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Sweet maid, the blushes on thy cheek

With innocence and beauty speak;

May love and joy attend thee still,

And every wish of thine fulfill.

The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)

EARLY AUGUST 1821, LONDON

“ A nd speaking of scandal, you will never believe who was seen sneaking out of Lord Uppington’s chambers at dawn—a certain countess!”

The Dowager Lady Harriet Slight arched her brows in response, her facial muscles shifting in polite reflex as Lady Cordelia Hammond prattled on about the latest on-dits .

They strolled along Piccadilly to shop, but Harriet was barely listening. She was feeling rather queasy—not to mention regretful—for having indulged in too many bottles of wine the night before. But it was all beyond the pale.

Last year, she had lost her paramour, Perry Balfour, to a country mouse named—of all things—Emma Davis. What a tritely provincial name! And the chit had matched it, being a tiny, frumpy thing from the countryside. Gauche. Clumsy.

Although, Harriet admitted, the girl did possess an impressive pair of diddeys. Which, at least, explained why Perry had abandoned her bed for the parson’s noose with that mousy hoyden.

Cordelia continued as if a rapt audience hung on her every word. “A respectable married lady, no less. Of course, she claims she was merely seeking advice on a family matter, but really! At that hour? And in a state of such disarray?”

Gadzooks, her fellow widow did talk. Fortunately, Harriet’s lingering inebriation made it easier to ignore the incessant chatter while she brooded over the events of the past two weeks.

Initially, she had sought revenge for Perry’s defection by welcoming his friend, Mr. Brendan Ridley, into her bed and had enjoyed a few months of his avid pursuit across Town.

It had restored her self-esteem to see the handsome heir to a baron enraptured by her, quite taking her mind off the humiliation of the year before.

Then, just as she was considering sending him on his way, another unsophisticated hoyden had appeared in her drawing room, demanding that Harriet provide Brendan with an alibi.

Her! An important viscountess! Expecting her to ruin herself to save Brendan from the gallows by testifying that he had been with her at the time of his father’s murder? It had been all she could do not to collapse into peals of laughter.

Nay, Brendan had got himself into trouble, and he could damn well get himself out of it.

Heroic rescues were the stuff of phantasy, and clearly, little Lily Abbott was nothing more than a deluded schoolgirl barely out of her short skirts if she imagined Harriet would leap onto a white horse to rescue a man she barely knew—then be forced into an unwanted marriage with a lowly baron to mitigate the ensuing gossip.

Only, the ridiculous girl had provided an alibi in Harriet’s stead, thoroughly ruining her own pristine reputation to marry Brendan in the resulting scandal and become the new Lady Filminster.

“If her husband hears of it, she might find herself exiled to the Highlands before the Season is through,” Cordelia continued, failing to notice that Harriet could not care a whit for her incessant tattling.

Were the gods mocking her? Was she to lose every future paramour to some dumpy, green girl? Harriet stretched her neck ever so slightly to relieve the tension. She was alluring, damn it! Incomparable! She could have any man of the upper classes merely by crooking her finger.

At that moment, just as they passed Hatchards, the door swung open, and indeed, the gods proved themselves fond of a jest—for out stepped Brendan Ridley and his prattling, small-breasted bride, deep in conversation, neither noticing that Harriet had stopped to consider them, bringing Cordelia to a sharp halt.

Lily Ridley, the new Baroness of Filminster, turned her head toward her husband, engrossed in their conversation, to trill a breathless question in his direction.

Brendan—who had, just weeks earlier, been at Harriet’s beck and call, utterly enthralled by her vivacious beauty—now did not even notice her standing three feet away, squarely in his line of sight?

It was not to be tolerated.

Harriet’s resentment ratcheted up, and she decided it was high time the newlyweds paid her some mind.

“Well, well. It is the scandalous Lily Ridley, if my eyes do not deceive.”

Silly Lily spun about, and Brendan found Harriet with a jolt of surprise.

Harriet drew her shoulders back in rigid pride, well aware that this posture lifted her breasts prominently.

The short chit who had caused all of Harriet’s recent botheration took an instinctive step backward, as if to avoid getting banged in the face by Harriet’s well-admired bosom.

Beside her, Cordelia was riveted, giggling coldly at Harriet’s coy remark.

Harriet welcomed the small surge of smugness. She was still a force to be reckoned with.

For a moment, little Lily appeared unsure how to respond. Then, her elfish face firmed into lines of determination.

“Oh, do you mean the scandalous night I spent with Lord Filminster while his father was being bludgeoned to death?”

Reaching out, Lily seized Brendan’s arm. He cooperated, stepping through the door and shutting it behind him before tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow.

“Or do you mean when I stepped forward to speak to the coroner in order to clear Lord Filminster’s name of those dreadful accusations of murder?”

Both Harriet and Cordelia drew back in wide-eyed horror at the girl’s unexpected temerity. Harriet had anticipated blushing, perhaps even suppressed tears—all of which would have served to alleviate the gnawing doubts plaguing her these past days. Not this.

“Or perhaps you mean our hasty marriage to protect my reputation?”

Lady Filminster paused, as if giving them a chance to answer, but no words were forthcoming. Harriet’s wits scrambled at this brazen conduct.

“Perhaps you mean when our footman attempted to abduct me and my husband bravely offered to take my place? Before our butler shot the man dead, of course.” The baroness tapped a finger to her lip as if thinking. “But, no, I think you must mean all of it.”

Settling the matter, Lady Filminster dropped her hand to gesture widely. “If I think about it, I must confess that I am. I am scandalous. Scandalously happy, that is!”

Harriet’s jaw hung open. The silly little chit who had confronted her not two weeks earlier was now transformed into a confident peeress.

Could it be love that had prompted such a change?

And was it true that Brendan had offered his own life in place of hers?

Thus, Harriet’s internal certainty that she enthralled the men in her circle began to crumble as she tried to think of even one who would risk life and limb to save her.

Her doubts rose once again, like the tide returning.

Steeling her nerves, Harriet reminded herself that the young woman had a talent for assaulting one’s senses with chatter, but her candor in the face of censure was … was … too damn provocative. How dare she flaunt her happiness so? This was not how ladies behaved in polite society.

Beside his wife, Brendan raised a hand to cover his mouth as he struggled not to burst out laughing. Lady Filminster herself appeared to be fighting the urge.

Turning to her husband, she lifted a hand to cup his neck. Tugging him down, she rose onto the tips of her toes.

Brendan dropped his hand from his mouth and leaned in, capturing her lips with his, more than willing to indulge his bride’s performance.

He deepened the kiss, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer, and the young baroness was crushed against his hard chest. When he lifted his head, genuine admiration and true affection were painted across his features, a silent declaration that Lord and Lady Filminster were deeply in love.

Harriet gasped at the public display. It was not fashionable to like one’s husband, let alone be seen enjoying his company, but the new baroness, apparently, did not care what others might think.

She was radiant with joy, the very image of a young woman who had achieved her dreams, and Harriet could not quell the vicious grip of envy at the sight of such unbridled happiness.

Lady Filminster dropped back onto her heels before turning to face the widow.

“Whomever it was that my husband was with before me, I am ever so grateful that they set him free … so that I could catch him.”

She tilted her chin in challenge, daring Harriet to speak. But Harriet could only open and close her mouth, grasping for a rebuttal to this brazen verbal assault.

And then—for just a moment—Harriet saw it. Pity.

It flashed in Lady Filminster’s chocolate-brown eyes, making Harriet’s mortification all the worse.

Releasing her husband, the baroness stepped forward and reached out, brushing the back of Harriet’s hand. Harriet flinched as if seared by a hot poker.

“I wish you the boundless joy of truly connecting with another person.”

The very ground shook beneath Harriet’s feet as, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, a door cracked open.

“Of opening your heart to another, and finding that you care more about them than your own self.”

The door yawned wider, even as Harriet fought frantically to slam it shut.

“I wish you a strong young husband and healthy children.”

Somehow, it would not yield, widening inexorably to reveal the memories she had long buried.

“And I wish you a long and full life filled with laughter, Lady Slight.”

The shell she had built over these many years shattered, and regret came spilling out, swirling around Harriet as the door now stood open, and she stared straight through.

A long-forgotten celebration of St. Valentine’s … a man gazing upon her with the same deep affection that Brendan had just displayed toward his bride, while in the present the horrid Lady Filminster cursed her with her cruel wishes of love, marriage, and progeny.

MEANWHILE IN FLORENCE