Chapter 1

March 1799

 She made her way down the darkened alley between buildings that were constructed in such a way that the brilliant moon beams did not stand a chance of illuminating it. Her face laden with oversized spectacles distorting her vision and suffering from a mild case of night blindness, she did her best to steer clear of the multitude of hazardous obstacles cluttering the taxing and never ending journey to her destination.

Elizabeth wished she dared remove the cumbersome wire rimmed spectacles assaulting the bridge of her delicate nose and prominent cheekbones. Finding her way through the poorly lit streets in the dark haze of predawn London was difficult enough without being encumbered by blurred vision. They were not even her glasses. Her vision was perfect. She secretly snatched them from the estate overseer’s desk just before departing to help with her disguise. Since the spindly old man kept a variety of vision assistance, from wire rimmed glasses to magnifying lenses, she doubted he would miss them.

The frame of the pair she hastily selected transformed her striking aristocratic beauty into what could only be described as common and mousy. With the hood of her unlined, coarsely woven gray woolen cloak pulled low about her oval face and the oversized glasses there was little left exposed. She felt confident she would attract minimal attention from any curious onlookers she may encounter at this hour.

Elizabeth pulled her cloak tighter around her slender body, ignoring its rough assault on her tender flesh. Although the prickly fabric was not something she was accustomed to, she preferred enduring its rough touch to the bitter wind whipping through the abandoned alley. It felt abnormally cold for this time of year. Or, maybe it was not the weather. Maybe the weather was normal and she was colder than usual for another reason. Could it be from her fear of the being discovered before she was able to carry out her plans? Or, possibly her anticipation of what was to come?

Her pale yellow slippers, adorned with rows of multicolored beading blended to create a beautiful peacock, provided a flimsy walk. Their delicate constitution was certainly no match for the thick muck coating the final stretch of the dark, dank alley. Elizabeth heaved a sigh. She had almost maneuvered her way through the perilous debris permeating her path without a mishap. She was so near. Now, she would be presented to the good Doctor Jameson with the all too questionable and unpleasantly thick goo coating a great deal of her slippers.

She should have taken the time to steal a more serviceable pair of shoes from one of the servants. When secretly preparing her costume for her big escape, she completely forgot about her footwear. Not only were her slippers not serviceable, they were far too fashionable in comparison to the rest of her attire. Elizabeth shook her head. She was reduced to stealing. She hated thieves. It was a thief who caused the death of her mother and father.

Her eighth birthday had barely passed when the courier arrived with the horrific news that her parents were killed during a robbery while enroute to court. Nine years later, Elizabeth still recalled that fateful morning as if it was only yesterday.

The soft, orange glow of the rising sun was just climbing up from behind the tips of the tree lined hillside and silken droplets of morning dew blanketed the estate’s garden when the courier’s horse pranced into their courtyard. Only a few of the servants were up and about. The absence of activity accentuated the loud echo of his lathered horse’s hooves on the cobblestone.

Already awake, she clearly heard the courier’s heavy pounding against the solid oak entry door directly below her open window.

The messenger had foregone using the wrought iron eagle’s head door knocker, not trusting it to be loud enough to alert the residence of his presence at such an early hour.

Her room was positioned in the center of the second floor directly above the great hall. Although she could easily hear the muffled chaos the news caused, she was unable to make out the actual words being spoken.

She assumed the sense of dread she felt was over leaving the warmth of her cozy bed before the revival of a fire in the hearth could transform the cold stone floors and horsehair plastered walls into the welcoming haven she knew and loved. She sunk deeper beneath the folds of her thick coverings and watched the mist from her breath dissipate into the air like little puff clouds. It would not be long before someone would be in to stoke up the fireplace and she could inquire about the courier’s disrupting visit. He was probably sent by a neighboring lord or lady in need of her father’s ministering, not realizing her parents were on their way to court.

When the door opened it was not a servant with a bucket of hot coals for her fire who entered, it was her governess, Isabelle.  Her reluctance was apparent as she shared the shocking news that would change Elizabeth’s life forever.

Elizabeth’s family spent her early years living blissfully in the country, with her father traveling back and forth to court as summoned. Both he and her mother loved the peaceful beauty of country living. But, when King George’s health noticeably started to fail, it was her father’s duty, as the senior royal physician, to be available at all times; something that could not be accomplished unless they took up residence in the king’s court.

Elizabeth had developed a nasty head cold after disobediently playing in the light rain of an evening and chilling her body to the bone. Her brother, Herald, caught it from Elizabeth almost immediately.

Aware the king would frown upon the family arriving at court with two sick children but unable to delay their trip long enough to allow the children to recover their health, her parents reluctantly left their little darlings with in the care of Isabelle. The children were to join their parents as soon as they were healthy enough to be presented at court. That never happened. Instead, they were whisked off to London to live with their mother’s brother, Lord Cyrus Roberts.

A childless widow with minimal inclination toward warmth and expression where Elizabeth was concerned, Lord Roberts provided her with her basic needs minus affection and love.

Elizabeth looked at the starless sky. The only hint of illumination came from the tiny sliver of the moon as it prepared to change places with the rising sun. Soot and smoke shot relentlessly from London’s multitude of chimneys of all shapes and sizes as they were fired up in preparation for the day’s cooking.

She wished it was easier to see her surroundings. She would have at least liked to know more about the goo that clung to her appendages before she continued on. Better yet, she would have liked to find a means of cleaning it off.

She was so busy musing about the goo on her feet she didn’t realize she reached her destination until the alley was at a sudden end. Looking as far into her surrounds as she could, she slipped from the alley and made her way up the front steps of a large, red brick townhouse.

Lifting the ornate, solid brass knocker from the thick walnut door was no easy feat. She used both hands to wrestle the heavy, formidable looking lion’s head far enough away from its cradle to produce an adequate sound when she released it. When a small aperture in the door, no more than six inches wide and two inches high, slid open within seconds after dropping the brass knocker she found herself staring into squinting bloodshot eyes that hinted of the blue luster of a youth gone by.

“Declare yourself!” bellowed a strong, steady voice.

“’Tis Lady Elizabeth Nottingham, sir. I come to see Doctor Jameson,” she replied far more confidently than she felt.

His gruff tone did nothing to soothe her already frazzled nerves. The silence seemed deafening while she waited, for what seemed like eternity, for the heavy door to slowly pull open.

“He is running behind, miss. I shall show you where to wait. Pray follow me and do not dawdle,” the steward stated in an authoritative tone.

There was something oddly familiar about his tall, gangly features as well as the way he carried his narrow frame. She eyed him briefly before sliding through the small opening he allowed between the door and its frame before he was able to heave the thick wooden mass fully open.

Once inside she immediately noted how his house coat was unusually grand for a member of the staff, even if he was in a position of authority. She found him frightfully intimidating. He was an easy twelve inches taller than she, forcing Elizabeth to tilt her head back when she smiled up at him in an attempt to soften his demeanor. Perhaps a little warmth sent his way would melt away some of his gruffness.

 “Kindly refrain from smiling at me in that fashion, miss. It shan’t fetch the doctor any faster for you,” he huffed. “Now, pick your feet up and make haste.”

Elizabeth was not only shocked by his impudence in addressing her, but surprised by the perfect diction in which the man spoke.  This was an unusual thing to find within a servant’s class. She considered questioning him about his perfect diction and fine dress but the thought passed as quickly as it came when they simultaneously looked down at the mention of her feet.

A mixture of a loud cluck, a squeal of dismay, and a gasp of horror escaped his lips with such fervor as to wake the dead, “What? Where have you been? You cannot come in like that, miss! The master will be furious if I allow you to track in that... What is it?”

Elizabeth’s agony over the condition of her slippers renewed as she lifted one foot and then the other. They were far worse than she imagined.

“I really cannot say,” she replied. “’Twas quite dark in the alley.”

 “The alley? You traveled through the alley?” The old man made a loud ‘humph’. “Well, whatever it is, pray remove it promptly.”

He clapped his hands briskly and within seconds a slight, young housemaid who looked to be about Elizabeth’s age appeared carrying a thick rag.

Elizabeth assumed she must have been standing in the shadows. How else would she know I was in need of a cleaning rag?

As if reading her mind, the old man blurted out, “This is Sally. She carries that confounded rag with her wherever she goes.  This is the first time it has come in so handy.”

“I dare say,” Sally exclaimed when her eyes settled on Elizabeth’s slippers.

Elizabeth looked at Sally’s weary expression and sighed. She thought how sad it was that the poor girl was summoned before her normal waking hour because of her dirty feet.

Being a woman who valued her sleep, the knowledge that she robbed the young housemaid of precious minutes of her much needed rest filled Elizabeth with remorse. Now the obviously overworked servant girl would probably be dragging around all day while she struggled to complete her duties. If only she had been more careful where she was stepping.

Trying to ease some of her guilt, Elizabeth smiled warmly at the tired looking wench. This resulted in the young woman blushing and looking away. The rose hue crawling up her cheeks brought out a hidden sparkle for the briefest moment before it slipped away into the abyss of her emotionless green eyes.

“What are you doing?” The old man roared. “Leave the wench to her business. I shall inform the doctor you have arrived.” He glowered at Sally, “I trust you shall rectify this situation post haste.”

“Yes, Master John,” Sally timidly replied while she diligently scrubbed at the disgusting goo that clung stubbornly and threatening to destroy Elizabeth’s expertly crafted, satin slippers. As she did so, the colorful beads in the pattern of peacocks fell loose and rolled across the meticulously scrubbed slate floor. “Oh, miss, I am so sorry. Your slippers are ruined for sure.”

Elizabeth barely realized Sally’s dilemma as she pondered the manner in which the servant addressed the steward. Master John? Surely a man servant, even the steward, would not be addressed in such a manner. Would he?

“Sally,” Elizabeth’s voice was barely audible. “Who was that man?”

“’Twas Master John, miss,” Sally answered just as softly.

Sally stole a moment to steel closer look at Elizabeth. Young ladies rarely called upon the Jameson household, and certainly never without escort in the pre-dawn. Her clothing was that of a servant, but the steadiness of her violet, almond shaped eyes spoke of a woman who was sure of herself. Her skin glowed with health and her soft, supple hands had surely never seen a day’s work. No, this young miss was no servant. Although for the life of her, Sally could not figure her out.

“What does he do here?” Elizabeth asked, oblivious to Sally’s musing.

“Why miss, he’s the steward, miss. He’s in charge of the others in the house,” Sally responded with obvious confusion.

“You called him master, did you not?” Elizabeth’s tone was mildly impatient.

“Aye, I did that, miss,” Sally replied.

“Why?” Elizabeth asked.

Sally looked dumbfounded.

‘“Why, I don’t rightly know, miss,” Sally said in earnest. ‘Tis the way I was told to address him since the time I first arrived. I never questioned it, miss.”

“Why did he answer the door? The house has a footman, does it not?” Elizabeth continued.

“Aye, miss, several,” Sally replied.

Although Sally answered the questions as were presented, it was clear she preferred to be allowed to just do her job.

“Then why...” Elizabeth shook her head. It was obvious the housemaid would be of no assistance in clarifying John’s role. “I find this very strange, very strange indeed.”

Sally kept her head bowed toward the floor to hide a smile. She found it humorous that a lady who arrived at her master’s residence in the wee hours of the morning with her fancy slippers covered in some sort of disgusting goo, no escort, and dressed in a costume that obviously belonged to a woman far beneath her station would find anything going on in the household strange.

Before Elizabeth could ponder more about John, he returned and impatiently motioned her to follow him into a receiving room at the far end of the hall. She was not accustomed to being treated thus by servants, but held her tongue. Taking into consideration the fact that her costume belonged to one of her house maids, it was understandable that she would be taken for a woman of a lesser station. It just proved her disguise worked. If she was to get out of London undetected, no one except her new guardian, the good Doctor Jameson, should know her true identity.

The rustling of a young, fragile looking servant girl rousing from her slumber caught Elizabeth’s attention. She peered into the small cupboard beneath the stairs as she walked by just in time to be captured by a pair of large brown sleep infused eyes that spoke of the hardship of a servant’s life in eighteenth century England.

Taken aback by the stark reality of the girl’s situation, Elizabeth thought of how different her own life might have been had she not been born into society. An orphan never fared well. Even in her position of privilege, her life lacked one of the most important necessities for happiness. Love.

Her uncle, an earl by birth, reluctantly took on the task of caring for Elizabeth and her brother after the death of his sister. He made it abundantly clear fairly early in their relationship that he preferred a different arrangement, but he refused to provide more gossip. His sister’s rebellious ways managed to create plenty.

Lord Roberts made certain Elizabeth was well fed and impeccably dressed. He saw to it that she received the best education available for young women.  He hired the best governesses and tutors that money could buy. He even provided her opportunities to do some light travel about England in order to broaden her view of their country.

Sadly, his heart stayed forever locked to her.

Elizabeth’s mother, Lady Vanessa Roberts, shocked her family and society by rejecting the man of her parent’s choice. She ran away and secretly married for love instead of openly marrying for wealth and status. To make matters worse, Vanessa married below her station to a man of middle class society.

Ironically, both of Vanessa’s parents died of consumption not long after her shocking announcement of her marriage to a bright and promising young doctor. No ministering by the family physician or their new doctor son-in-law could reverse the course of the illness that ultimately claimed them. Rumor spread quickly that the Roberts were driven to their grave by their daughter’s shocking display of rebellion. Surely the consumption would never have consumed them had they not lost their will to live from the shame of their daughter’s actions. Years later, whispers could still be heard amongst the more rigid members of the ton.

Although Vanessa’s new husband, Thomas Nottingham, worked hard to develop an earnest reputation of being the best physician in London and even earned the respect and eye of King George, Cyrus would not move past the fact that his sister publicly shamed the family by marrying him.  Even the king’s gifting Thomas with the title of knighthood, a grand estate in the country, and a generous fortune did not change her uncle’s stubbornness. Cyrus harbored the bitter belief that the nuptial between Vanessa and the noble imposter was what drove his parents to their death.

The only son and heir to their parent’s fortune, Cyrus denied Vanessa her rightful inheritance and any recognition as family, even though to look at them you could not deny the connection. His obstinacy continued until her husband’s increased status with the king forced him to do otherwise. He may have eventually relented and given over Vanessa’s inheritance, but he never truly befriended Thomas and there was a strain between brother and sister right up to the day she died.

Elizabeth’s brother, Herald, as per the customs and laws of their country, inherited their parent’s estate immediately upon their death. Three years her junior, the estate remained in trust with the law office of Simon and Jameson until Herald reached his sixteenth birthday.  Elizabeth was left with a small fortune with the majority of it to act as a dowry.  She was allowed to draw from it a small allowance for the day to day needs that were not met by her uncle while in his care.

She often wondered if her uncle would have been different toward her if she had been lucky like Herald and inherited her mother’s fair hair, ruddy complexion, and crystal blue eyes. Herald so resembled their uncle that those who were not aware of the circumstances often thought Cyrus was indeed the boy’s true father. Cyrus favored the boy with so much affection that those unfamiliar with the situation would naturally mistake him for the boy’s father.

She often pondered her uncle’s disgusted reaction when he first laid eyes on her, ‘Would that you would have taken after the Roberts, girl. Ye have your father’s thick and unruly raven curls and perpetually rosy cheeks. Your skin may be that of your mothers, but those deep violet eyes are not of our bloodline. We have clear blue eyes. ‘Tis your father’s blood that dominates ye, child. All I see from your mother are the deep dimples in both cheeks and your petite and rather fragile looking physique. ‘Tis a disappointment, to say the least.’

The fact that she would never feel the love that was showered upon her brother simply because she looked like her father was a painful realization to come to terms with. She often reminded herself how many girls in her situation found themselves in far less desirable circumstances and accepted the care he provided with humble gratitude. In fact, she was the model niece right up until the night he held a small, yet extravagant dinner party where he surprised her by announcing her engagement to the man she found herself seated next to all evening.

Elizabeth shuddered as she recalled the mixture of looks on the faces of the distinguished men and elegant ladies when her uncle stood at the end of the table that was laden with an abundant display of meats and fruits and raised his cup of newly imported coffee in a toast to the future nuptials of his niece and Lord Stephen Carlson. Some shone with admiration while others –primarily those of the ladies- displayed jealousy and envy.

Seated a little too snugly next to her, Lord Carlson immediately placed his hand over hers in a somewhat timid, yet possessive, manner while he smiled and nodded in response to the guest’s applause and well wishes.

Could he detect her surprise? For surprised she was.

Stunned in fact.

Her uncle never even consulted with her on his decision. Was she not allowed even the slightest bit of say in respect to her future? Uncertain what to do, Elizabeth simply sat in her chair and stared at the oversized finely etched silver platter in the center of the table.  It bore the weight of an enormous venison roast surrounded by baked apples, cherries, and pears.

Having lived with her desires and wishes ignored since the fateful day her parents died, Elizabeth spent her years fantasizing about meeting a man who would love and adore her. She wanted a husband who would care about her needs, thoughts, and feelings. Most of all she wanted to marry for love. She clearly remembered the happiness and love her parents shared and longed to have the same for herself.

She knew very little about the man to whom she was just publicly promised other than he stood about a foot taller than she and sported a handsome mustache when first they’d met; which he since shaved off. He possessed steel gray eyes that reached deep into a person’s soul when he looked at you. When he smiled, women -herself included- tended to become weak-kneed. But, was this enough to make her want to marry him and spend the rest of her life with him? Hardly!

Having just returned from the colonies, Lord Stephen Carlson was the talk of London society, as well as one of its most sought after bachelors in the ton. Thirteen years Elizabeth’s senior, he sailed from England in search of adventure fifteen years prior and returned only recently at the request of his father, who suffered from an acute breathing affliction.

The heir to a dukedom with an estate that could rival that of a king’s, Stephen set his affairs abroad aside and dutifully assumed the role of estate master. Within days over his father’s badly neglected duties were in his competent hands.

Elizabeth considered her plight. Most women would have swooned with delight at the prospect of becoming Lady Carlson. After all, Lord Carlson would one day be amongst the most influential men in England. His tall, muscular frame filled out his jacket and breeches in a way that was certainly pleasing to the eye. His ruddy complexion, chiseled jaw, and steel gray eyes -that were accentuated by sun-kissed auburn hair that looked as if it might become dark brown if left without exposure to the sun for any length of time- could certainly take one’s breath away. On the rare occasions when he donned a wig, it seemed to accentuate his magnetism. Yes, any woman would consider herself fortunate indeed to become the wife of Lord Stephen Carlson.

But, she was not any woman.

After living for the past nine years as the ward of a man who could not, or would not, open his heart to her, she was determined not to spend the rest of her life in a loveless marriage. Remembering how happy her parents were together and knowing they defied convention and married for love, she promised herself she would do the same. She fully in-tended to honor that promise.

It did not matter to her that Stephen Carlson was to inherit a king’s fortune.  Nor did she care about the impressive fortune he reputedly acquired on his own while abroad. It did not matter to her that she would one day become a duchess with grand households at her disposal, both in England and abroad. It did not matter to her that this marriage gave her an opportunity to redeem the family name that had been sullied -in the eyes of her uncle and some stiff-lipped members of the ton at least- by her mother’s actions. It did not matter to her that he was extremely handsome and vigorous. It did not matter to her that his adventures abroad left him with a charismatic air of mystique. What did matter was that he acted cold, reserved. He was clearly incapable of loving her the way she wanted to be loved.

The way she needed to be loved.

The way she dreamed of being loved her whole life.

Since Stephen returned to England less than a fortnight ago -after an absence of almost a decade-, Elizabeth found herself in his company on multiple occasions. They were first introduced at Molly Regent’s party and spent the briefest of time discussing the weather. Both were guests of the Countess Weston in her private box at the theater where they found themselves seated scandalously close during a performance of William Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors.

Although Elizabeth found Lord Carlson’s good looks and the fact that he did not follow the trend of wearing makeup to enhance his features appealing, and their conversation proved entertainingly light and trivial, she was wary of the unfamiliar hot and fluttery sensation she felt in the pit of her stomach whenever he was near. Having grown up lacking the privilege of being allowed a circle of friends like youngest girls of her social status enjoyed, she had nary a confidant to explain these occurrences and was forced to resort to her own reasoning. Since the feeling left her confused and uncomfortable, she determined it must be bad. Since Lord Carlson was the instigator of these bad emotions and sensations, he too must be bad.

Stephen called upon her uncle on numerous occasions after her initial introduction to him. Each time he spent most of his visit barricaded behind the thick walnut doors that secured her uncle’s private study from prying eyes and ears. He was sometimes in the company of just her uncle and other times joined by a few of his business associates. After the meetings dispersed, Stephen religiously made his way into the parlor where he spent the briefest of moments with her in trivial conversations followed by awkward silence.

Elizabeth noted how their private interactions were in stark contrast to the animated, light hearted interaction she experienced during their public meetings. Since they both traveled in the same social circle, she took this menial, uncomfortable attention as the ever popular and socially conscious Lord Carlson merely fulfilling an obligation of being polite before taking his leave. Never, in her wildest dreams, would she have considered he was courting her.

When her uncle shocked her by publicly announcing he agreed to give her hand in marriage to this aloof man who left her uncomfortably unsettled whenever he was near without even discussing it with her prior, she wanted to scream and run from the dinner table.

Of course, social etiquette would not allow it.

Life was a tortured blur during the few short months that led up to her wedding day. During this time, the visits from her fiancé dwindled in length and frequency, which suited her just fine.

Her governess, Madeleine Hardy, already completed the term of her contract, but agreed to remain in residence as Elizabeth’s companion and waiting maid. She was also to act on behalf of Elizabeth’s deceased mother by assisting her with the selection of her gown and trousseau.

Madeleine was a mere ten years Elizabeth’s senior. Having been raised the daughter of a gentleman before her father’s death necessitated she take up a position as governess, she dove into the task with excited zeal. She was so excited by the events that she failed to recognize how Elizabeth did not share one ounce of her enthusiasm.

For Elizabeth, her days were spent in despair. Was there no one who understood or shared her sense of over-whelming loss and confinement?

She was pondering just this fact while shopping for ribbons to match the new silk brocade she commissioned to be made into a morning robe.  She was walking down Market Street when she ran into a very old colleague of her father’s, Dr. Jameson.

Although her uncle Cyrus cared little for the distinguished doctor, her father had been a close friend. In fact, her father thought so highly of the Jameson family as a whole, Dr.  Jameson’s brother -the Jameson in the law firm of Simon and Jameson- was entrusted to manage their inheritance until they came of age.

Dr. Jameson took it upon himself to visit the earl’s home and inquire on Elizabeth and Herald’s wellbeing on more than one occasion. The fondness the young woman and the old doctor developed for each other was a result of these visits.

“My dear, I understand you are to be wed to Lord Stephen Carlson,” Dr. Jameson bowed enthusiastically before taking her hands in his. “He is to inherit a dukedom, is he not? Well done, I say. Well done.”

So pleased was she to be in the company of this comforting older man, Elizabeth easily excused the fact that he ignored the latest fashion trend of a clean shaven face and sported an outdated waxed salt and pepper mustache and goatee and an overly powdered, ill fitted wig that sat mildly askew on his head. His attempt to follow the trend to enhance his features with a little makeup here and there proved entirely unflattering and could easily be labeled gaudy. The combination of such gave him a comical appearance. Despite his ill fitted appearance, Elizabeth’s eyes shone with genuine friendship.  She was completely oblivious to the stares of passersby.

Her old friend’s brows knit together with concern while he listened to Elizabeth stammer her gratitude for his well wishes. This was not the excitement of a young woman about to be married. Upon closer study, he could see how her normally rosy cheeks were paled and her usually brilliant, deep violet eyes looked dull and hallow. Could she be unwell?

Feeling the need to confide in someone, Elizabeth accepted the doctor’s offer to join him for coffee. Fortunately, they were not far from one of the few coffee houses in London inclined to entertain women.

The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans tantalized her senses as she allowed the doctor to escort her to a more secluded table toward the back of the dimly lit room. She motioned Madeleine to place herself in a distant yet suitable location away from them, allowing her some privacy before entering into the doctor’s confidence.

During a lengthy conversation, over freshly brewed coffee lightened with lightly browned sweet cream and complemented with sweet almond biscuits, Elizabeth expressed her despair about her uncle’s promise for her to wed without even so much as a whisper to her prior to announcing it publicly. She felt even though her uncle adequately attended to her basic needs, he had not considered her feelings since that fateful day her parents died and she became his ward. She was positive the match between herself and Lord Stephen Carlson was intended to serve the earl’s ego and political station far more than it was to serve her happiness and wellbeing.

Having been denied the privilege of marrying the love of his early years due to her improper station in society, Lord Michael Jameson opted to remain a bachelor and all but walked away from mixing and mingling with the nobility.   He dove into science and medicine as a means to help him heal is broken heart. Yes, he fully related to Elizabeth’s desire to marry for love and, yes, he certainly understood how she might feel her uncle was simply trying to unload her at the first opportunity to the highest bidder. After all, a girl of seventeen with a hefty inheritance and respectful allowance could certainly not be considered someone destined to become an undesirable spinster and was hardly a burden to her ward. Surely Lord Roberts could have waited a bit longer and have allowed his young ward the opportunity to fall in love.

Elizabeth’s dissatisfaction with her uncle and her situation was a boon for the quirky doctor. He saw before him a golden opportunity. For some time, he’d longed to travel and explore the recently emancipated colonies.  Alas, being the middle son and not heir to the family’s wealth, he could not fund such a journey. Since his brother was in charge of Elizabeth’s inheritance until she married, he was privy to certain information and was well aware that she had the means fund a trip around the world several times.

Since the girl fully intended to run from her present situation and start life anew, why not really run? Why not venture somewhere the earl would never think to look?

With great enthusiasm, the doctor used his persuasive abilities and painted a picture of freedom and happiness like no other with his description of the newly formed country. A country founded on the preface of freedom.

Elizabeth had not really thought of traveling far away from the only home she ever knew, especially as far away as across the ocean.  She had never been to sea. To travel across the expansive ocean to a land as raw as that of the colonies was a frightening concept to her. There was a copious amount of whispers in good society concerning the barbarians who fought against the king’s army alongside half-naked natives. It was reported they even practiced slavery, something that was no longer done in civilized countries. The colonies the doctor described sounded nothing like the barbaric land the gossip so vividly portrayed. When he reminded her that the very refined and respected Lord Stephen Carlson, the very man her uncle chose for her to wed, spent the last decade of his life there, she agreed it must indeed be the kind of land he was describing to her. It truly must be the land of new beginnings and freedom.

The picture the good doctor painted for Elizabeth made the newly emancipated country sound like a dream come true. Noting that a trip of this magnitude would prove costly, she agreed to fund their travel as long as he took care of the arrangements and acted as her escort for not only the duration of the trip, but also once they reached land.

The doctor assured her it would be an honor and a privilege to become her guardian until she met and fell in love with the man of her dreams. He urged her to tell no one of their plans. Her uncle was an influential man and the Carlson’s equally so, if not greater. Should their plans be discovered before they were executed, the consequences could be far too dire to even whisper about.

They parted company with the promise to meet again within the week. Both walked with a lighter foot. Both moved with an air of excitement. They had a plan. For Dr. Michael Jameson it represented the adventure of a lifetime. For Lady Elizabeth Nottingham it held freedom and the promise of a new life with love and happiness.

****

“Beyond the pale, girl, tell me you did not come alone!” Dr. Michael Jameson bellowed as he entered the room with his steward, John, close at heel.

The genuine petulant fretfulness expressed in the doctor’s voice as he strode across the thickly woven wool carpet and took his seat in an overstuffed, green tapestry chair startled Elizabeth. She had not witnessed this side of her old friend during his short visits over the years. He had always been jovial and warm while telling her stories of when he and her father were young doctors making their way in the world.

“Why, yes I did,” she replied stoically.

“Now, why would you do something so bloody stupid? Why, ‘tis unheard of! Do you not know how dangerous the streets are at night? And... devil take me... what nonsense did I hear? You came through the alley?”

They were about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime and he was nervous and decidedly anxious. The last thing he needed was undue stress upon his aging countenance because of the thoughtless actions of this young woman.

“’Twas faster sir,” Elizabeth replied hesitantly.

Hearing her response to the doctor’s fury, Elizabeth, regrettably, had to agree with him. What had she been thinking? His reaction to her thoughtless method of travel was surprisingly vivid. What would he say if he knew the rest? Dare she tell him she confided, just a little, to Madeleine about her plans and the fool woman turned her in? Dare she admit that her uncle insisted on marrying her immediately to Lord Carlson in order to avoid yet another family scandal? Dare she tell him she had been Lady Carlson for well over a week?

She dared not.

“I thought it best to keep as few people as possible in-formed of our plans, thus I did not hire a carriage and took a route that would prove speedy and require less walking. I am sorry if I upset you, sir,” she replied as she looked at the floor.

She suddenly felt quite foolish.

“No matter, dear child,” the doctor sighed. He seemed to realize his harshness and put his temper in check. Returning to the man she knew so well, he continued, “You are probably right on that account. The less informed the better. Even a cabbie knowing your whereabouts could prove a risk. ‘Tis a might scandalous an act we are up to, I dare say.” He shook his head, allowed a broad smile to consume his face, and chuckled, “‘Tis indeed an adventure.”

“Indeed,” snorted John, seemingly not enthused. “One that could cost you dearly, you, old fool.  You are very likely sailing to the heathen colonies to be scalped or worse.”

Elizabeth raised a brow in surprise at the unusual familiarity Dr. Jameson’s man servant used while in his company. Noticing her reaction, her new guardian threw his head back in hearty laughter.

“Lady Elizabeth Nottingham, might I introduce my brother, Sir John Jameson? I realize you have met, but I am certain you were not properly introduced.”

John bowed low, concealing his amusement as best he could.

“Your brother,” Elizabeth gasped, “but, I thought...”

“Yes, and you are correct. He does indeed serve as the household steward,” Dr. Jameson chuckled. “Not because he needs to, mind you. In fact, he is my eldest brother. The family fortune,” the doctor swept his arm around the room, “this house, and all that is in it belongs to him. No, he does it not out of necessity, but out of desire. For some unfathomable reason, he enjoys playing the role of my man servant.”

“Quite right,” John nodded enthusiastically as he did his best to conceal his amusement.

“How very strange,” Elizabeth mused.

“Indeed,” the doctor agreed.

Somehow Elizabeth did not feel she was privy to the entire story, but she accepted their explanation. For the moment, there were more important issues to tend to. John’s strange behavior could be addressed at a later time, if it was to be addressed at all.

“Am I correct in understanding that you stepped in a rather strange substance while journeying here?” her host asked.

“Yes, I am so very sorry. It was extremely difficult to see my way tonight.” Upon noticing the dark look returning to the doctor’s face, Elizabeth checked her words, “Your house maid did her best to get most of it off to avoid my tracking it through the house. I am sorry to say my slippers did not fare well, but I believe nothing was tracked in.”

“I am not as worried about you mucking up my house as much I am about you infecting yourself. These alleys are full of disease. I shall have a bath set up for you. Sally will help. We shall burn those clothes. The wardrobe I ordered for you arrived yesterday. Select a sensible travel costume after you have cleaned up and meet me in the dining room. We shall have a light fare before heading down to the docks.” He stood up to leave, “I beg you do not dawdle, my dear child. I have no doubt that they will be looking for you at first light. We must make haste if we are to accomplish this.”

Fortunately for all concerned, Elizabeth had not discussed the whole of her plans to Madeleine and Dr. Jameson’s identity was spared. Knowing the good doctor as she felt she did, she was certain he would not have followed through with their plans had he realized that she was already wed to the very man she sought his help to escape. She decided that it was best to keep that fact a secret until after they set sail for the emancipated colonies.