Page 1 of The Mistress (Foxgloves #1)

AMELIA

1808, COVENTRY, ENGLAND

C lutching the fresh bouquet of foxgloves in her hand, Amelia knocked gently on the aged wooden door with her other. Upon hearing the soft permission to enter, she pushed it open and spotted her sister upright in bed, pulling her sniffling pink nose out of her latest novel.

“I’m off,” Amelia told her. “Is there anything you need from the Estate?”

Lydia, five years Amelia’s junior, answered, “Another novel. I’m just about finished with this one, and Thomas should be able to pick one I haven’t read yet.” She turned back to the near finished tome in her hand. “And do tell Thomas to stop his worrying. I’m perfectly fine. He’s been fussing so much, one would think I was on my deathbed.”

Amelia fought her smile. “He worries because he cares,” she offered.

Lydia turned her beautiful face, so like her sister’s, back to her. They both shared the same heart shaped faces, but Lydia was softer, lighter, her face slightly rounder. And with her golden hair, blue eyes, and high, sweet voice, she possessed an angelic quality to her features that Amelia did not.

“He cares about you, too, but he doesn’t lose his mind when you get sick,” she countered irritably.

Amelia almost let her laugh out. Lydia was correct, of course. Yes, Thomas cared about Amelia. And yes, he worried more for Lydia. But it wasn’t Amelia’s place to state the obvious. Not today, at least.

Thomas Colbrook, the Earl of Coventry, was more their family than anything else. His father had been close friends with Amelia and Lydia’s father, John Becham. When the late earl died suddenly in a hunting accident mere weeks after Thomas was born, John vowed the new little earl would never feel the loss of a father so long as he lived. A sentiment made all the stronger as the years passed and he sired no son of his own.

Shortly after Thomas’s birth, Amelia was born. The two grew up side by side and could not have been more brother and sister had they, in fact, shared the same blood. The Dowager Countess of Coventry was a kind woman, and she loved and welcomed Amelia like her own daughter. Five years later, when Amelia’s mother died bringing Lydia into the world, Adelaide Colbrook showered even more love on the girls, filling in the space of mother, and raised them to be proper ladies. She died, however, when Amelia was only fifteen and before she could launch either girl into Society as she had wanted. John, for his part, didn’t participate in the workings of the ton . He taught all three children the value of hard work and independence. And both parents instilled in them the value of family, in all its shapes and sizes, and loving each other deeply.

Lydia’s birth didn’t just inspire tenderness from the adults, though. Thomas and Amelia, six and five at the time, respectively, felt a profound protectiveness for the tiniest thing they’d ever seen in their short lives. One who had come into the world with such sadness. They smothered her from the start, and while the girls became proper sisters as Lydia grew, Thomas and Lydia never quite became siblings. Their relationship turned into another kind of love. One they had yet to acknowledge or declare, but one everyone else could see plain as day.

Adults now twenty years later, all parents having passed away, the trio remained close as ever. Thomas visited the cottage multiple times a week, and the ladies visited the Coventry Estate just as regularly. They would come and go from each home as easily as if they belonged to both, which, of course, they did. But one tradition that had established itself at the care of John and Adelaide was a weekly formal dinner. Their parents began this tradition when Lydia was still barely a babe as a way to instill the importance of regularly pausing with their family.

It was to this dinner Amelia was departing, leaving a sick Lydia at home. She decided to ignore Lydia’s comment on how differently Thomas fussed over each sister and replied instead, “I’ll be sure to bring you a book.”

Lydia rolled her eyes but thanked her, and Amelia’s smile broke through as she closed the bedroom door, shaking her head.

Amelia made her way downstairs and out the front door of their old, perfectly maintained cottage. Both the homey interior and stone exterior were cozy and welcoming, and the garden that grew along the front of their home added life and vibrancy to the whole structure. Walking past it, she climbed on to the front of the ridiculous carriage Thomas insisted they use when he assumed responsibility for their household after John’s passing. Both women had protested it was completely unnecessary with the Estate being less than a ten minute walk from the cottage, but he had not been swayed.

She sat down next to Walters, their butler and all-around house man, rather than riding in the carriage by herself. He and Mrs. Nichols, their housekeeper and cook, were the full of their little household and had been with the Bechams since they were little girls. They didn’t need more than them as all three kids rolled up their own sleeves whenever needed.

“How is Miss Lydia doing?” Walters asked in his old gruff voice, moving the carriage forward.

“Better,” Amelia answered. “I’m sure she’ll be back to normal in the next few days. She’s complaining, though, about Thomas’s excessive concern.” Amelia looked over to see Walters chuckling, matching her own amusement.

“Those two,” he agreed. “When they’ll finally get their heads out of the sand, we have yet to see. Going on ten years waiting for them.”

“Ten years?” Amelia repeated, a bit shocked. “Lydia was ten, Walters.”

“Believe me, we all saw it then. Maybe it was too soon, yes, and they didn’t know, but we did. She just had a bit of growing up to do. So did the little earl. We thought when she was fifteen, they’d figure it out, but still nothing, and now she’s twenty,” he shook his head in disappointment.

“I intend to force their hand this year. It’s been long enough. I’ll give them a few more months before I finally let the secret out,” Amelia shared her plan.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Walters scolded. “Mind your own affairs, Miss Amelia. Let them build their own story.”

“Hmm,” Amelia replied noncommittally. Walters understood, of course, and pursed his lips at her stubbornness.

They arrived at the large and regal Coventry Estate, and Amelia bid Walters goodbye. She made her way up the stone front steps, letting herself in. Hughes, the Coventry Estate butler, never observed protocol with the Bechams as they had practically grown up at the Estate. She knew Thomas would be waiting in the drawing room for the Becham ladies to arrive, so she made her way there without delay. Crossing through the luxurious entry hall, her steps light atop the extravagant rug, all was as it should be until she opened the door to the drawing room.

Light from the setting sun still peeked through the large windows across from the door, making the creams, pale colors, and light golds of the tastefully decorated room seem brighter. She found Thomas standing up from the pale, intricately embroidered couch facing the fireplace.

But he wasn’t the only one.

In the matching armchair beside him, facing her head on, was the most beautiful man Amelia had ever seen gracefully rising to his feet. He was tall, well-built, and broad shouldered under his clearly expensive clothing. His dark hair fell in short, loose waves around a tanned face. She was immediately riveted to that face, admiring the sharp cut of exquisite cheekbones, a straight nose, and chiseled jawline. His harsh masculinity stole her breath away and made her palms start to sweat where she still held the gold doorknob. His thin lips were surrounded by the light hints of a beard, like he hadn’t shaved in a day or two. Amelia couldn’t explain why her mouth watered at the sight.

His severe beauty registered, but then she met his almond shaped eyes. Bright green emeralds captivated and tore through her, cataloguing each reaction she had and more. Her heart began beating wildly in answer, as if it wanted to reach him. She found herself unable to pull her gaze away from those eyes that saw straight through to her soul before even bothering to pause at her face.

“Ah, Amelia,” she was barely aware of Thomas speaking. “Come meet Gideon Edwards.”

Gideon .

“The Duke of Birmingham.”

That caught Amelia’s attention. Her eyes snapped to Thomas. His perpetually cheerful face, with blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and a forever smile, suggested he hadn’t noticed Amelia’s raging reaction to his companion.

She looked back at the starkly handsome man, whose face remained politely impassive but eyes gleamed at her knowingly. And she swore she felt those eyes like a tether wrap around her, pulling her, binding her directly to him. A duke .