Page 1 of For a Lady's Fiery Heart
Prologue
April 1813
Lightning flashed against the dark wood panelling of the hallway, causing Caroline to jump. The flame of her candle flickered, sending a shiver up her spine. She had never liked storms, even as a child. Now that she was older, she tried to mask her fear. However, a part of her still reverted to the childhood terror of being alone in her room, listening to the thunder as it shook the walls of their home.
It had been a night much like tonight when they had been forced to leave their country estate over ten years before. It had grown too costly to run with the multitude of servants. With her father’s taste for spending more money than they had, it had been necessary for them to leave their country house.
It was the only home she had ever known, but they had been forced to leave in favour of smaller lodgings in London, with some help from her generous aunt.
Caroline hurried down the darkened hallway toward her room, carrying a cup of warmed milk. She had gone to the kitchen and requested the beverage in hopes that it would help her fall asleep, although she had little faith that it would work. As she neared the library, another flash of lightning illuminated the night sky, and she grimaced. She halted, and it was then she heard muted voices floating to her from within the room.
The door to the library stood ajar, and while she knew it was impolite of her to eavesdrop, she grew curious. She stepped over to one of the hall tables and set down her candle. She then approached the door and peeked through the crack to see her parents facing off in what looked like a very unpleasant conversation.
“I have told you repeatedly that this would happen, Bertram,” her mother said. “I warned you, but you never listen!” she hissed.
Her father waved her off.
“It is not as bad as all that, Adaline. I am sure something can be done.”
Her mother huffed, planting her hands on her hips. She was dressed in a nightgown, over which was a dressing gown of blue silk. Her hair was covered with a white linen nightcap, but it lay askew atop her head, no doubt from shaking her head back and forth at her husband.
“There is nothing else to be done, Bertram. The household bills are being called in, and we have no money to pay them! My sister refuses to help us any longer.”
She threw a stack of papers down on the coffee table between them, which Caroline surmised were the household accounts. Her heart fluttered. What would happen to them if they could not pay? She had heard stories of the workhouses. Few that went in ever came out of the awful places.
“Nonsense. She will not want to see her nieces starved. Or worse,” her father said. He was always so optimistic that things would turn out alright in the end. All the while, his family was left to worry. At the same time, he flitted through life, seemingly superior to the pressures his spendthrift nature placed on his loved ones. The problem was that he had a love of gambling, with no skill to turn a profit at the game.
“Perhaps it is time we reconsider the offer for her hand–?” his father whispered. Caroline’s heart nearly stopped. Had her father meant the proposal had come for Caroline or her younger sister, Grace? It seemed unlikely that it would be Grace, for even though she was fifteen and the right age to be coming out, her mother had decided to stall her coming out for one more year.
It was likely that their family did not have enough money to bring her younger sister out. She did not wait to hear where the conversation would go but burst into the room. Both her parents turned, looking shocked at the intrusion.
“What is this?” she asked, her anger rising.
Her father soon recovered from his shock and pasted a smile on his face. “Caroline! Whatever are you doing up at this hour?” he asked.
Caroline did not return his smile. “I could ask you the same,” she said. “What is this about an offer for my hand?” she asked.
Her father and mother exchanged glances, and he turned to her, holding his hands as if trying to calm a rabid dog. “Now, darling, come in and sit by the fire. We have just received an invitation from Lord Highclere. He will have a dinner party in a few days, and your mother and I were just discussing the details.”
Caroline felt her knees sway under her, and her father seemed to sense her unevenness. Why did he always lie to her to cover up what they were really discussing? It was as if he thought of her as a child still. Had she misunderstood what her parents were arguing about?
Her father took her by the elbow and led her to a chair. “Here, my darling. Sit down. You look as white as a sheet. I know that storms upset you. Here,” he said, directing her to a chair. She followed him as if floating through a vat of molasses.
Caroline glanced at her mother, whose lips had thinned to an almost invisible line. Her father captured her attention once more, kneeling in front of her. “You shall have a new gown for the occasion. Money is no object,” he promised, smiling a little too brightly. Caroline raised a brow, her mother’s angry scowl not lost on her. Her mother stood, giving a loud huff before she stormed out of the room. Caroline frowned.
“What is the matter, Papa?” She did not want to admit that she had been eavesdropping at the door, but she wanted to know just how bad things were. Obviously, money was of concern, or else her mother would not have been pleading with him a few short minutes ago.
He waved her off, standing. “Your mother worries too much. Something will turn up, you know. It always does,” he said. He went to the drink cart, uncorked a bottle of Scotch, and poured himself a glass.
“We are only a little short this month. But you should not have to worry about such things, my love. Now, off to bed with you. We shall talk about your new gown in the morning,” he said. He took a swig of the amber liquid, and Caroline stood. She exited the room, retrieving her candle from the side table.
Even as she made her way back up the stairs to her bedroom, she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her father always looked on the bright side of things, and there was the part she had overheard about an offer of marriage.
She soon reached her room but decided not to blow out the candle and climb back into bed. Instead, she went to the writing desk and curled up in a blanket, watching as the rain trailed down the glass window panes. The room was slightly chilly, but she made no move to stoke the fire. She was too heartsick, wondering what her future would hold.
Chapter 1
James Deveroux, son of the great Lord Jeffrey Deveroux, entered the study with a subtle sigh, wondering what his father wanted this time. Perhapsgreatwas the wrong word to use. His father was undoubtedly feared among his peers in London, both at the House of Lords and at the gaming tables at the club.
