The engines of the plane gave a gentle roar and the “Fasten Seat Belt” sign blinked on above her head. Well, it was too late to turn back now.
Glancing down at the papers on her lap, Ellie Fitzgerald sighed. Three days ago, she had been outlining her dissertation on Regency England, a period she had been drawn to since before she could remember, and worrying about whether her cute but gawky classmate, Seth, was going to ask her out on their third date.
Then she got the call.
“Elizabeth Fitzgerald?” came the voice on the other end of the line. The voice was British, curt and concise, but ever so polite.
Confused, Ellie frowned. Why was an Englishman calling her at two in the afternoon on a Saturday? “Yes, this is she. Can I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man said. “I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but my name is Barnard Seton, and I am the late Victoria Hargrove’s attorney. I am calling to discuss the parameters of her will.”
All the breath escaped from Ellie’s lungs. Her knees collapsed and she sank to the floor, leaning against her bed. “L-late?” she stammered, not comprehending. “Do you mean…is my grandmother…she’s gone?”
The deafening silence on the other end of the line confirmed that she was.
Ellie’s heart ached with grief. She had never even met her grandmother, but she had always wanted to, and knowing she had family in England had been one of the only things keeping her connected to the memory of her mother, whom she had lost when she was just thirteen years old. Now her grandmother was gone as well; there was no one left. Tears slid freely down her cheeks, but Ellie didn’t brush them away.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Barnard replied, his voice full of sympathy. “I thought you knew. I sent you a letter by post only a few days ago. My apologies that I reached you before you had received it.”
A letter. He sent a letter? Pulling herself to her feet, Ellie rushed over to the little stool by the front door of her studio apartment and rifled through her mail until she found an envelope from Seton & Associates. She hastily ripped a letter opener across the top and retrieved the contents.
“The instructions in your grandmother’s will,” Barnard continued, “state that she has bequeathed you all of her material and financial belongings, including Hargrove House.”
“She left me a house?”
“Yes, ma’am. Hargrove House. The estate has been in your family for generations and, seeing as her only daughter passed on thirteen years ago, you are Lady Hargrove’s sole heir and beneficiary. However, the will stipulates you will need to come to Dover to formally receive the estate.”
Disbelief warred with delight. She owned a house. Ellie had never even owned so much as a room before. Even her car was a hand-me-down from her father. And now she owned a house in...
“Wait, did you just say I have to come to Dover to receive my inheritance? As in Dover, Kent in England?”
“Yes, ma’am.” If Barnard thought her funny or possibly even missing a few marbles, he certainly didn’t show it. “As soon as possible, ma’am. Your grandmother wanted you to accept the estate within two weeks of her passing.”
Ellie’s heart sank and her normally pale cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she managed to murmur, her voice barely above a whisper, “but I can’t afford a ticket to England in two weeks. I can’t even manage it in two years. I’m…I’m a grad student. I wait tables and study history for a living. I mean, I’m only twenty-six. I’m sorry, Mr. Seton. I’m just not going to be able to make that work.”
“All the arrangements have been taken care of,” he replied kindly. “Your airline ticket should be included with the letter I sent you, as is a letter from your grandmother. We will be expecting you by the end of the week.”
Ellie closed her eyes and listened to the captain tell the cabin to prepare for landing. She heard the stewardess advising passengers to close their trays and put their seats in an upright position.
She was almost there.
Fighting back nerves, Ellie gazed down at her Grandmother’s letter, laying in her lap.
My dearest Elizabeth,
You must think me a horrible grandmother, dear, never making the trip over to meet you. However, you mustn’t think less of me. I had my reasons, and I promise you, I had only your best interests at heart.
If you are reading this letter, that means that I am gone. And, as your mother, my sweet Anne, passed away so long ago, all I have now belongs to you. My belongings, my estate. My burdens.
There are responsibilities you must uphold for the Hargroves, my dear grandchild. Hargrove House is yours, though you have never lain eyes on her. She now belongs to you, and I implore you not to give her up, no matter how tempting the offer may be. Her walls hold many secrets, my dear, but many treasures as well, and I am hoping that you will be able to find love and happiness within them.
Hargrove House has been in the family for generations. It has always been my home. Now it is yours.
All my love,
Grandmother Victoria Hargrove
CHAPTER 2
Ellie quietly brushed a tear from her cheek. It was amazing that she could miss a woman she had never met. Perhaps it was the connection to her mother that made her so nostalgic, she wasn’t sure. Yet one thing she did know was that she had no desire to be going on this errand. Even if she had always wanted to visit England.
The plane gave a lurch as the landing gear touched down and the machine coasted to a stop. Ellie gazed eagerly out the small oval window at Gatwick Airport. The large glass windows of the dome welcomed her, graced here and there by British flags. Excitement coursed through her veins and Ellie felt a smile tug at her lips. Okay, so maybe she did want to be here. Just a little bit.
Despite herself, Ellie found she was grinning all through the airport and on to baggage claim, staring around at the people as if she were in another world. England. She had finally made it to England. She couldn’t wait to tell her father all about it.
As she walked out of the main doors of the airport, she spotted a man in a crisp black suit and cap. He was standing in front of a shiny black sedan holding a sign that read “Fitzgerald.” Ellie smiled shyly and got into the car, her eyes glued to the windows as they drove through the countryside.
It took nearly forty-five minutes to reach the town of Dover in County Kent, but Ellie didn’t mind at all. As they drove through the streets of town, she longingly took in the picturesque terraced buildings of red, white, and yellow brick silhouetted against the sheer face of the famous White Cliffs. It all looked exactly as she imagined it and Ellie couldn’t help but feel as excited as a little girl on Christmas. She loved the architecture, the Tudor-style buildings and the fountain in the town square, the feel of it all. Quietly thrilled, she gazed in astonishment as Dover Castle came into view on the horizon. The centuries-old fortress loomed over the town at the top of the hill, like a sentinel at the edge of the ocean. Ellie couldn’t help but feel as if she’d been there before, though she knew that was crazy.
“Must be all my research,” she murmured under her breath.
Before long, town turned to countryside and the road they were on led away from the ocean until finally, they turned on a narrow, paved road situated between two large stone pillars. Tall trees lined either side of the driveway until it gave way to an enormous manicured lawn rolling up and down plush, green slopes of grass.
Ellie let out a gasp. There it was. Hargrove House. It was just as beautiful as she imagined it would be. Stone steps led from the pavement that circled a gorgeous fountain to a heavy black door situated in the very center of a line of four tan stone pillars. On either side of the door were broad windows that illuminated the rooms within with natural light. The architecture was exquisite and Ellie thought she was in a dream. It was like a house straight out of her history books. It was three stories high, and at either corner, the stones bulged out to form what almost looked like
a turret. She could only imagine the circular rooms within were the drawing room or the library. She hoped one on the upper floor was the master bedroom, as she would love to have the view from all those windows.
But you’re not staying, she reminded herself. You’re only here for two weeks, then back to your life. You have a father who would be miserable without your company and a dissertation to write. You can’t just run off to England and never look back.
Oh, but what if she could? The things she could learn! Being right there in the thick of it was better than any history book, even if she was two centuries too late. There was an entire side of her history that she didn’t know. She could learn about her family, her grandmother, her mother.
She could learn about her mother.
Forcing herself to calm down, Ellie gripped the golden locket she always wore around her neck. Inside was a picture of her mother and herself when she was just a child. The letter “H” was engraved on the back. She never took it off.
Stepping out of the car, Ellie smiled at the driver and the valet who rushed down the steps to collect her things. The front door opened and two men stepped out onto the sprawling stone terrace lining the front of the house.
“Miss Fitzgerald,” one of them greeted her politely, taking her small hand in both of his. “My name is Barnard Seton. Thank you so much for making the journey. It was out of your way, I know, but it was extremely important to your grandmother that her will be handled just so.”
Ellie offered him a small smile. “Hello, Mr. Seton,” she said, letting him lead her up the steps. She turned warmly to the other man standing there, hoping she came off as cordial instead of terrified. Ellie had spent most of her life absorbed in books rather than interacting with actual people, something her father frequently discouraged. But Ellie couldn’t help it. She was a researcher and she was shy. Being reclusive just seemed natural. The downfall, however, was that her interactions with others always seemed forced, causing her much awkward embarrassment. Like now.
“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” the other man said kindly. He was quite a bit older than Mr. Seton; two decades at least. His hair was white and clipped as straight and tidy as the suit he wore, not one thing out of place. Ellie wondered for a moment if all British men were as stiff and polite as these two or if her grandmother just had a certain taste. “My name is Reginald, and I am the head butler here at Hargrove House. Anything you need, ma’am, and you just let myself or Eileen know, we will make sure it is taken care of.”
“I’m sure you’re tired,” Mr. Seton said, to which Ellie nodded. “I will let you get situated, and I will be back first thing tomorrow morning to begin legalities.”
As there was no room for argument, Ellie merely nodded again. “Thank you, Mr. Seton.”
“If you would come with me, ma’am,” Reginald said, offering his arm, “I will show you to your rooms. No, no. Arthur will get your things, ma’am. You are the mistress of this house now. Our job is to serve you. This way.”
The inside of the house was just as grand as the outside. Dark wooden moldings graced the corners, ceilings, and baseboards, accentuating the striped cream wallpaper that almost glittered in the sunlight. The furniture didn’t exactly look comfortable, but it did appear expensive, and most of it antique.
Reaching out, Ellie slid one finger over a glossy marble table that looked centuries old. Suddenly the room shifted. Gas lamps replaced the modern lighting; large, heavy curtains surrounded the windows; the wallpaper was replaced with a rich Tuscan yellow; a lush, ornate rug lay beneath her feet.
Gasping, Ellie caught sight of her reflection in a mirror. Where she had once been wearing a soft cashmere sweater and a comfortable pair of jeans, she was now in a long muslin dress, cinched just below her breasts and sweeping all the way down to the floor. Her face was lightly powdered, her cheeks warm and rosy beneath a crown of delicate orange curls, but her eyes were no longer the shy but content green she was used to; instead they were filled with a deep sorrow and a sense of loss more powerful than Ellie had ever known, not even when her mother passed. Instinctively, she clasped her locket again.
“Ma’am?” Reginald’s voice brought her back to the present, and just like that, the room around Ellie was back the way that it was before.
“Yes,” she breathed, trying to orient herself again. She pressed a shaky hand to her chest to quell her racing heart. What on earth had just happened? “Yes, I’m okay. I suppose it felt like I was straight out of a Jane Austen novel for a moment.” Her cheeks flushed scarlet, and at that moment, she wanted nothing more than to pull the covers over her head and not resurface again.
Reginald chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, ma’am. You’re not the first one Hargrove House has had that effect on. I believe your mother said the same thing to me once.”
Ellie’s eyes widened. “You knew my mother?”
“That I did, ma’am. Since she was a child. Ah, here we are. I’ll have Arthur bring in your things in a moment.”
Reginald opened a door to the left, smiled, then turned and retreated down the hallway, leaving Ellie to decipher her feelings alone.
The bedroom was just as fancy and expensive as the rest of the house. A large four-poster bed took up most of the floor, though there was an extravagant velvet armchair and tea table situated in front of a high bay window, and across the room, an armoire and vanity were polished to a shine. Candles were set here and there around the room, and the original candle brackets and gas lamps were still mounted by a far door which she assumed led to the restroom. Or the loo, as the British called them.
Throwing herself down on the bed and sinking into the luxurious bedclothes, Ellie giggled. She was in England. She had dreamed her entire life of coming to England, of coming here, to the house and the town where her mother had grown up, of seeing the White Cliffs and tasting the sea that her family had thrived beside. And now she was here.
Ridiculously happy, Ellie clutched a pillow to her chest and closed her eyes, letting herself drift off to sleep.
CHAPTER 3
His hands roamed over her skin as soft as silk as they played over every part of her body. He looked like a god in the candlelight, with sleek golden skin and muscles. She arched her hips to meet him, desire coursing through her veins. She loved the feel of his skin against hers, his heart beating against her breasts as if they were one being in two bodies.
She moaned as his lips closed in on her breasts, suckling at her, kissing every inch of her he could find. His love making wasn’t hurried, but soft and gentle, as if he had all the time in the world to drink her in, to make her feel as if her body were as loose and languid as water.
Heat rippled over them as they moved together, their sighs and breaths the only sound that mattered in the night. She was betrothed to another, it was true, but when her love was with her, her father’s promise of marriage to another man no longer mattered. All she could think about was him and the beat of his heart against hers. He was hers and she his, and no amount of power or money could keep them apart.
A knock on her bedroom door startled Ellie awake, and she jolted upright off the bed. Her skin was tingling and saturated with sweat, as if it had not been a dream she had had, but a reality. She could still feel him against her, whoever he was; still feel his lips against her neck, her breasts. Ellie shuddered.
It was no wonder her heart was racing and her chest was heaving. Good grief, how long had it been since she’d been with a man? Six months? Eight? It must be this place, she decided, rubbing circles on her chest, trying to calm herself. What she wouldn’t give for a glass of water. This house was playing tricks on her, making her dream she was part of a forbidden love in another time. Of course, her father would never promise her to a man she didn’t love. Her father had never wanted anything more than her happiness and actually encouraged her to date. But the women she knew so well from her research, the women who had lived in the time of Jane Austen, hadn’t be
en so lucky. Often, those women were used as bargaining chips to gain their fathers more land or money and had no say whatsoever in whom they loved, unless they were willing to risk their virtue and be with their lovers in secret, sometimes even after marriage.
Yes, that had to be it. It was just this house making her dream of forbidden love. Still, she wouldn’t mind at all if she could dream of it again. If only that insistent person would quit knocking on her door.
Grudgingly, she pulled herself out of bed, straightened her sweater, and went to the door. There was no outward sign she had just had a sex dream, was there? Gosh, she hoped not.
Ellie pulled open the door and forced a smile for the apologetic young woman on the other side. The girl tugged nervously at the apron over her brown skirt. “I’m sorry to bother you, Miss,” she said, staring at the floor. “There’s someone to see you in the foyer.”
Confused, Ellie frowned. “Someone to see me? Who?”
“Lord Dabney, Miss.” The girl began walking down the hall, glancing back every few seconds to make sure she was being followed.
At a loss, Ellie followed. Who on Earth was Lord Dabney, and why did he want to see her?
As they entered the foyer, Ellie spotted a man standing by the door, gazing out the window. Her first thought was that he was extremely handsome. He had a shock of thick dark hair, sharp prominent features, and when he turned, she found he had dark, mysterious eyes.
This was Lord Dabney?
“Lord Dabney, Miss,” the maid said. She curtsied a little before scurrying from the room.
Lord Dabney’s smile was bright and charming. Ellie found herself blushing furiously as his intense gaze landed on her. She cleared her throat.
“Miss Hargrove,” he said, and his deep voice sent a chill down her spine. He held out his hand for hers.
Cohen Page 144
