Page 1 of A Dream of Redemption
Prologue
LONDON,ENGLAND, 1815
Helen barely waited for the door to the Duke of Lyttleton’s London residence to open before racing inside and up the stairs to her sister’s bedchamber. It had been over six weeks since Marisa had been wounded up north, resulting in a lifesaving operation. Finally, to Helen’s relief, her sister was well enough to come home. But Helen needed to see for herself that Marisa was recovered, and her heart pounded in her chest as she hurried up the stairs, sick with guilt at being unable to be there when Marisa had needed her.
At her sister’s bedchamber she slowed, her rollicking stomach easing when she heard voices and laughter from within. She leaned her head upon the door and said softly to herself, “Thank goodness.”
It was only as she made to open the door latch that she noticed a young man sitting on the floor a few paces down the corridor with his head in his hands. She moved slowly toward him and when he looked her way all she saw were silver gray eyes filled with fear and sorrow.
She did not know the gentleman. His garments were made from quality fabric but looked a little out of place in this house. The clothes were made with lots of lace and finery, all quite feminine in nature. He had very curly hair, ringlets almost, and from a distance he might be mistaken for a boy, but when he looked her way his face was all man. Chiseled cheeks, refined nose, proud chin.
Her pulse leapt at the sight of him. “Handsome” was too tame a word. He was a young Adonis statue come to life. For one fleeting moment his beauty made her forget her injured sister lying in the bedchamber behind her. She blinked a few times.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I will be fine if Her Grace is well. Is she…will she be all right?” he asked, his voice soft but deep with emotion.
Helen’s heart rate had slowed, given what she’d heard through the door. “I shall go and see, but I hear laughter from within her room so I suspect she is well on the road to recovery. May I tell her you were asking after her?”
He shook his head as he levered himself up off the floor. “I am of no importance. Do not trouble her.”
How odd. No importance, but he kept vigil outside her room. “Are you a relative of His Grace?” she asked. “How rude of me. I’m Lady Helen, Marisa’s sister,” and she offered the young man her hand.
He stood looking at her as if she had two heads. Finally he stepped forward and hesitantly took her gloved hand, bowing low, still not giving her his name before he quickly let go and stepped back.
“I should not be here. If you could let me know Her Grace’s condition on your way out I would be forever grateful.”
“I cannot.”
“Of course you can’t, how improper of me to ask.”
As he made to turn away she grabbed his arm on instinct, and they both jumped at the contact. She quickly removed her hand as bolts of tingles shot through her. He too looked shocked. “I merely meant I don’t know your name so I do not know whom to ask for, in order to update you on Her Grace’s condition.”
He drew himself up to his full height and she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. It was only then that she noticed he looked to be around her age, ten and eight, yet his manner and worldly wise eyes had originally made her think he was much older than she.
“Clarence, my lady. If you give the message to Brunton, he will see that I receive it.”
She nodded. On her departure she would find the butler and give him an update. The stranger took one final look at her as if studying a painting and turned and walked toward the back stairs.
Helen watched until he was out of sight and only then did she notice how fast her chest rose and fell. How odd. Not even Lord Hadley Fullerton had made her as unsettled as this young man did, and she’d been hopelessly in love with her brother’s best friend since she’d been a young girl.
Who was he? Why was he sitting outside her sister’s door?
Clarence was probably another young man fallen under Marisa’s spell, but her sister had recently married the Duke of Lyttleton. He was a man unlikely to take kindly to those who would be overfamiliar with his wife.
She could understand why Clarence had fallen. Everyone loved Marisa. She had a personality that lit up any room and a face that could rival Helen of Troy. How ironic that she was the one her parents had named Helen. The quiet little bookworm was very different from her vivacious sister.
Brunton, Maitland’s butler, would know who this young man was. He must be someone of importance to be staying in the house.
She pushed her unsettling feelings aside as she entered Marisa’s room. A wave of relief turned to waves of joy as she saw Marisa was up and sitting in a chair by the fire.
Helen raced to her sister’s side and embraced her. “You had me so worried.”
“I’m fully recovered, only Maitland is being overprotective and insists I stay in my room for a few days.”
Helen glanced across at her brother-in-law. Maitland looked as if he’d aged ten years. She’d worried her sister’s marriage might have been a mistake but the love in Maitland’s eyes was not in doubt.
She did not visit long as she could see Marisa was tiring. As she rose to leave she suddenly remembered Clarence. “By the way. There was a young man, Clarence, sitting in the corridor outside your room quite distraught at the idea you were unwell. Who is he?”
