’s pace, enjoying the spectacle of the flowers, and wondering if she might pick some for her mother. Her parents had certainly appeared distracted in the days following their return from Grace’s wedding, exchanging anxious looks and whispering to one another when they thought Miriam and Clare were not observing them. But Miriam knew something was wrong, even as she did not know what it was.

“I just hope they tell us,” she thought to herself, as she rode through the woodland.

She was making for one of her favorite places, a folly in the center of the trees, built to resemble a miniature Greek temple. No one was certain who had built it – an eccentric aristocrat was thought to have been the architect, building it for his lover, the daughter of the Duke of Lancaster, some fifty years previously. It stood in a clearing, surrounded now by bluebells, its white marble edifice rising like an island in a sea of deep purple. Miriam reined Scarlet in, dismounting to walk the last few steps, and leaving the horse to graze at the edge of the clearing.

A stream flowed past the folly, gushing and gurgling its way in a gentle curve, and Miriam stooped to refresh herself in the cold, clear waters. As she looked up, she was surprised to see a figure sitting on the folly steps, with her head in her hands. She was very pretty, though dressed in a dirty dress, splattered with mud, her head covered with an old bonnet, and her shoulders wrapped in a brown shawl. She had not noticed Miriam, and now she looked up in surprise as Miriam cleared her throat.

“Are you all right?” Miriam asked, approaching the woman, who could not have been much older than herself.

The woman wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve, staring fearfully at Miriam, who now realized she was with child.

“I…yes, I’m quite all right,” she said, even as Miriam now saw a bruise on her temple, and cuts to her hands and arms.

“No, you’re not. Something’s happened to you,” Miriam said, her concern growing as she mounted the first of the folly steps.

The woman rose fearfully to her feet, shaking her head.

“I fell off my horse, it’s nothing,” she said, backing away from Miriam, who only wanted to help.

“If you’ve fallen from your horse, there’s a danger to the baby,” Miriam said.

She had known other women to have lost their babies in a fall from a horse. But the woman shook her head.

“I don’t know. I don’t need help, though. I’ll be all right. I’ve got to be,” she said.

“But what’s your name? You can’t just go. You need to looked at. We’re not far from Burnley Abbey. I can take you there on my horse. They’ll look after you,” Miriam said.

She knew there had been changes at the Abbey recently – the previous duke had died in Corsica, and it was his brother who had now assumed the title. But their neighbors at Burnley Abbey had always been decent people, and Miriam was certain they would help this woman in her hour of need. But at the mention of the abbey, the woman’s expression had changed, a fearful look coming over her face.

“No…not there. I can’t go there,” she exclaimed, shaking her head.

“But why not? It’s only a couple of miles. Let me take you. I’ll explain everything. There’s no shame in it,” Miriam replied.

She wanted to help the woman, but she was beginning to suspect the baby might be a secret, one she was ashamed of. Many women fell pregnant outside of wedlock, and many took steps to keep their secret permanently. But Miriam was not one to judge. This woman needed help, and Burnley Abbey was the nearest place to get it.

“I can’t go there, miss. I can’t,” the woman said, and it seemed there could be no persuading her.

Miriam nodded, but she was not about to leave the woman alone, when she was so obviously in distress.

“Please, won’t you let me look at you? I might be able to help. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she said, taking another step forward.

The woman nodded, and Miriam made her way up the steps, raising her hand and gently brushing back the woman’s black hair. She had a graze from the fall, and bruising to her temple. Her hands were cut, though the wounds were superficial. But it was the baby Miriam was worried about. A fall from a horse could spell disaster, and whilst Miriam knew little about midwifery, she knew a great deal about mares and their foals.

“Is the baby all right, miss?” the woman asked.

Miriam placed her hand gently on the woman’s stomach. She had witnessed many a mare lose a foal in a tumble, but there was no sign of a problem here, even as Miriam hoped the woman would see the sense in being examined.

“I think so, yes, but…won’t you let me take you to Burnley Abbey? We could send for a doctor. You can stay below stairs, I’ll speak with the Duke – he might not even be there,” Miriam said, but once again, a fearful expression came over the woman’s face, and she shook her head.

“I won’t go there, miss. I can’t go there. I’ve got to go,” she said, pulling her shawl around her shoulders.

“But the baby – what about the baby?” Miriam exclaimed.

It seemed the woman was close to giving birth, and the thought of allowing her to leave was tantamount to a betrayal. Miriam could only imagine how it would feel to be with child, alone and scared.

“I’ll be all right, miss. I promise you,” the woman said, and now she hurried down the folly steps, crossing to where her own horse stood amongst the trees.

Miriam followed her, anxious to see in which direction she went.

“But where are you going? You can’t ride out across the moorland, surely. Take the track to the village, or the bridleway on to Burnley. Someone can help you there. You can’t give birth alone,” Miriam said, hurrying after the woman, who was already climbing into the saddle, and struggling to do so.

“You’ve been very kind, miss. But I need to take of myself now. There’s no one else to help me,” she said, glancing over her shoulder in the direction of Burnley Abbey.

“Here, at least let me give you something,” Miriam said, rummaging in the pocket of her skirts and pulling out her purse.

It contained several shillings, and she gave them to the woman, pressing them into her hand, even as the woman tried to refuse them.

“I can’t take this, miss. It’s not right,” she said, but Miriam would hear no argument.

“Find yourself some lodgings, pay for a decent meal, and seek help when the baby arrives,” Miriam insisted.

“Thank you, miss. You’ve been very kind. Kinder than most,” the woman said, and before Miriam could ask her name, she was gone, urging the horse into a canter, and disappearing through the trees.

Miriam sighed, watching her go, confused as to the woman’s strange behavior. The mention of the abbey had brought a fearful expression to her face, and Miriam wondered if it was not from there she had fled.

“But the Duke wouldn’t send her away, would he?” she asked herself.

The woman had the look of a servant, and Miriam wondered if perhaps she was not embroiled in some scandal, unable to trust anyone – even a stranger – with her secret. But there was nothing more Miriam could do, though she intended to make a point of enquiring in the village as to any women who had given birth. She had wanted to help the woman, but had felt powerless to do so.

“And how did I even know the baby was all right?” Miriam thought to herself, as she returned to Scarlet, who was still happily grazing at the edge of the clearing.

Miriam had wanted to reassure the woman, but in truth, she had known nothing of what she was doing in placing her hands on the woman’s stomach. She had witnessed dozens of foals being born, but it was hardly the same. There had been no signs of bleeding, and nothing to indicate a trauma to the baby, even as Miriam admitted to herself she had not known precisely what to look for.

“I can only hope and pray she’ll be all right,” Miriam said to herself, as she rode back towards Podmore Grange.

Her sister was brushing down her own horse, Flash, when Miriam returned, and she listened with interest as Miriam described her encounter at the folly.

“And you don’t know who she is or where she comes from?” Clare asked.

“I’ve never seen her before, though I’m minded to ask the servants when we go in. Perhaps one of them knows her,” Miriam said, for the thought of association had suddenly occurred to her.

Servants knew one another, just as aristocrats knew one another, and having stabled Scarlet and promised to ride her the following day, Miriam and Clare made their way inside.

“Mother wouldn’t let me sit with her. She was crying when I walked into the drawing room earlier on,” Clare said, as they entered the hallway.

Miriam sighed. She was worried about her parents, even as the encounter in the woods had distracted her.

“I wish they’d tell us what the matter is,” she said, glancing at the drawing room door.

“Well, you can ask them, I’m not going to,” Clare replied.

They made their way below stairs, surprising the servants, who were taking tea together in the servants’ hall. All of them rose to their feet in unison as the two women entered.

“My apologies, Lady Miriam,” the butler, Mr. Weston said, as the servants stood in silent attention.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Weston. We didn’t mean to disturb you all. It’s just… I was wondering…this might sound, but do any of you know of a servant at Burnley Abbey who might be with child? I’ve just encountered a woman in Bluebell Woods, I think she came from there. I’m worried about her,” Miriam said.

The servants exchanged glances, shaking their heads, and averting their eyes, so that when she and Clare returned upstairs, Miriam was none the wiser.

“I can’t believe no one knows of her,” Clare said, furrowing her brow.

“Then I’ve got to discover the truth for myself. I can’t stop thinking about her, and the poor child, too. What sort of a life will it lead?” Miriam said, shaking her head.

She was determined to do what she could to help, and now she resolved to make enquiries about the woman and find her, so that some good might come from her evident tragedy.

“I’ve got to find her,” Miriam told herself, even as she knew the difficulties her search would entail.

Chapter 3

“And good riddance to her,” Mrs. Mason said, shaking her head.

Connor smiled and nodded. He was glad to hear Teresa had fled the house early that morning. It made his own job far easier. He had made the short walk from his home on the estate for his morning meeting with the duke. Ralph had not heeded his advice to get rid of Teresa immediately, and he had come to insist on it, fearing for the reputation of the house and the family he had served faithfully for many years.

“He wanted to pay her off. I told him it was a mistake. Pay off one…” Connor began.

“And you’ll pay them all off. Quite right, Mr. Edge. I don’t know what he saw in her. She was just a little…well, I won’t say the word out loud,” Mrs. Mason replied.

Connor smiled. Mrs. Mason had long been an ally of his below stairs. She kept him abreast of the goings on amongst the servants, and it had been some months previously she had voiced her concerns about Teresa.

“I think he saw rather too much in her, if you catch my drift,” Connor said.

Mrs. Mason raised her eyebrows.

“Then thank goodness she’s gone. I don’t think the other servants noticed. She had the decency to let out her dresses, rather than let it show. But they’d soon have realized if her waters broke, or she gave birth in the servants’ hall,” the housekeeper said, tutting and shaking her head.

They were standing outside the pantry, their voices low, as the other servants hurried back and forth about their duties.

“We’ve avoided a scandal, Mrs. Mason, and saved the Duke from an embarrassment. For whatever reason she left, I give thanks. Let her go, and may we hope to never see her – or the child – again. We’ll keep the matter between ourselves,” Connor said, and the housekeeper nodded.

“You have my discretion, Mr. Edge,” she assured him.

Connor nodded, before making his way upstairs. The house was quiet. The dowager had gone to stay with a cousin during her period of mourning, and the fact of that period meant no guests had been invited to Burnley Abbey, despite it being the height of the season, and the shooting being particularly good that year. Connor gazed around the hallway, smiling to himself. He liked to imagine he was the Duke of Lancaster, and now he drew himself up, adopting a pose of the late duke, who was looking down on him from a portrait above the wide staircase which curved up to the landing above.

“I run this estate, not that fool of a younger brother,” he thought to himself.

Ralph was like a lost sheep. He had not expected to inherit, and having done so, he was floundering. Connor despaired of him. He could not make decisions, and when it came to the likes of Teresa, he had proved himself weak. Connor was suspicious of the duke. A baby did not come from nowhere, and Ralph’s insistence on defending Teresa – even providing for her – had led him to suspect the baby was not the result of a tussle with a stable boy or a fleeting romance with a footman.

“And wouldn’t that be a scandal to rock the institution?” Connor thought to himself, smiling at the thought of the power he wielded.

He looked up at Ralph’s father’s portrait and sneered. The old duke had been weak, but Ralph’s brother had been different, and for a while, Connor had feared his hold over the dukedom was dwindling. But Ralph was proving himself in the mold of his father, and Connor had no doubt he could use that fact to his advantage. He was still smiling to himself as the door to the library opened, and Burnley Abbey’s butler, Mr. Gregson, emerged, carrying a tray of empty glasses.

“Can I help you, Mr. Edge?” he asked, looking imperiously at Connor, who had never liked the hook-nosed butler, whose bushy eyebrows gave him a permanent look of suspicion.

“I’m going in to see the Duke,” Connor replied, for he had no reason to divulge his intentions to a mere servant – even the butler.

Mr. Gregson nodded.

“I’m sure he’ll be happy for you to disturb him, sir,” the butler replied, striding past Connor, who made a face at his retreating form.

“Who does he think he is?” Connor muttered to himself.

The duke’s study lay along a corridor at the front of the house, lined with portraits of the previous holders of the title, which stretched back several centuries, and was gifted to the family by a grateful monarch at the time of the restoration. The oak paneled door was closed, and Connor raised his hand and knocked loudly. There was no response. He knocked again, irritated to think his appointment had been forgotten.

“Your Grace? It’s Connor. I’ve an appointment to see you this morning to talk about Teresa,” Connor called out.

Connor hoped his words would bring a shiver to the duke’s spine, even as he had no intention of playing his hand just yet. But there was still no reply. Connor turned the handle of the door, wondering if perhaps the duke had fallen asleep in one of the armchairs by the fire. The handle gave way, and the door opened into Ralph’s comfortable study. It was lined with books, with windows looking out across the parkland at the front of the house, and a fire crackling in the hearth. But the duke was not there, and Connor sighed, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

“I’ll wait for him. He can find me here – it’ll remind him who’s in charge,” Connor thought to himself.

He stepped towards the desk, tutting at the piles of paper and correspondence – Ralph was losing control. He was probably fast asleep, shirking his responsibilities…

“He’s a pale comparison to his brother,” Connor thought to himself, though he had used Ralph’s weaknesses to his advantage, and had been somewhat glad to learn of Max’s demise on Corsica, as much as he had had pretended to the opposite.

As he glanced across the desk, an envelope caught his eye. It was addressed to him, in Ralph’s scrawling script, and reaching across, Connor picked it up, tearing it open and beginning to read. His eyes grew wide and angry, and he shook his head, a scowl coming over his lips.

“The fool!” he exclaimed, tossing the letter aside.

The letter was part apology and part explanation. In it, Ralph explained he had had gone away for a while – where, he did not say. He spoke of the difficulties he had encountered since returning from Corsica, and lamented his inability to follow in his brother’s footsteps. He would return, but for now, the running of the estate was left in Connor’s hands, and he urged the land agent not to come looking for him. The letter was signed “Ralph” with no allusion to the duke’s title or responsibilities. He had runaway, and Connor could only suspect what he had already suspected – that Teresa’s baby was Ralph’s, and the two of them had fled together.

“Curse them both,” he thought to himself, even as the thought of using the duke’s disappearance to his advantage crossed his mind.

With Ralph gone, and the dowager in mourning, Connor was in sole charge of the estate. Mr. Gregson would not speak to him with such disdain now, and smiling to himself, Connor sat down at the duke’s desk, leaning back in his chair, and placing his feet on the inset leather.

“I wonder where he’s gone? With the maid, no doubt. A love nest on the moors, perhaps, or even to Gretna Green. Imagine the scandal. It would bring the family down. What a fool, but I don’t intend to be dragged down with him,” Connor thought to himself, and now he felt only too glad to find the duke gone, as he wondered what his own next move might be…

* * *

“I’m afraid it’s nothing compared to Burnley Abbey, Your Grace. We’ve nothing more than you see before you,” the housekeeper said, looking nervously at Ralph, who gazed around him, nodding.

“It’s perfect, Mrs. Hill. It’s just what I want. A house, hidden away, far from anyone, where I won’t be disturbed,” Ralph replied.

He had left Burnley Abbey the previous day, before any of the servants had risen, and rode to Burnley, taking rooms at an inn, before beginning his search for a place to live. Briar Heights – the house in which he now stood – lay far out on the moors, hidden in a narrow valley, surrounded by woodland. It had been a hunting lodge, belonging to one of the estates, and though modest, it was precisely what Ralph was looking for. He wanted a place to lie low and collect his thoughts. He was confused as to the future and had felt the burden of responsibility acutely.

“And there’s only me here – and old Jackson who sees to the heavy lifting. Not that he’s much use,” the housekeeper continued.

It was as though she was trying to put Ralph off, but the duke was determined to take the house, and he would gladly do so without a staff of servants, or any of the advantages possessed by Burnley Abbey.

“I’m sure you can hire someone, Mrs. Hill. A maid and a cook,” Ralph replied.

The housekeeper, who was a young woman, dressed in a blue dress with a lace collar, her black hair tied into a bob, looked somewhat perturbed.

“But it’s difficult, Your Grace – maids and cooks don’t like to be out here in such a remote setting. They can’t go home on their day off, and…” she began, but Ralph was not interested in the practicalities.

“Pay them double the going rate. It’s no trouble to me. But I intend to take this house, Mrs. Hill, and that’s that,” Ralph replied.

“As you wish, Your Grace,” the housekeeper replied, nodding to Ralph, who made his own tour of the house, investigating the rooms, and feeling thankful to have found a place he could be alone.

Burnley Abbey had become oppressive, and whilst he knew he was shirking his responsibilities, the burden of his title had become too much. He needed time to grieve for his brother, and to come to terms with the new life he now had.

“Will you stay here tonight, Your Grace?” Mrs. Hill asked, when Ralph returned to the hallway.

“Yes, I’ll write to the agent tomorrow and take the house immediately. But I want you to promise me one thing, Mrs. Hill – no one can know I’m here,” Ralph said.

He feared reprisal for his flight. Connor would be looking for him, and whilst he had not fled out of the county, he had come far enough from Burnley Abbey not to be known. Briar Heights, in its splendid isolation, was the perfect place in which to hide. He would be found eventually, he knew that, but for now, the remote house on the moor represented a sanctuary, one he wished to maintain.

“Very good, Your Grace. I’ll make up a room for you, and when you write to the agent tomorrow, we can send word with Jackson, and advertise for a cook and a maid. It’s a long time since anyone made their home at Briar Heights,” she said, shaking her head.

The whole house was covered in dust sheets, and Ralph now began to remove them, revealing ancient pieces of furniture, and raising clouds of dust into the air. He opened the nearest window, coughing and spluttering as he rubbed his eyes.

“I’m sure we can make it habitable again, Mrs. Hill,” he said, turning to the housekeeper with a smile.

“I’ll do my best, Your Grace,” she replied, shaking her head, as though she considered the duke to be quite mad.

* * *

“Gone? What do you mean he’s gone?” Mrs. Mason exclaimed, after Connor had explained to her the details of the duke’s letter.

“I mean just that, Mrs. Mason. He’s left. I don’t know where he’s gone, but he’s gone,” Connor replied.

The housekeeper shook her head in astonishment, throwing up her hands in frustration.

“And does that mean he’s gone with her? The little… She seduced him, didn’t she?” the housekeeper said.

Connor smiled.

“Don’t be so hard on the girl, Mrs. Mason. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was he who seduced her. He had no cares, no responsibilities. He was going off to war. What did it matter if he left a maid behind him with a child? Second sons can do that. It can be hushed up. But he didn’t expect to come back as the duke, now, did he?” Connor replied.

He had decided to enjoy the moment of Ralph’s humiliation. The secret of his flight could not be kept hidden. All the servants would soon realize their master was gone, and it would be impossible to prevent them from connecting the duke’s disappearance with that of Teresa’s. There had been rumors as to her being with child, and whilst only Mrs. Mason had known of it for certain, the others would surely guess as to a link between Teresa and Ralph. It was all playing out rather well for Connor, even as he would make a pretense to the opposite.

“No, Mr. Edge, he didn’t. I can’t believe it – eloping with a maid. And not just for marriage, but…oh, I can hardly bear to think of it. And what about the Dowager? What’s she going to say when she hears of this? If we’re not careful, she’ll hear of it in a drawing room – she the object of pity and ridicule,” Mrs. Mason said, holding her hands to her face in horror.

“Your devotion to the Dowager is most touching, Mrs. Mason. But it’s the Duke we need to think about. If he can be found, the scandal can be averted. Have we any idea where he might be?” Connor replied.

He did not necessarily wish Ralph to return to Burnley Abbey immediately, but he knew he must be seen to be doing something, if only for the sake of appearances. The duke’s return would only complicate matters, and he would be forced to confront the truth as to the scandal of a baby born out of wedlock.

“I don’t know. There are houses on the estate, I suppose. But he’d be easily found there. Perhaps he’s gone to London. A couple can live in sin there and no one would notice,” Mrs. Mason replied.

“I’ll begin to make enquiries. For now, speak only as necessary, and see if any of the servants might know the whereabouts of Teresa. If we can find her, I’m certain we’ll find the Duke, too,” Connor replied, smiling to himself at thought of how foolish Ralph had been.

Chapter 4

“But what do you mean it’s all gone?” Miriam exclaimed, staring at her mother in disbelief.

“I mean what I said, Miriam. Your father’s wealth…it’s gone. We’ve known for some time, but your father promised it would be all right. It seems now, it won’t be,” the baroness said, promptly bursting into tears.

Miriam and her sister were sitting opposite her in the morning room, having been summoned there after breakfast. Their father had gone out – a desperate last attempt at raising funds. He had business interests on the continent, but recent conflicts with the French had brought them to an end, and his fortune had been swallowed up in failed trades and futile ventures. The money was gone, and Podmore Grange, its contents, and all the family owned would be sold. They were poor – as poor as the servants who had, that very morning, been dismissed.

“But it can’t all be gone. Didn’t he keep reserves? Didn’t he have something to fall back on?” Clare asked, but their mother shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Clare. We should’ve told you all this much earlier. But I didn’t want to upset you,” the baroness replied.

She was a handsome woman, tall and elegant, with long, auburn hair like that of her daughters. But her face was sad and weary, and the sparkle in her eyes was gone. She was no longer the mother they had once known, but serious and anxious.

“I knew something was wrong. Before Grace’s wedding, I knew. You were different, both of you,” Miriam said.

She loved her parents dearly, and Podmore Grange had always been the happiest of homes. But lately, her parents had seemed distant, wrapped up in their own affairs. They had been arguing, and Miriam had heard her mother crying in the morning room, and in the evenings in her bedchamber.

“That’s the reason why, Miriam. We’ve been trying desperately to make things better, but to no avail. Things are going to be very different from now on,” her mother said, looking forlornly at her.

Miriam glanced at her sister. Clare was crying, and Miriam put her arm around her, trying to comfort her.

“It’s all right, Clare. We’ll manage. We’ll get through this, and I’m sure father has a plan,” she said, wanting to sound optimistic, even as she felt far from so.

All familiarity was slipping away. Podmore Grange, and the happy life she had enjoyed there, was all Miriam had ever known. She had expected it to continue, and now it was being snatched cruelly away. Her mother was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, and now she rose to her feet with a sigh.

“We need to begin making preparations. We’ll live in rooms at the top of the house for now, and once we’ve sold, we’ll find somewhere smaller to live,” she said.

Miriam looked up at her in desperation. Was there nothing they could do?

“But what then? How will we live?” Miriam asked.

Her mother looked at her fearfully.

“We must hope your father manages some means of investment. In the meantime, we must do what we can. We could take in mending, or…something like that,” she said, her voice vague and uncertain.

It was terrifying. Everything familiar was gone, and now another terrible thought crossed Miriam’s mind.

“What about the horses, Mother? What about Scarlet and Flash?” she asked, glancing at Clare, whose eyes grew wide and fearful.

Their mother shook her head sadly.

“I’m afraid they’ll have to go. We can’t keep horses when there isn’t enough money to put food on the table. Tears welled up in Miriam’s eyes. She had raised Scarlet from a foal, she was like a sister to her, as Flash was like a brother to Clare. She shook her head, determined to find a way to keep the horses, even as she knew the futility of her intention.

“I can’t let her go, Mother. I can’t,” she exclaimed, but her mother shook her head and sighed.

“We’ve all got to make sacrifices, Miriam. I’m sorry,” she said, and now she left the morning room, as Miriam and Clare put their arms around one another.

“Oh, it’s too awful. Why didn’t Father tell us anything before?” Clare asked.

“I don’t know. I suppose he didn’t want to worry us. I’ll ring for some tea. One needs tea at a time like this,” Miriam said, rising to her feet and pulling the bell chord by the fireplace.

But as she did so, she realized the summons would bring no one running. The servants were gone. There was no money to pay them, and Miriam would no longer have a maid to bring her tea, or a butler to pour her wine at dinner. There would be no more parties, no more soirees, no more balls, or picnics on the lawn. From now on, they would fend for themselves, and no one would be there to help them.

“Perhaps we should make our own tea,” Clare said, as the realization seemed to occur to her, too.

Miriam nodded.

“It’s all going to be very different from now,” she replied.

* * *

“There now, boiled eggs, buttered bread, and a pot of jam, with tea,” Miriam said, setting down the evening meal on the small table in the upstairs room of Podmore Grange, now serving as a dining room and drawing room combined.

Miriam had boiled the eggs in a pan on the grate, and she had found the jam in the pantry downstairs. The bread had come from the bakery, to which she and Clare had walked earlier in the day, and she felt proud at having provided a meal for the family, albeit in their now vastly reduced circumstances.

“Thank you, Miriam,” her father said, helping himself to a boiled egg and a slice of bread.

The baron had aged considerably in the past few months. His hair had gone gray, and his brow furrowed. He had always been such a cheerful character, doting on his daughters, and Miriam in particular. But that cheer was gone, replaced by the look of a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“You’ve done very well, Miriam. You’ve learned a great deal in these past few weeks – how to cook, to clean, to make the beds. Everything necessary, in fact,” her mother said, giving a weak smile.

“It’s not that difficult, really, it isn’t,” Miriam said, helping herself to a slice of bread and butter.

Had it been a game, she would rather have enjoyed her attempts at cookery, and keeping the rooms they now occupied neat and tidy. But it was not a game, rather, it was a practical necessity, one Miriam had been forced to undertake in their newly reduced circumstances. She did not enjoy it, even as she knew it was necessary.

“But we can’t live like this forever, can we?” Clare said, glancing around her at the shabby room, they now called home.

Selling Podmore Grange was proving difficult, and without servants, the house was falling into disrepair. The rooms they inhabited – what had once been the housekeeper’s bedroom and sitting room, were barely adequate for their needs. The shabby furniture, small heart, and narrow windows were a far cry from the lower rooms, with their opulent furnishings, and large windows looking out over the gardens. To be reduced to such circumstances was a humiliation, and they had already endured the “sympathies” of several well-meaning women who had called on them to offer their condolences. It was as though a close relative had died, and whilst tea and sympathy was welcome, little by way of practical help was forthcoming.

“I’ve heard of women taking jobs,” one of the well-meaning visitors had said, and Miriam had watched as her mother’s face had turned ashen.

But the thought of taking employment was not as far-fetched as it might have seemed. Indeed, it would soon become a necessity. Despite her father’s title, and the trappings of their class, the family were poor. They were poorer than any of their neighbors, and even the farmers roundabouts, and the tradesmen in the village, now had more wealth than they.

“We’ll manage,” their mother said, peeling the shell from a hardboiled egg.

“We met one of the maids in the bakery today,” Miriam said, knowing she was about to cause her mother an upset.

“Oh, yes, has she found a new position without too much trouble? I told them I’d give good references to them all,” the baroness replied.

“She’s still looking, but she said she’d heard tell of a position at Briar Heights. The house on the moorland. Someone’s taken it, and they need servants – a maid and a cook. She said she wouldn’t dream of going there. It’s far too remote, but I…” Miriam began, her mother interrupting her before she could finish speaking.

“That’s quite right. It’s far too remote for anyone. I wonder who could possibly have taken it. No sensible person, that’s for certain,” her mother said, tutting and shaking her head.

Miriam had never been to Briar Heights, but she had heard of it – a remote hunting lodge lying far out on the moorland in a narrow valley, surrounded by woodland. It was approached by a bridleway, treacherous in winter, and a long, hot walk in the summer. It had laid empty for years, and Miriam, too, had been surprised by their former maid’s news of it having been let.

“You wouldn’t catch me going there to work, not for anything. I’d be scared in such a place. They could pay me double the wages, and it still wouldn’t be enough,” she had said, when Miriam and Clare had met her in the bakery.

But the remoteness of Briar Heights had not perturbed Miriam from showing an interest, and as it turned out, the rate of pay was double that of any other jobs nearby. Miriam was a quick learner, and she was already doing the job of a maid at Podmore Grange. There was no reason for her not to do it at Briar Heights, for she knew she had to do something to support her family in this time of trouble.

“I’m going to walk out there tomorrow and offer my services,” Miriam said.

Her mother stared at her in astonishment, and her father spluttered into his tea.

“Miriam…you can’t, what nonsense. No, I won’t hear of it,” her mother replied, shaking her head.

“Miriam, times aren’t so desperate as to necessitate such a thing,” the baron said, but Miriam was adamant.

They had been reduced to living in two rooms of their former home. The money was gone. There was no fortune, and no prospect of its return. They were destitute, and if Miriam did not get a job – however lowly – their circumstances would only be further reduced.

“But we are desperate, Father. They’re going to pay twice the rate for a maid. I can send home all my wages to you and Mother. Why won’t you let me? Clare can manage here, and I’ll come back when I can. I’m not afraid of hard work,” she said, feeling determined to have her way.

Her parents glanced at one another, shaking their heads as though in despair.

“Oh, what are we reduced to? Our own daughter taking the job of a maid. It’s too dreadful,” the baroness exclaimed.

“But I want to, Mother. I want to help. I can’t sit here idly and watch you and father suffer,” Miriam said.

Her mind was made up, and it would not be changed. Reluctantly – and knowing they had no choice in the matter – her parents agreed, and the next day, Miriam found herself on the way to Briar Heights, riding Scarlet, whose fate still hung in the balance.

* * *

“What a lonely place this is,” Miriam thought to herself, as she rode along the bridleway towards Briar Heights.

It was the height of summer, and yet the moor possessed a lonely foreboding, and Miriam could only imagine it bleakness in the depths of winter. Briar Heights lay in a valley, its rooftops barely visible above the trees, and was approached by a rocky path, which crossed a gushing stream at a ford, before winding its way to a courtyard at the front of the house. The house itself was small, made up of only two wings, no larger than a farmhouse, with narrow windows, and a partially thatched roof. Smoke was coming from the chimneys, and as Miriam clambered down from Scarlet’s back the front door opened, and a woman in a white pinafore and black dress appeared, her hair tied into a bob.

“Can I help you, miss?” she asked.

“I’ve come about the position of maid,” Miriam replied.

The woman looked surprised, though Miriam was uncertain whether her surprise lay in the fact of Miriam herself or her enquiry. The matter was soon settled.

“We’ve had no response. Few women are prepared to work in such a lonely place. Can you cook, too? We’ve no cook, either,” she said.

Miriam was not averse to exaggerating her abilities, and she nodded, believing she could soon learn to make whatever dishes were required.

“I can, yes,” Miriam replied, tethering Scarlet to a hitching post, before making her way up the steps to the door.

The woman – whom Miriam assumed was the housekeeper – looked her up and down.

“You’re rather smartly dressed for a maid,” she said, and Miriam blushed.

“I… I need a job, Mrs…?” she said, and the woman nodded.

“Mrs. Hill. I’m the housekeeper here. And since we’ve had few other responses to our search for a maid or a cook, I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. You’ve ridden all this way, after all. Come in. You can have something to eat, then get started,” she said, ushering Miriam inside.

“I was surprised when I heard the house was let,” Miriam said, taking off her bonnet, and looking around the hallway with interest.

It was a dark, wood paneled room, the ancient furniture – a dresser, table, chairs, and a snug by the fire – all made of seasoned oak. Stairs led up to a narrow landing above, and the pokey windows let in only a tiny amount of light through the thick walls.

“No more surprised than I was when His Grace arrived,” Mrs. Hill replied.

“His Grace?” Miriam said, looking at the housekeeper in surprise.

She had expected the house to be let to an eccentric gentleman – the sort of man who wrote books on obscure topics and wanted a place of peace and quiet in which to work.

“The Duke of Lancaster. But it’s a secret, mind you. You’re not to tell anyone the name of your employer. Do you understand?” The housekeeper replied, raising her eyebrows and fixing Miriam with a look of warning.

Miriam knew of the Duke of Lancaster – of course, she did. He was one of the largest landowners in the county, and the news of the former duke’s death had been in every periodical, and the talk of every drawing room between Lancaster and York. But she was surprised to hear the new duke had taken Briar Heights, a house so remote, he could not expect to conduct the business of a dukedom from its confines.

“Why is it a secret? Hasn’t he the right to go where he pleases?” Miriam replied.

The housekeeper narrowed her eyes.

“Maids don’t answer back. If you want this job, so be it. We’ve had precious few other enquiries. Ask no questions and you’ll be told no lies,” Mrs. Hill said, and it seemed the matter was closed.

Miriam was not used to being spoken to like this, but she knew her circumstances had changed dramatically, and she could not be choosy as to where she worked and what she did. She was willing to put up with the strange arrangements, and keep the duke’s secret, knowing she would be helping her parents in sending home her wages.

“I’m…sorry, I was just curious, that’s all. And is anyone else here?” Miriam asked.

“Old Jackson works in the garden – what little there is, and there’s another maid, Teresa. You’ll…well, you’ll see. Now come down to the kitchen, you can have some soup, and then get started. A maid’s work is never done, rather like a housekeeper’s,” Mrs. Hill said, and she led Miriam down a narrow flight of stairs to a kitchen, where a fire burned in the range, and a well-scrubbed table was laden with vegetables from the garden.

“What a different life this is going to be,” Miriam thought to herself, as she sat down at the table.

But she was determined to do her best, and despite the strangeness of her new circumstances, Miriam was glad to be doing something to help her family.

“You can start with the brass,” Mrs. Hill said, when Miriam had finished eating her soup, and having never polished anything

 

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