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Chapters (44)
  1. Table of Contents
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Chapter One
  6. Chapter Two
  7. Chapter Three
  8. Chapter Four
  9. Chapter Five
  10. Chapter Six
  11. Chapter Seven
  12. Chapter Eight
  13. Chapter Nine
  14. Chapter Ten
  15. Chapter Eleven
  16. Chapter Twelve
  17. Chapter Thirteen
  18. Chapter Fourteen
  19. Chapter Fifteen
  20. Chapter Sixteen
  21. Chapter Seventeen
  22. Chapter Eighteen
  23. Chapter Nineteen
  24. Chapter Twenty
  25. Chapter Twenty-One
  26. Chapter Twenty-Two
  27. Chapter Twenty-Three
  28. Chapter Twenty-Four
  29. Chapter Twenty-Five
  30. Chapter Twenty-Six
  31. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  32. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  33. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  34. Chapter Thirty
  35. Chapter Thirty-One
  36. Chapter Thirty-Two
  37. Chapter Thirty-Three
  38. Chapter Thirty-Four
  39. Chapter Thirty-Five
  40. Chapter Thirty-Six
  41. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  42. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  43. A word about the author...
  44. Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

She hesitated a moment too long. Hugh saw her and ran forward. For a moment, their eyes met and held. Philomena’s first glance at his dear face told her that he loved still her. If only she could hurry forward, reach the safety of his arms and remain there forever. The longing choked her. She must not give in. She clenched her fists until sharp nails dug into her flesh, then turned and fled, blinded by tears.

She shut herself into the cosy rented workroom and sobbed, unchecked. Hugh was here. He was in London. Her love was so near and yet so far away that despair overwhelmed her. Philomena closed calico curtains across the window and collapsed on her bed. The sight of Hugh had destroyed the tiny bubble of tranquillity she had constructed. Her broken heart, that had slowly begun to heal, ripped apart once more. Philomena knew beyond all doubt that without Hugh, life would never be more than a sad, desperate battle. She would find no peace.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Selena, pretty in her favourite shade of pink, descended the stairs to meet her brother. Hugh had agreed, just this once, to escort her with the Dowager to Miss Angelina Marchant’s ball, on the strict understanding that he would leave early to spend the remainder of the evening at his club.

Selena’s eyes shone with happiness. “Dear Hugh.” She slipped her hand through her brother’s arm. “We will have such a delightful time. Angelina will be so excited when she sees that I have actually persuaded Lord Thatcham to attend that she will introduce me to all the most attractive men.”

Hugh eyed her, frowning. “I think perhaps you need no more gentlemen to add to your tally.”

Selena had taken to the London Season like a duck to water. Hugh feared that such feverish enjoyment hovered dangerously close to behaviour that would allow the chaperones to label his sister as fast. Selena’s colour was a little high, her laughter shrill, and her eyes slightly too ready to lock onto those of the most dashing cavaliers. She laughed and Hugh shrugged. The Dowager would be present this evening. His mother’s eagle eye would surely allow no excessive flirting.

The ballroom was crammed. Hugh counted over three hundred guests squashed into every corner of the Marchant’s house. Tomorrow, he supposed, the guests would describe this Ball as “a dreadful squeeze”, affording it the highest possible compliment for such an evening.

An accomplished, if reluctant, dancer, Hugh circled the floor with a succession of over-excited young ladies. Their skirts, which grew wider at every ball, swished against each other as they waltzed sedately or, more daringly and certainly more energetically, danced the polka around the room. How soon could he make his escape?