Richard Bradford, the youngest Earl in the country, was, at the tender age of 15 years old, at once the most pitied and envied creature alive. His mother died in childbirth six years ago, depriving him of a younger brother and a mother at the same time. And now, with the untimely passing of his father in a carriage accident, he was left holding the keys to a large fortune, titles and lands, and a seemingly endless amount of young misses, some barely out of their nurseries, being thrust upon him.

 

His sole friend and schoolmate, Master Thomas Norwick, prevailed upon his parents to let the lonely little lord stay with them at their country estate over the summer, and, having secured their approval, told his mourning friend that a trip out of Town would be healthy, and helpful in the effort "to better avoid the pearls being dropped at your feet". Richard agreed that getting out of the city was a priority. Not just because of the haunted feeling he had anytime he should leave his home, but because there were too many memories of his father still.

 

His father's solicitor took the news that the young Earl had little interest remaining in the city rather well. An older gentleman, and quite avuncular to young Richard, Mr. Brathers agreed that a little fresh air would do the lad some good and so made the arrangements with the housekeeper to keep everything running smoothly while the Earl was away.

 

Richard sulked his entire way to the Norwick's estate. He had loved his father and was quite sure, out of respect to the deceased man, that he would not laugh or smile again.

 

He had not counted on meeting Miss Veronica Norwick. She was a small bird, pretty but shrill. With her raven black hair streaming out behind her in the wind, she had waited at the end of the driveway and could be seen from a distance due to the bright yellow frock she wore. Like a canary caught in a windstorm, she danced around and jumped while she waited impatiently for her brother's carriage to stop in front of her. She had the door half open and she was vaulting herself inside before the footman had even had a chance to lower the stairs.

 

"Oh posh it, Tyler, I can manage," she grunted as she clambered inside, layers of lace and petticoat frothing about her ankles. She threw herself into her brother's arms with a cry of delight and hugged him tightly before realizing he wasn't alone in the box.

 

"Oh!" Cheeks pink with pleasure or embarrassment, he couldn't be sure, but she barely spared him a second glance so excited was she over Thomas' return.

 

"When mama told me you were coming home for the school holidays, I was beside myself!" Her voice was fast and high, like so many birds and Richard found himself slightly annoyed with her. She was obnoxious, he decided. Too loud and too quick and far too... Yellow!

 

His conscience scolded him for unfair judgments against a child, but he ignored it. Meanwhile, Thomas was indulging his sister with the tales of their travels. The funny old man with a limp at the inn last night, the weather and road conditions; she absorbed it all and seemed to shake with delight at every word.  She was tiny, but Richard felt crowded by her. Her energy took up too much space, he decided. She was too vibrant, too bright, her dress hurt his eyes. So instead he focused on her hair, the only dark thing about her. It was glossy and black, like a raven's wing, and long, he noted, it fell well past her shoulders. That's when he realized that he'd never seen a woman's hair let loose before. He corrected himself mentally. She was no woman, she was a girl, practically a baby, she couldn't be more than 12 years of age. Far too young for him to notice that her shoulders were softly rounded and evenly spaced or that her lips, which trembled and glistened when she smiled at her brother, we're soft and pink.

 

Richard looked away. She was obnoxious, he reminded himself. An annoying, pretty, loud little child!

 

He didn't see much of Veronica Norwick that summer. That is to say, she did not make her presence known, though he saw her quite a bit, often with one of her dazzling blue eyes peering around a corner or from behind a plant. She was an expert at avoiding her lessons and hid quite frequently. She was wild, Thom explained, but good hearted. It was clear that he loved his sister, which made Bradford jealous and sad at the same time. He was an only child and with both his parents gone, he would never know what it was like to have siblings of his own.

 

"You can always borrow Ronnie," Thom joked when Richard mentioned this to him two nights before they were to return to school. They had swiped some of Lord Norwick's brandy from the study. They were both a little drunk, and hiding in the empty schoolroom had seemed like the perfect place to share secrets and maybe come across a lost maid or two.

 

They were fifteen and stupid, and enjoyed all their pursuits regardless of the trouble they might get in to.

 

When Richard awoke the next morning, it was to find the brightest pair of blue eyes he'd ever seen watching him from above. He had fallen asleep on the schoolroom floor. Thom was nowhere to be seen, then he remembered. There had been a scullery maid, sleepy and blonde, and Thom had winked and given Richard the rest of the bottle and disappeared into the dark old house. Bradford hasn't had the head to find his way back to his rooms in the dark of night.

 

He must have passed out, and now he had Miss Veronica to contend with first thing. His head ached and all he wanted was a glass of water. His stomach churned and he vaguely wondered how he would manage to sit up on his own.

 

As if she'd heard his thoughts, the girl leaned forward and helped him sit up. A cool glass was pressed into his hand and he gulped down the refreshing elixir of water, tinged with just a hint of something. Crisp, fresh, it rinsed the foul taste from his mouth and he sighed gratefully.

 

"It's mint," she whispered, looking down at her hands, clenched in his lap, "it helps settle the stomach. Mama gets the headache a lot right now, and her stomach always rolls when she does, so we always have mint on hand."

 

"Thank you," Richard rasped, his throat dry. He gulped more of the minty water. "How did you know?"

 

"My nurse told mama it would help, so when I found you, and I saw what you'd been drinking, I figured you might try it," she was still whispering and he realized that it was out of respect for his headache. She was a sweet girl, he noted.

 

"Why don't you have any pants on?" She asked suddenly. Sweet, but curious. Wait, what had she -- Richard looked down. Sure enough, he was without pants. His breeches were draped across a table in the corner but his shirt, while wrinkled beyond belief barely managed to cover him appropriately.

 

"I, uh, I don't know," he admitted wryly, trying to think of a way to get to his pants without her seeing him half undressed. She blinked those big blue eyes at him innocently, but opened her mouth, ruining the illusion.

 

"Your thing is bigger than my brother's," she stated, "but I've only ever seen him by accident." Standing, she went to retrieve his pants for him.

 

"Miss Norwick," Richard didn't know what to say in a situation like this, and found himself sounding a bit too much like his father as a result, "this is not a discussion I'm willing to have with you."

 

She handed him his trousers and bit her lip.

 

"But I have so many questions!" Biting her lip had not stemmed the words that gushed forth. "Why does it stay small when you sleep but get big when you wake up? Does it grow, like hair? What happens when your courses come? Does it hurt if you knock it in to something?" Suddenly, she gasped. Richard had been trying to ignore her, attempting to get in to his breeches without mishap. He stood, towering over her, thunder in his face.

 

"You are a child. You should not speak of such things, and I do not wish to have this discussion with you!" he was angry with himself, but lashed out at her. She blinked up at him fearfully for a moment, before she hid the look behind a defiant glare.

 

"Well, there's no need to shout, SIR!" and with that, she flounced out of the room, her petticoats swishing angrily behind her. He could almost hear them hissing like an upset cat. He shook his head ruefully, before heading back to his rooms. She was sweet, yes, but too curious and too wild. She would need a firm-handed governess to bring her to heel.

 

Either that, or a very devoted husband, Richard blinked at his own thoughts. Why did it matter to him? He wasn't going to marry the obnoxious chit! Besides, what he'd said was true. She was a child.

 

Veronica Norwick hated black clothing. She hated everything that went along with the awful color and all the ramifications of wearing it. She hated that her gowns were hung loose and ill-fitting on her frame, but Nurse insisted that it would be better when the seamstress arrived. Veronica hated that she hated so much. She was miserable, but nobody seemed to want to listen to her talk about it. They were caught in their own clouds of black. They had no time for hers.

 

As she stood over her father's grave, she dimly listened to the priest's droning voice. He spoke of life spent and regrets not wasted on the dead. He hadn't really known her father. In his prime, Papa had been brilliant and colorful. He'd been swarthy and full of life and vigor, and Mama had reveled in it with her own, demure way. She'd been his joy, and they had never hid that notion from their children. Thom and Veronica had grown up knowing that love was real and that it was only in securing a happy partnership could you ever be fulfilled. But now Veronica hated the idea of love too. Love had killed her father. For that matter, love had killed her mother too, though in a different sense.

 

A light mist began to fall, and Nurse leaned around to adjust Veronica's veils to cover her and protect her from the rain. Who cared? Certainly not Veronica. What was a little water when her whole world had ended? What did it matter if her stupid, ugly gowns got ruined by the wet? She let her mind wander back to the last time she'd had to wear this awful color...

 

Her last youthful summer, spent spying on her brother and his friend, and avoiding the latest in a long string of nannies. She'd just turned 13 when Mama had announced she was with child and that Veronica would be a big sister, as well as a little one. The joy had been overwhelming to little Ronnie. She sang about it for weeks, surely causing earaches for anyone unfortunate enough to listen to her enraptured warbling. Mama grew round and tired, but seemed to glow with an inner peace and contentment that even her calm, reassuring patience could not diminish Veronica's happiness. When Mama went to her room one night, joking that her stomach was aching and that the baby was too big for her basket, Veronica knew in her heart of hearts that her little brother or sister was about the join the world. She was half-right in a sense.

 

In the middle of the night, she'd heard screaming and wailing from Mama's rooms and the rush of feet up and down the corridor. She'd edged her way around the door to peek out. A pair of maids had stopped at the far end to catch their breath and gossip about the great lady's disposition.

 

"Her ladyship's not gonna make it, he said," said one of them, breathless and quiet, "That fancy doctor man that just came up, he's s'posed to help stitch her back up when's its over, but I don't think he's gonna have much work to do. Not wiv two of them bubbling over in there!"

 

"Hush," admonished the other one, crossing herself and clasping her hands together at her waist, "God willing, the mistress will make it through. She's too good for Him to let her pass just yet."

 

"Maybe," said the first one, more subdued now, "But maybe He wants her up with Him, since she's such good people. He probably ain't got enough of them to go around, bein' angels!"

 

"Don't talk like that!" The second one scolded, more fiercely this time, and Veronica shuddered at what she was hearing. She closed the door quietly and went back to her bed. She slept fitfully, waking whenever she heard another set of footsteps outside the door. When the wailing and running stopped, the house seemed to fall into a deathly quiet state, and Veronica knew that her mother was dead. She'd been thirteen years old, and she no longer had a mother. She'd lost two siblings, one brother, one sister, and her mother, all in one awful night. Veronica thought her world had ended then. How little she knew...

 

Blinking back fresh waves of tears, Ronnie straightened her spine against the pain obliterating everything else. A dark figure in solemn charcoal came up next to her and placed a soft hand on her elbow.

 

"I'm so, very sorry for your loss, Miss Norwick," the understanding face of her brother's friend, Richard Bradford, Earl of Renmount, swam into focus through her layers of veiling.

 

"Thank you, my lord," she said stiffly. Why bother being polite and condescending when her life was ending before her? Her brother stepped up next to Bradford and took her arm, intending to lead her back to the church. Dimly, she realized that while she had been lost in her reminiscing, the priest had finished his prayers for her father's lost soul and had dismissed the mourners. She was standing at the edge of her father's grave, alone, save for the Earl and her brother, the new Lord Norwick. She pulled her arm from his grasp with an unladylike sob. She bit her lip. Papa had not liked to see tears, or to hear of her entertaining anything less than ladylike pursuits. She would never have to hear his raving any longer, but she could not bring herself to be happy for it. She turned away from her brother and went back towards the church unaccompanied. She knew that Thom made to follow her, but he was stopped by a quiet word from the Earl. She was grateful to him in that moment, regardless of how much she despised him. Silent tears slipped out, but she sat herself properly in the carriage and allowed her grief to carry her away.

 

---

Bradford watched the sad young lady wander back to the front side of the church and her carriage with a heavy heart. She looked the part of a mourning young woman, but the gesture of her removing her arm from her brother's tender hold showed more anger than sadness beneath that varnished exterior.

 

Thom set off to follow her, but Richard caught him by the arm.

 

"Let her be, Thom," he cautioned. His friend turned a grave face on him, before sighing deeply. They watched from a distance as a footman handed her back into the carriage and closed the door on the cool rain that was starting the sprinkle. The gentlemen turned back to the headstone.

 

RESPECTED LORD, BELOVED HUSBAND, DEVOTED FATHER

 

Thom laughed softly, but the sound was dead and cold.

 

"He was devoted, all right," Thom commented quietly, as though speaking only to himself, "Determined might have been a better word for it. Bound and determined to make her a ghost of our mother. To force her to become the living embodiment of the woman he loved."

 

"Your father wasn't well in his last years," Richard supplied, knowing that Thom's late night confessions of his father's drinking problems, and the issues that arose at home stemmed from the way his father had tried to mold Veronica into an emblem of her mother. Judging from the example of exactness that Miss Norwick had exhibited just now, Richard would hazard a guess that it had been a battle between herself and her late father.

 

"He wasn't well, no," Thom agreed, turning away from the gravesite again. "He was crazed with the loss of my mother, and it just took him three years to get over the fact that Veronica could never take her place in his mind. He wanted his daughter to be the epitome of her mother. To be the perfect model of attitude and decorum. To be quiet and subdued. He spent two years stamping down her wild spirit. He took away her freedoms and all but locked her in a prison of a house. He railed and ranted at her when she had a single hair out of place, or raised her voice above a 'ladylike level'. He was crazy, and the drinking didn't help." Thom sighed heavily. "I tried my best to shield her from it but I don't think I was as attentive as I should have been."

 

"She seems to have taken to the settling, though," Richard commented. Thom snorted.

 

"She's got strong survival instincts. Don't let that mask fool you though, she's still just as free spirited, she just hides it well. She thinks nobody knows that she reads novels in her little spare time, or that nobody sees her disappear into the hedge maze at the house. She rarely smiles anymore, you know. Don't you remember what she was like?"

 

Richard smiled softly at the memory of the small, loud canary, practically bubbling over with glee about everything. "Yes, I think I can recall a time when she wore yellow feathers and flew around in her gilded cage," he commented dryly.

 

Thom smiled too. "She was just such an exuberant child. When Mother died, that dimmed her a little. Thank God she never saw the infants in their death cradle. But Mama had sheltered her from Father a lot, making him see her as a joyful child who needed time to grow out of her activeness. When she died, that facade died with her. He forced her into the model of society that she struggled with. He made her become the antithesis of her own personality, and it's terrible to see her like this."

 

"You miss her," Richard said, matter-of-fact.

 

"I don't need to," Thom sighed, "She's never been farther than the edge of the county, so I've never needed to miss her... but yes, I miss the girl she used to be."

 

"She'll come out of it, Thom, you said it yourself. This is a facade, and once she's had a chance to get past her grief, her natural spirit will emerge."

 

"I surely hope so... I hope so..." Thom sighed again, and together the men trudged back through the soggy ground to the carriage.

 

---

Three days passed, and Veronica told herself that the tears would stop soon, if only because she would soon cry all the tears she had inside of her and there would be none left. She reasoned with herself as she sat, curled up in a tiny hole in the hedges. She was sixteen years old, old enough to listen to herself when she told her silly eyes to stop watering. Her favorite hiding place as a child had apparently grown over after a couple years of neglect and no use. There used to be the perfectly sized alcove here, rounded branches creating a little green cave for a young girl to hide in. But either she had grown, or the bushes had, because now she was very tightly packed in the niche in the hedge.

 

There was a rustle of silks, and Veronica froze. Through the branches and leaves, she could see her Nurse looking for her.

 

"Miss Norwick, I know you're out here!" Nurse's voice was getting closer to Veronica's hiding spot and she contemplated creeping down further in the hedgerow. She decided against it, since that would definitely give her away, and so she inched out a little. Nurse stood at the end of the path section but was facing the other way. She didn't know where Veronica's secret alcove was, but she'd know it soon enough if she bothered to look backwards. She took a few steps forward and moved in the opposite direction, calling for her young charge as she moved away from her. Stealthily, Veronica slid out of the hedge and pressed herself against the hedge for a moment, listening intently. She could hear her name being called, but the sound was drifting further away. She breathed a sigh of relief, and set off at a steady pace to the out edges of the maze. The side facing away from the house maintained some of it's rambling wildness, instead of being conformed to the straight lanes and flowerbeds of the main garden area. She heard another set of shoes on the path behind her and stumbled backwards into a corner of the maze.

 

It was her brother and his friend. They had been trying to entreat her to join them at dinner the night before, but she'd declined, taking her meal in her rooms again. She wouldn't eat with them yet, not until the tears stopped. They were quietly arguing about something, and Veronica's curious nature overtook her. She ducked behind a wall of hedge and followed along, listening to them.

 

"-think she should be out here this late, it will be dark soon." That was Lord Bradford, undoubtedly referring to Veronica. She thought it very strange that the young man who had once yelled at her and shamed her for her curiosity would be concerned about her welfare.

 

"Well, I don't think you should be marrying that vile little snip!" Thom's words took her aback before she realized they were having two conversations, of which she dearly hoped she was not the subject of the second. The outrage in Thom's voice was rare.

 

"She's not that bad, Thom," Bradford said, resignedly. Their voices stopped moving down the path, and Veronica crouched down to peer through the branches. Two pairs of strong legs in breeches and knee high boots stood facing one another on the pathway on the other side of her hiding spot. They were facing off over this "snip", whomever she was.

 

"She's a damn gold-digger, Richard! You know that's why she's so game. Her mother is probably foaming at the mouth at the idea that you're courting her daughter! But I've seen her, she doesn't love you. She throws herself at every available male who makes more than two hundred a year!"

 

"I know that, Thom," Bradford sounded tired, as if they'd had this argument before, "But show me one honest woman of good breeding in that awful city that isn't after my name or money!"

 

"Dammit, man! See some sense! There ARE decent women out there! And why are you in such a hurry to be wed anyway? You're not exactly over the hill!"

 

Bradford muttered something quietly that Veronica missed. It was impossible to miss Thom's reaction, however.

 

"To hell with that! You're still young and you have plenty of time before needing an heir! Hell's teeth, Richard, you're still practically young enough to be the heir yourself!"

 

Bradford said nothing, but there was a sharp clip of boots as he stalked off. Veronica wished she could see their faces, because she was sure that whatever expression the Earl had just displayed was enough to give even her thoughtless brother pause.

 

Swearing softly, Thom's boots turned back and went towards the house, shouting, "Veronica, get back in the house!"

 

At first she'd thought that he'd heard or seen her, but no, he was merely shouting at her as he stalked back into the garden salon.

 

Veronica stepped back from her spot and straightened up. She wandered aimlessly for a few minutes, thinking, something her father had assured her was not really required by ladies of good taste. They were supposed to fill their days with frivolous doings and goings and not to question things (namely, the decisions made for them by their fathers and husbands) or weary their minds with endless pursuits of knowledge. She smiled grimly as she thought about the conversation she'd just overheard. Whomever the frightful lady in question was, Veronica felt that she almost pitied the poor creature. To be known as a flirt was probably bad enough, but to have a parental, and indeed, a societal expectation of it was so much the worse.

 

Veronica supposed she should be grateful that Papa had decided she would be eighteen before she would come out. She had bristled at his insistence that it would take that long for him to "train ladylike dignity and grace" into her, but now she was almost glad that she didn't have to put up with simpering misses and postulating lords. Perhaps she could retire to a nearby cottage of sorts and live out her days in solitude and spinsterhood. She knew her brother loved her enough to never force her to marry and since it was unlikely that he would feel inclined to present her at a Season, she supposed that a quiet little cottage not far from here would do her quite well. As long as she didn't have to wear anymore hated black! She giggled, a rusty sound that had not been heard in a very long time.

 

"Now that is a sound to relish," came a quiet voice from the shadows nearby. Veronica started and realized that it had gotten darker as the sun went down and that she was now face to face with that dratted man, the Earl of Renmount.

 

"I'm sorry, my lord, I didn't realize this area was occupied." She dropped a graceful curtsy and silently thanked her father for the endless hours of practice. Bradford would not be able to tell tales on her being any less refined as those city ladies he clearly loved to hate.

 

"If you'll excuse me, my lord," she turned to go, but his voice stopped her.

 

"Wait, please, Miss Norwick, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have startled you. I... I meant what I said the other day, you know. I wasn't just being placating." His kindness stopped her and made her blink back more tears. Damn him!

 

"Thank you, my lord. Excuse me," and she turned again. She was about five steps from him when she realized that she had something she was desperately wishing to ask him.

 

"Do you love her?" The words tumbled forth before she could think any wiser of it. Lord Bradford seemed just as surprised as she was at the question.

 

"Do I love her? Whom are you referring to, Miss Norwick?" The Earl eyed her carefully.

 

"The woman in Town that Thom is so worried about your marrying. Do you love her? Is that why you would wed her, knowing full well she does not return your affections?"

 

"No," he said resolutely, "No, I do not love her. But she's a lady, and I'm in need of an heir sooner or later, so why not? She's attractive enough, I suppose," he seemed to be speaking to himself now, "though not what I'd originally thought of when I thought to take a wife."

 

"May I ask, my lord? What did you think of then?" Her curiosity was getting the better of her. She was in very real danger of upsetting him with her rampant questioning. He had certainly not shied away from shoving her off the last time she got curious. The vague remembrance of her girlish inquiries made her blush and she was grateful for the falling darkness. But rather than looking angry or displeased at her line of intrigue, he seemed contemplative. As if he'd considered not responding, then changed his mind.

 

"I had thought to offer for a lovely young lady that I have known for many years. She has always caught my attention in the limited time we've spent together."

 

"So why don't you, if you are already inclined toward her?"

 

"Because I'm fairly certain she hasn't realized that I hold these feelings, much less have them herself."

 

"Oh," she was sorry she'd asked now. He seemed so sad, so resolutely sure that his perfect match didn't want him. "I'm sorry for you, my lord. She is a foolish girl, to not realize when a man desires her."

 

Somehow, his smile didn't lighten the mood between them. If anything, it only served to make her very aware that they were alone in the almost darkness. She licked her suddenly dry lips. Would anyone know if she abated another of her curiosities?

 

"Yes, Miss Norwick? Was there something else you wished to ask?" His tone was light and teasing, and he stepped in a little closer, shortening the gap between them.

 

"My lord, I - Well, I don't know that Thom told you, but... I have no intention of marrying." This surprised him.

 

"And why not? You're a fascinating young lady with a sizable dowry and a brother who loves you enough not to force you to wed against your wishes." He seemed honestly confused. She tried to ignore the fact that he had summed up her situation quite clearly. It was harder to ignore the idea that he might find her fascinating. Instead, she pressed on.

 

"As it is, I have no interested parties, and no suitors at present. I shall have no intention of gaining one, either." She steeled herself against her next words. "But I would like very much to know what it feels like to..." she turned away, suddenly feeling the weight of her question, and shame at her brazenness flooded her cheeks. "Oh never mind it!"

 

She turned and dashed to the house. He caught up with her before she got too far. Pulling her out of the light from the upstairs windows into a smaller crevice in the bushes, he smiled down at her. His hands were wrapped around her upper arms, rubbing them gently as if to ward off a chill.

 

"Please, do go on, Miss Norwick. I'm enraptured as to what your question might be."

 

Her eyes filled with tears, her face flushed. She was cold and hot all at once. She had to say it. She would hate herself more than she hated this awful black gown if she didn't try it at least once.

 

"My lord," her eyes fell to her feet and she mumbled out the rest, "I want to be kissed."

 

"But, my dear, what of your reputation?" He asked, suddenly serious. She looked up at him like he was an idiot.

 

"If I'm not going to marry, what difference does it make of my reputation?" She wrenched her arms from his grasp and took a step back. She was brought up short by the wall of branches behind her, and she suddenly wished to be back inside, in her room, on the other side of the locked bedroom door. Alone.

 

Liar, a tiny voice inside her head whispered, You don't want to be anywhere but where you are now. Right here, with him. Lying to yourself won't change that.

 

He brushed a soft hand across her hair where it feathered against the side of her face.

 

"And why me? Why ask me?"

 

"Because I know you well enough to know you won't want to marry me, and you won't use this as an excuse to trap me into something I don't want either."

 

"You barely know me," his voice was low, his words soft and was he inching closer or was that her imagination?

 

"I know you're a good man." she whispered at him in the dark, "Too good a man to take advantage."

 

"See? That just goes to show, you know nothing about me at all." His lips were firm and warm and dry as they pressed into hers. She was taken off guard by how gentle they were. There was no roughness, just soft, gentle massaging of their lips together. Her mouth parted on a soft breath, and she felt him pull her into his arms. Hers went up to loop around his neck and she pressed herself against his solid body. He ground out something rough and heated in the back of his throat before slanting his mouth a little over hers and kissing her deeply. His tongue slipped out to tease at her mouth and dance across her own. She moaned softly, but was suddenly pressed firmly against the bushes behind them.

 

Her body shuddered at the sudden cold air between them. He was literally holding her at arm's length, and she felt her lips tremble.

 

No! she thought fiercely, You asked for this. DO NOT CRY!

 

He pulled in a long, shuddering breath and then released her as if she were heated iron. She slumped back a little, catching her breath. She shivered, and he eyed her closely.

 

"You are a dangerous temptation, Miss Norwick," he stated, still unsteady. Her chin shot up in challenge.

 

"And you are a rogue," she stuck her tongue out at him, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

 

"Do not protrude that delicious little tongue at me, Veronica. You're not too old for me to take over my knee!"

 

For some reason, the idea of him holding her across his lap and spanking her made her shiver again, this time from anticipation rather than cold. But she was properly chastised. She had asked him to kiss her and kiss her he most certainly did. She briefly wondered if all kisses were like that? If so, she couldn't see why anyone would ever stop kissing!

 

"Good night, my lord, and... thank you."

 

"Do not thank me, Veronica! That makes this so much worse." He ground out, running a hand through his hair.

 

"I don't know what you mean, my lord, but I should really be getting inside. Good night."

 

"Sweet dreams," he murmured as he let her turn and run for the house like the hounds of Hades were at her heels.

 

He hadn't meant to kiss her like that. Hell, he hadn't even been planning on actually kissing her. He'd just wanted her to ask him to. Then he would remind her that proper young ladies did not go about soliciting kisses from young men they hardly knew. But she was too sweet, and so innocent. She had blinked those big eyes up at him wonderingly and he'd fallen for it. He couldn't resist the pull of her, and the chaste kiss he'd meant to bestow ignited when their lips touched. She was passion and fire embodied in a lithe young figure. He'd nearly lost it when she had pressed into him. Only her tiny sounds of rapture had managed to make it into his befuddled brain and he came to his senses. Unless he'd intended to compromise her fully, he had to stay away from her.

 

And what did she mean, she wasn't going to get married?! What did she plan to do? Live in a a little hovel somewhere on her own? She had to be aware enough that Thom would, by necessity of needing an heir, eventually marry and his wife would then be the lady of the house, supplanting her current role.

 

She is sixteen years old, Richard reasoned with himself, heading back into the house, she is young, and will likely change her mind several times tonight, much less in the coming years. Once she is Out, she will see how her natural beauty and refreshing personality attract the attention of devoted young suitors and she will be all aflutter to be married.

 

Shaking off the sudden, ridiculous surge of jealousy that thought brought over him, he made his way to Thom's study. There was sure to be a decanter in there, and something to take his mind off the tragic young woman in the garden was exactly what he needed.

 

Veronica stared down at the book in her lap listlessly, attempting to make sense of the words on the page. She felt like crying, but young society women did not burst into tears simply because their brothers wished to throw them birthday parties. She didn't understand why she had to have a birthday party, much less one that invited people from far and wide who only wanted to gawk and stare at her. She knew that the rumor mills in Town had painted her out as a misshapen figure. One who was so ashamed of her deformities that she would avoid people and society as a whole. Veronica had no interest in dispelling that notion. It simply meant that she wasn't being forced to go out, since nobody ever invited her anywhere.

 

But this Season, her brother had insisted that she come to London with him. That a change of scenery would do her some good, and that it would be a good excuse for her to pick out a few new frocks. She missed having new gowns, and had wanted to visit the book shops and so she had relented. Particularly when she discovered that Nurse would not be accompanying her. Thom had secured the services of a young widow, a proper ladies' companion, to escort her around town and go shopping with.

 

"You need someone closer to your age when you go to spend all my money on fripperies, my dear Ronnie, so Mrs. Redfield will be perfect. She's only 26, quite young for a widow, you know, but she has the highest recommendation, and her late husband was an acquaintance of mine at school."

 

Veronica had allowed her brother to tug at her and plodded along behind him as he prepared the house to be closed for the Season,  and put on a brave smile for him. But her excitement at going to town was mostly false, and a lot of pretense. Thom tried to entertain her with the ideas of going to musicales, and visiting the theatre. Seeing plays had always been something she'd enjoyed the few times Mama and Papa had taken them to London. But even that was not so much of a draw.

 

So here she was, sitting in the garden, sulking about a party being thrown in her honor, and being miserable company to the delightful Mrs. Natalie Redfield. She was young, bright, and had a quiet intelligence that sparkled in her eye when she bantered. Her wit was not evidently apparent beneath her poised decorum, but once she got your measure, Natalie was a charming conversationalist and a good person. Thinking back on it, Veronica couldn't help but smile a little. Mrs. Redfield was easy to talk to, and had a very "decided" point of view that was not so inflexible to be a deterrent to her personality. She simply 'decided' things, and you either went along with her, or you didn't, but she didn't much mind one way or another. As she put it,

 

"When you are a lone woman in this world, you must be able to make up your own mind, for good or for ill. No man will be there to take the burden of making choices for you, so you must be very sure, and very decided."

 

She and Veronica had known one another for 4 days before she decided that they were going to be fast friends, but that it would be Veronica's word that would make it so.

 

"I'm not sure I know how to be fast friends with someone, Mrs. Redfield." Veronica muttered, attempting to dispel the woman's natural good cheer. Veronica wasn't, by nature, a sullen being, but even a chipper bluebird would seem sullen next to Natalie Redfield.

 

"Well, it begins quite simply, Miss Norwick," the older woman settled herself onto the couch next to her charge. "First, we go shopping, and spend the day looking at all manner of frivolity and hats and gloves and frocks! Then, we walk out to the park for an afternoon and show off one another to the world. Then we hold one another in confidence, as we are now."

 

"But, Mrs. Redfield, we've already done all that," Veronica pointed out, rolling her eyes at the silliness, but inwardly relishing the idea that she might already have begun well on the path to friendship.

 

"Then there is nothing to be done, but to dispense with the formalities of all the 'misses' and 'miss' and just be Natalie and Veronica," Natalie clapped her hands together in delight. Veronica laughed and felt herself lighten.

 

"I am delighted to be your fast friend, then, Natalie," and they were. Natalie began to coax some life back into Veronica, regaling her with tales of her first Season, and encouraging the younger woman to come out of her shell again.

 

"But you know, I'm not intending to marry," Veronica said very solemnly one evening as the two sat having tea.

 

"Well, of course not," Natalie agreed, good-naturedly, "Why should you? You have a home with your brother, and you have money and land, so there's no true need for a husband." Veronica eyed her skeptically.

 

"You're not going to argue with me on this?" She asked curiously, and Natalie shook her head no.

 

"I think that you are old enough to make decisions for yourself, don't you? If you've decided that you will not marry, then you shall not marry. It's as simple as that. Of course, you're welcome to change your mind. But it must be your mind that changes. I, myself, have said on many occasions that I shall not marry again. Not since my Freddy passed. He was the spirit of generosity, though, and I know that if I were to find love again, he would be smiling down on me because he knew me enough to know that my head and my heart work together to create happiness."

 

"Natalie, do you ever miss being married?" Veronica wondered about this quite a bit, because she knew there were aspects of married life that one could not have without a husband. As they always did when she thought of it, her lips tingled at the remembrance of Lord Bradford's kiss. Two years later, and she had not seen him since that night in the garden. He was gone by the time she'd left her room the next day, and had not returned. Thom saw him in London or at his lordship's estate. Every invitation to join them at the Norwick Estate was summarily turned down, politely but a rejection all the same.

 

"I do, yes," Natalie's natural exuberance dimmed to a quiet flame as she spoke softly, "I miss having someone to talk to in the dark nights, someone to hold me when I cried, someone whom I could lean on in times of distress, those are things that not even the best of friends can replace for you."

 

"But, I mean, more of the, um... physical aspects of being... married," Veronica blushed bright red as Natalie's eyebrows shot up.

 

"The - oh, yes, I suppose that I do. It has been three years since my Freddy died, so I suppose, with time, those... feelings faded some. But I do remember that I quite enjoyed kissing." Natalie winked broadly, then stood to pour more tea for herself and Veronica.

 

Veronica blinked as a shadow fell across her book and dsirupted her recollecting. She looked up, expecting to see her brother or Natalie standing over her. Imagine her surprise to see none other than the Earl of Renmount, Lord Richard Bradford, looming like a mountain above her.

 

"Why, Miss Norwick, you have certainly grown some, haven't you? No more black?" His teasing lilt startled her, and she smiled in spite of herself.

 

"No, my lord, I detest black clothing, and it has been two years. I don't believe that my father would have wished me to mourn him forever." He stepped to the side of her and sat on the bench beside her.

 

"No, indeed not. I have never thought that black was a particularly becoming color on young ladies, myself, but I daresay you carry it off quite well." His fingers caught one of the loose curls from her not very carefully styled chignon. She hadn't bothered to properly dress her hair this morning, it was supposed to be a quiet day at home with only the family and Mrs. Redfield, who was practically family already. His familiarity took her off guard.

 

"I don't think my hair qualifies as something that I can change out of," Veronica stated tartly, then in a sheepish undertone added, "Believe me, I've tried."

 

"Of course, your brother told me about the lemon juice incident. Was it that terribly orange?"

 

"Very bright, if you must know. My Nurse was pale by comparison as she railed at me," Veronica tipped her chin up proudly. She had attempted, at the age of 7, to do as her Mama did and lighten her hair with a mixture of lemon juice and water. She had squeezed the lemons herself, and pumped up the water from the well on her own, and then sat in the sunny garden as her hair dried. The results had not gone as expected, as she hadn't counted on the fact that Mama's hair was naturally light brown and the lemon would only bring it to blonde. On Veronica's ebony tresses, it became a streaky orange and muddy brown.

 

"I'm sorry that I missed it then," Bradford commented quietly, smiling at her teasingly.

 

"Oh, I'm not," Veronica insisted, blushing a little, "I daresay I wouldn't have liked knowing that you had seen me like that." Her cheeks warmed more as she glanced down at her book again. He raised an eyebrow slightly.

 

"Does it matter to you?" he pressed, "I wouldn't have thought that my opinion would have been important."

 

"Oh posh, it doesn't matter what I think, my lord!" Veronica fluttered her hands anxiously, closing her book with a delicate snap. "What brings you around at this time of day?"

 

The Earl smiled complacently, but allowed her to change the subject, "I came to see your brother. I've just arrived back in town, and I hear that there is a very splendid party in the works. I've come to secure an invitation."

 

"But..." Veronica stared at him, "Why? It's only a silly party..."

 

"It's a party to celebrate a certain young woman's eighteenth birthday, and entrée into society, is it not?"

 

"Oh... posh..." Veronica couldn't think of a good reason why the Earl should not be invited to her birthday party. She didn't much want to have the damned thing in the first place, but now the thought that she might be permitted to dance with the Earl made her heart flutter in a most unladylike manner.

 

"I had hoped that your esteemed companion would take pity on me and offer me an invite to tea this afternoon, during which I was fully set to charm my way onto the guest list." He smiled at Veronica, and that fluttering turned into an all out pounding. Could he hear her heart beating so loudly it made her ears ring? He lifted her hand and held it between his own.

 

"You've gone terribly quiet, Miss Norwick. Have I said too much? That's it, isn't it? I've embarrassed you with my assumption!" He pulled a dramatic expression of woe, "Now you will never invite me to your party and I will be hopelessly cast down in Society for failing to incite your interest long enough for even one dance!"

 

"Oh, bother, of course you can come to the damned party!" Veronica blurted out, her voice lilting with amused exasperation, "And I will save you a dance, as well, if you wish it, since your dear heart would break without it!" She turned her face slightly and rolled her eyes away from him. The sound of his laughter made her heart pound again. Was he laughing at her? She faced him again. No, his eyes were twinkling with mirth, inviting her to laugh with him. She couldn't help herself, and a small, delighted giggle escaped her lips. Her free hand came up to press against her mouth, attempting to stem the flow of laughter, and failing. He still held her hand, but she couldn't see through the tears swirling in her vision as gales of laughter like she hadn't had in years poured forth. Minutes went by as they laughed together, and then her own joyous sounds began to falter as she struggled to breathe. She was leaned against his shoulder, shaking and gasping softly as her vision cleared and her head became a happier place. He was gently stroking her shoulder and back as her giggling and gasping subsided.

 

"That's truly a beautiful sound, Veronica," Bradford commented quietly, and it snapped her out of her delirium. She was unchaperoned, with a man, in the back garden, and was practically sitting in his lap! This would never do!

 

As if he heard her thoughts, Bradford eased back and removed his hand from her shoulders. She immediately missed his touch, but knew that it would never be. She was determined not to marry, and he would need a lady and an heir. Unless he already had one...? No, she fought against the thought violently, no, she would have heard if he'd taken an interest in a girl, much less a wife! He was the Earl of Renmount, and there was no lack of intrigue about his personal goings on from the matrons of society.

 

"Um, if you will excuse me, my lord," Veronica stumbled to her feet, and a steadying hand landed on her waist, keeping her upright but turning her knees to jelly. She'd had dancing lessons, she knew that was where hands would end up at her party in two days' time, but to have his hands on her made her feel weak and unprepared. But then, she knew what it was like to have his hands on her. He'd held her tightly when he'd kissed her... the last time they'd been alone and unattended in a garden. She needed to remove herself before she did something incredibly stupid, like ask him to kiss her again...

 

"Are you all right?" His voice was soft and a little rough, like he was lost in thought. She blinked up at him as he stood in front of her and steadied her properly.

 

"I... must have been sitting too long," she murmured, and her eyes dropped to his mouth. Suddenly, his hands were gone from her, leaving cold spots where they'd been resting on her waist. She glanced up and he was staring over her shoulder with a jovial grin.

 

"Thom, my good man, what kind of rascal are you? To leave your dear little sister out here to wilt in the sunlight!"

 

Veronica breathed a quiet sigh, though if it was relief or regret, she wasn't going to speculate. With a breathy excuse, she turned and would have run into the house, slamming the door behind her, but her father's years of training had embedded themselves so deeply in her brain that she couldn't even beat a hasty retreat in her favorite fashion anymore. So she stepped, with grace and ladylike care, into the house and slowly but purposefully made her way to her bedroom.

 

Reminding herself that she was no longer under the iron rule of her father, Veronica did a very UNladylike thing and threw herself across her bed. She was tired suddenly, probably from her dizzying encounter with the Earl, but she would later come to blame it on the warmth of the garden, and fell asleep with a soft, pleased smile on her face.

 

---

"Bradford! What brings you back to town?" Thom stepped out into the yard to shake the other man's hand, "And why on Earth did you not come in by way of the front door?"

 

The Earl smiled and returned the handshake, "Your lovely ladies' companion, Mrs. Red-something, let me in through the garden, since I was coming up from the back way. I had stabled my horse, who threw a shoe on the way in from Renmount, and I didn't want to bother your groom with his care, so I did it myself."

 

"Bother my groom, indeed... you just don't trust anyone with Aphrodite but you and that feeble little man you employ at your estate. And admit it, you didn't want to be announced at the front on the off chance my sister had society dames in the salon." The sternness that had accompanied Thom's first question had disappeared, in it's place the congenial smile that was always so ready in his friend.

 

"Yes, there is that. Aphro can be a bit tetchy too, when she's missing a shoe. Like any woman, I would suppose." He ignored the second part of Thom's questioning, not wanting to admit that it was the real reason for sneaking in the back way.

 

"You know, you needn't have worried," Thom muttered darkly, seeing through his friend's obvious reticence. Bradford's eyebrow hitched up in question.

 

"She hasn't had but three or four invitations this entire week, and those from matrons who are more curious than condescending. She rarely goes out, unless it's to walk in the park with Mrs. Redfield. She doesn't even seem to enjoy spending copious amounts of money on Bond Street, like all other maidens her age. She's totally disinterested in society, which I expected, but I didn't think that Society would be so heartlessly disinterested in her."

 

"What can be done for it?" Bradford asked quietly, thinking through a plan that would achieve multiple goals in one go.

 

"I don't know, Bradford. I've tried wheedling with the gents at the club, but they give me the same old responses of their ladies being "priorly engaged at all occasions". I've tried taking her out myself, but you can only do the theatre so many times before it gets dull and overdone. We've gone on museum tours and church walks, and to the parks for airings, but it's all just the same. The younger ladies barely acknowledge her, and the mamas are more inclined to sic their babies on me than to attach them to Ronnie, other than by marriage. I've hit the end of my rope!"

 

"She needs a name to gain any presence, Thom, you know that. And your own departed parents were so removed from society as a whole, they very much killed her chances of banking on the Norwick prestige." Thom nodded solemnly in response to Bradford's summation. The Earl continued. "What she needs is someone with an established countenance in town. Someone who is, perhaps, a friend of her brother's, who could take pity on the girl and squire her about to a few events. Not enough to raise talk of a scandal, but just enough that people can see she is worthy of their attention and esteem."

 

Thom's eyes lit at the idea. "Do you think it would work?"

 

"It might," Bradford shrugged, "Are you trying very hard to marry her off?" Thom's face stiffened.

 

"She says she won't marry," Thom sighed heavily, "Our father ground into her head for so long that the only worthwhile contribution she would make was to provide a man with an heir. Now she's rebelling so hard against the notion that she says we won't marry at all."

 

"That's her prerogative, Thom. She's old enough and wealthy enough to decide her own fate, you know."

 

"I don't want her to end up a spinster!" Thom ground out, his teeth clamped together in frustration. "Why does she have to be so damned stubborn?!"

 

"Because, my friend, she's your sister," Bradford pointed out in a good natured way, clapping Thom on the shoulder and pushing the other man towards the door, "She will come around, just as you always do, it will just take some time and a little persuasion. You give her the time, and I'll work on the persuasion."

 

Thom took a deep breath, and smiled a little ruefully, "What can I do to repay your kindness?"

"How about we start with some brandy and lunch?"

 

---