It was a brief kiss, and considering her tears, not a particularly romantic one, but it was the first kiss they’d ever shared. And it was nothing at all like the kiss that a brother would give to his sister.

“Wait for me, Maggie,” Nicholas said. “I’ll find Gentleman Jim, and when I make my fortune, I’ll come back for you.” He held her gaze for what seemed like an eternity. “No matter how long it takes,” he vowed. “I will come back.”

Chapter One

London, England

Spring 1817

Margaret Honeywell sank back into the velvet cushions of her father’s traveling coach and closed her eyes. Last night had been spent at a rather inhospitable inn, the landlord of which had relegated her and her maid, Bessie, to a cramped bedchamber overlooking the stable yard, complete with a smoking fireplace, a lumpy mattress, and a door with a very unreliable lock. Between the noise, the discomfort, and the fear that they would be murdered in their beds, Maggie had hardly managed to sleep a wink.

“That’s right, Miss Margaret.” Bessie draped a carriage rug over Maggie’s lap, tucking it in all around her. “You close your eyes and rest.” She untied the ribbons of Maggie’s bonnet and lifted it from her head. “And don’t you fear dropping off to sleep neither, for there’s a good two hours before we arrive at Lord and Lady Trumble’s, and I’ll wake you in plenty of time to put you to rights.”

“You must rest too, Bessie,” Maggie murmured without opening her eyes. “You slept as little as I did last night.”

“Don’t you worry about me, miss.” Bessie settled her enormous bulk back into the seat across from Maggie. “A ten-minute nap, and I shall be as fresh as a nosegay.”

The rhythmic rattling of the coach lulled Maggie to sleep. When next she awoke, they were within the city limits of London.

Bessie was at the ready with the dressing case, and having once again moved to sit beside her, combed out Maggie’s curls and secured them with a few artfully placed hairpins. “Pinch your cheeks, Miss Margaret,” she commanded in the same brisk, no-nonsense tone she used when directing Maggie to drink a vitamin tonic or to eat an extra spoonful of restorative jelly. “I mayn’t be your nurse any longer, but I’ll not have it said that you lost your bloom under my care.”

Maggie dutifully pinched her cheeks, but when Bessie began forcefully tugging at her carriage gown in an attempt to straighten out the wrinkles, Maggie slapped her hands away. “Enough, Bessie! You’re making me as nervous as a cat with all of your fussing. Leave me be for now. It’s only Jane who will see me, and she’ll not mind my hair and gown.”