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It was raining again. Felicity Andrews shivered inside her heavy cloak. Ever since she’d boarded the ship in Boston Harbor, the skies had been weeping. But here in England it seemed an icy, bitter downpour that seeped through to her very bones.

The journey had been long and difficult, and she felt weary beyond belief. But the letter from Lord Falcon, her father’s oldest and dearest friend, had left her little choice. Though it had been an invitation, it seemed more a summons. He bade his friend Rob to come quickly—before it was too late.

She mulled over the carefully worded letter, as she had many times since its arrival. Oliver, Lord Falcon, had hinted at something dark and mysterious. Something too painful for him to put into words.

Felicity wondered what the old man would think when he discovered that his friend’s daughter had come in his stead.

Her head was still spinning from all the details she’d been forced to see to. Selling her furniture. Cataloging all her father’s books and letters. By far the most difficult had been letting go of the flat she’d shared with her father before his death. A flat that held a lifetime of memories.

What now, she wondered, now that she’d cut herself adrift from the only life she’d ever known, in Boston, and was about to embark on a life of uncertainty in a foreign land?

She wouldn’t think of that. She would think only about the end of this tedious journey.

The thought of a hot meal and a cozy bed lifted her spirits.

Despite her best intentions, her lids fluttered while she fantasized about the things she would see while she was here in England. The wild, rocky countryside. The small, picturesque villages. The lovely people her father had always spoken so kindly about…

The coach, racing across the windswept moors, suddenly rocked and swayed, jolting her into wakefulness, causing her to reach out a hand to steady herself. Felicity glanced out the small window. Her heart almost stopped.

Through the swirling mist she could make out a horse and a cloaked rider, on a collision course with her coach.

As she watched, a jagged flash of lightning sliced the darkness, illuminating the rider’s handsome, brooding features.

Though it was but a single moment, Felicity felt as though the face had been seared into her soul.

He had coal-black hair, tossed wildly by wind and rain; dark eyes, deep and fathomless, filled with an eternity of pain; a mouth twisted in anger, as though cursing the heavens.

Then darkness closed around him once more.

Thunder rumbled across the heavens with all the force of a cannon.

Jolted into action, Felicity rapped on the roof of the carriage, crying out a warning to the driver. But the sounds of the storm and the clatter of the coach’s wheels drowned out her voice.

She felt a moment of panic as she braced herself for impact.

Instead, the coach continued along its perilous course.

And in the next flash of lightning, she blinked in astonishment.

The rider had vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared.

The only sign of life was a falcon, its wings beating furiously against the buffeting winds.

She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her little cry of alarm. She must be more weary than she realized. Her mind was playing tricks. Annoyed at herself, she huddled in the corner of the coach until she heard a shout from the driver.

The pace of the carriage slowed perceptibly. As she peered out the window, the ancient towers of Falcon’s Lair loomed in the mist. Most of the castle was in darkness. Only a few candles, outlined in windows, flickered in welcome.

The coach halted at the foot of wide stone steps. The driver tossed Felicity’s trunks down to a waiting servant, then helped her to alight.

“Welcome to Falcon’s Lair, m’lady,” he called.

“Thank you.”

“And beware.” His voice lowered conspiratorially. “‘Tis said there are things “He looked up as the scowling servant stepped between them.

There was no time to ask what he’d meant to say. With wind and rain pummeling her, Felicity followed the servant up the stairs and inside the open double doors.

The doors clanged hollowly as they were pulled shut behind her. The servant disappeared without a word, and Felicity was left standing alone and shivering.

She had a quick impression of towering walls hung with ancient tapestries and a stone floor gleaming in the light of masses of candles. The scent of beeswax and a faint fragrance of woodsmoke lingered in the air.

At the sound of footsteps drawing near, she turned expectantly. The woman coming toward her was tall, broad of shoulder, and thick in the middle. She wore a shapeless dark gown and heavy shoes. Dark, graying hair was pulled back into a tidy knot.

The woman peered at her, apparently annoyed at this untimely distraction and said accusingly, “The master is asleep.”

“I’m sorry it’s so late. My name is Felicity Andrews. My father, Robert, was a dear friend to Lord Falcon.”

Felicity saw the slight widening of the woman’s eyes, the only indication that she recognized the name. “I am Maud Atherton, housekeeper at Falcon’s Lair.”

“How do you do?” Felicity offered her hand, but the woman merely stared at her in disdain. She realized that only an American would make such a gesture to a servant. Embarrassed, she lowered her hand and clenched it into a fist at her side.

“I was not told to expect you.” The woman made no attempt to smile. Her eyes, small and dark, peered from behind thick spectacles.

“There was no time to write Lord Falcon of the news of my father’s death. I simply booked passage, trusting that Lord Falcon’s friendship would extend to Robert Andrews’ daughter as well.”

The housekeeper’s eyes narrowed in distrust. She turned to a hovering servant. “It is too late to wake the mistress. Take the lady’s bags to the east room and see that a fire is laid quickly.” To Felicity she said sternly, “Follow me.”

They passed through a long, dimly lit hallway where candles sputtered in pools of wax, casting grotesque shadows on the walls and ceilings.

Felicity glanced up at the gargoyles glaring down from their perches along the gallery and found herself wondering at the prickly feeling along her spine. She felt as if she were being watched.

After climbing wide, curving stairs to the second floor, the housekeeper continued on to the third floor, holding her candle aloft as she led the way along a narrow, darkened hallway.

“This will have to do.” She entered a small, cramped room and set the candle on a chest beside a bed.

Across the room a servant huddled before a fireplace, coaxing a thin flame to life on the hearth. Felicity’s trunk and valise had been deposited beneath a window.

“Have you eaten?” the housekeeper asked.

“Not for many hours.”

Maud Atherton seemed annoyed at having to attend to one more chore. “I’ll see that a meal is sent up. But it will have to be a cold one. Most of the servants have retired for the night.”

“If it’s too much bother…”

Without waiting for her to finish, the woman strode across the room and signaled for the servant to follow.

When the door closed behind them, Felicity dragged a chair close to the fire and sank down wearily. Drawing her cloak around her for warmth, she struggled to hold back her simmering temper.

Fool, she berated herself. Why had she jumped at Lord Falcon’s invitation without first weighing the consequences?

Because, another part of her mind replied, she had seen it as a chance to recover from the shock of her father’s death. She’d leaped at this opportunity to withdraw to a place of safety and nurse her wounds. But she hadn’t anticipated such a cold reception.

Oh, what in the world had she gotten herself into?

Felicity dozed until a loud knock on the door snapped her awake. For one dizzying moment she had no idea where she was. Then it all came rushing back to her. Falcon’s Lair. The drafty room. The surly servant.

“Supper, ma’am.” The girl was young, no more than twelve or thirteen, and looked as though she’d been yanked out of her bed. Hair flying. Clothes in disarray. Eyes heavy with sleep.

Felicity could sympathize. She’d been awakened as well, from a dream that was sweet and soothing. Now she was forced back to stark, unwelcome reality.

“My name is Felicity Andrews,” she said. “What’s yours?”

“Bean, ma’am.”

“Bean?”

The little waif shot her a beguiling smile. “My real name’s Beatrice Nim. Bea Nim, you see. But everybody calls me Bean.”

Felicity couldn’t help but grin. “Hello, Bean. I’m sorry you had to miss your sleep.”

“No matter, ma’am. With all the chores I do here at Falcon’s Lair, I’ll be asleep again quick as a fox.”

Felicity rubbed her stiff neck and watched as the maid placed a tray on the table before crossing the room to pile more logs on the fire. That finished, she bowed her way from the room and hurried away, presumably to her bed.

It was simple fare. Simple but satisfying. Several thick slices of hard-crusted bread. Slabs of cold roast beef. A hunk of cheese. A mug of tea. And a tankard of ale.

Felicity ate the first slice of bread smothered with meat and cheese quickly and washed it down with ale.

At once her spirits improved. Feeling warmer now, she removed her cloak and spread it before the fire to dry.

Then she ate the rest of the meal slowly, while she removed her shoes and stockings and wiggled her toes in contentment.

As the ale and food slowly built a layer of warmth in her stomach, she felt her fears evaporating.

A good night’s sleep was what she needed.

She sipped her tea. By morning the worst would be behind her, and she could begin to enjoy this adventure for what it was.

A chance to meet her father’s old friend.

An opportunity to see England. A glimpse of her father’s past and perhaps her own future.