True Colours

“Circumstanced as we are, madam, I feel obliged to ask you to do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

“How can you be so ridiculous, my lord, as to offer marriage to one you hold in such complete dislike?”

“You may reject my proposal with scorn, but have you really given any thought at all to our situation here and the gossip that will inevitably arise as a result? Think again before you condemn us both to yet another infamous scandal!”

Nicola Cornick is passionate about many things: her country cottage and its garden, her two small cats, her husband and her writing, though not necessarily in that order! She has always been fascinated by history, both as her chosen subject at university and subsequently as an engrossing hobby. She works as a university administrator and finds writing the perfect antidote to the demands of life in a busy office.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Had matters fallen out differently they might never have met again. If his ship had not reached Plymouth early with a westerly wind behind it, or if she had not chosen that particular day for the journey into Somerset, or even if the hunt for Miss Frensham’s lost reticule had taken just five minutes longer, the accident would have been averted and they would have passed on the road none the wiser. And later during the London Season, in some hot, airless drawing-room, an inquisitive matron would have fixed her with a sharp, avid gaze and said eagerly, ‘I saw Lord Mullineaux driving in the Park today. Did you know that he was back in Town, Lady Carberry? You used to have some…small…acquaintance with him, I believe?’

And Alicia, Lady Carberry, would have put down her glass with a steady hand and responded in a colourless voice, ‘Lord Mullineaux? No, I was not aware that he was back in England. But then, our acquaintance was not such that I would be likely to have heard of his return.’

And Mullineaux, hearing in his club the name of Alicia Carberry toasted on all sides as an Incomparable, would have said nothing, but reflected that money could buy much, even respectability, in a society that delighted in scandal.

But that was not the way that it was to be, as fate, which had first brought them together only to tear them apart again, took another decisive hand.

The accident happened on a stretch of road the locals called Verney Drove, on a bend where the track—for it was little more—abandoned its straight course across the Somerset Levels and skirted a small hill. Both carriages had been going too fast and neither could see the other before it was almost too late. The curricle grazed past the travelling chaise with less than an inch to spare and such was the shock and noise of its sudden appearance that the carriage horses took fright, rearing and plunging violently, and the chaise almost overturned. It lurched off the road into the water-filled ditch and there was a loud crack as the front axle broke.

For a few moments, all was panic and confusion whilst the groom leapt down to try to reach and calm the terrified horses, and the coachman found both himself and the team dangerously entangled in the reins. The groom had reached the horses’ heads but was finding the frightened animals difficult to hold single-handed, and was shouting for assistance. The coachman cut the reins and tumbled down from his perch into the ditch.

Meanwhile, the driver of the curricle had pulled up his own team with an expertise that might have been admirable under other circumstances, and had passed the reins to his groom with instructions to drive on to the nearest village and warn them of the accident. He turned back and reached the scene at a run, just as the coachman, shaking the water off him like a dog and swearing horribly, joined the groom and grasped the reins.

The gentleman materialised beside the two of them as the horses were beginning to quieten and the groom cast a first dubious glance towards the carriage, uncertain whether to stay or go to the rescue of its passengers. The February afternoon was unseasonably mild after a long, cold spell and already the first heavy drops of rain were starting to fall from a leaden sky, threatening to turn the track into a rutted quagmire. The gentleman summed up the scene in one swift glance and turned to the coachman.

‘Stay with the horses,’ he instructed tersely. ‘Keep them steady whilst I go to find your passengers. How many do you carry?’ The rain was already running in rivulets down his caped driving coat and he pushed the soaking dark hair back from his forehead. In the sudden darkness of the storm the groom and coachman could discern no more of his appearance than a dark countenance with lowering black brows, and neither of them had the courage to ask him who he was; they simply responded to the voice of authority.