LITMIR.BIZ

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his charm legend. And she had believed him when he said he loved her. Fancy blinked back her tears.

      But Parker hadn’t loved her at all. His soul had been as black as his features were beautiful. And she had found out too late. Too late to prevent their marriage. Too late to prevent the scandal that surrounded his death. Her dreams of love, a life of happiness like her parents had shared, had been brutally crushed. But she had at least been fortunate to escape Parker before he caused her worse pain than the reality of what he was already had. If only they had learned of his true character, and that of his family, before she had become his wife.

      But they hadn’t known, hadn’t even suspected. After all, as Maeve so succinctly pointed out, he was a Virginia Randolph. His more important Virginia relations had helped Kieran Devers quell the storm of controversy that had erupted over Parker Randolph’s death. Faced with the true facts of the situation, and as horrified as the few others who knew what had really happened, they had used their considerable influence to extinguish the uproar as swiftly as possible. The truth was not pretty and had it been known, the scandal would have been impossible to contain.

      So they had agreed with Devers that the sooner the widow departed the Colonies for England, the quicker this disgraceful situation would die down. With Frances Devers gone, the talk would fade away, probably by winter, everyone was quite certain. And so she had been exiled from everything and everyone she had loved. But Parker Randolph had taught her a valuable lesson. He had taught her that men could not be trusted. He had taught her that her father and her brothers were unique.

      And when she had asked her parents why they had not told her these things before she wed, her mother had wept bitter tears. They had been so happy together, Fortune explained, that the difficulties they had faced in their youth in England and Ireland had been forgotten as the years passed. Aine, her eldest sister, had known the real story. So had Shane, Cullen and Rory, who had been named for deceased relatives and friends in Ireland. When pressed, Maeve recalled something about their father’s wicked younger brother but little else. Neither Jamie, Charlie, nor she had known a great deal of their father’s early history. And they weren’t particularly interested.

      They knew about their mother’s family, who it seemed were wealthy and powerful people. Their grandmother was, in their minds, a colorful character who had outlived several husbands and had had a royal prince for a lover. She had known dukes and kings. Their mother said that her mother’s own father had been the ruler of a great land thousands of miles across the earth. Fancy remembered that as children they had not quite believed their mother’s tales. She was, it seemed, a great storyteller, touched with the gift of gab, her father would tease, for their mother had also been born in Ireland although she wasn’t raised there.

      But now, Fancy considered, those stories did not seem quite as outlandish as she and her siblings had believed. The comfortable luxury she had experienced so far was eye opening. She had never before known servants who had been with a family for generations. She had never experienced the fawning respect given to her and her equipage as they entered the assigned innyards and the inns. The lady wished a bath? At once! The lady preferred duck to capon? Immediately! It was all most revealing, and her curiosity was piqued. She found she was anxious to reach Queen’s Malvern. And then suddenly they were there.

      The elegant carriage that had been drawn all the way from London by six perfectly matched bays with cream-colored manes and tails moved smartly through the gates of the estate. Interested, Fancy pulled down the window and peered out. Located in a small valley in the Malvern Hills between the rivers Severn and Wye, the house and its lands had once been a royal property. Late in the reign of Elizabeth Tudor, the queen, in need of monies, had sold the estate to the de Marisco family. They had left it to their favorite granddaughter, and it was her son, the duke of Lundy, who now possessed it.

      Constructed in the reign of Edward IV as a gift for his queen, the house of warm mellowed pink brick was built in the shape of an E. The brick outer walls were covered in shiny dark green ivy except for one wing that had been burned during the Commonwealth and reconstructed just five years ago following the king’s restoration. The windows were tall and wide with leaded panes. The roofs were of dark slate with many chimneys. It looked a comfortable home to Fancy. Waiting before the house upon the carefully raked gravel drive was a small group of people. The most striking of the group was a woman in a garnet silk gown, the cream-colored lace of her chemise showing above the neckline, a lacy shawl draped about her shoulders. The lady had silvery hair with two ebony wings on either side of her head. Next to her stood a younger woman wearing a silk dress of ocean blue. Her hair, a dark blond, was fashioned with elegant curls. Next to her was a tall gentleman in a black velvet suit with snow-white lace cuffs, and a white shirt. His auburn hair was cropped short, and he had silver buckles on his shoes. With these three stood two young girls, quite similar in appearance. One wore a gown of deep green silk, and the other a gown of rich violet. Both had dark hair as did Fancy. How alike we are, Fancy considered. We could be sisters. How odd. I wonder if Mama knew. They are more like me than my own siblings.

      “The old woman is your grandmother,” Bess said. “The gentleman by her side is the duke, your uncle. The blond lady is his wife, Lady Barbara. The two lasses your cousins, Lady Cynara and Lady Diana.”

      “Are they sisters?” Fancy asked.

      “Nay,” Bess quickly said. “Lady Cynara is the duke and Lady Barbara’s daughter. Lady Diana is the duke of Glenkirk’s lass.”

      Fancy struggled to sort out the relationships as her mother had explained them to her. “She’s a Leslie?”

      “Aye!”

      “Her father is my mother’s brother,” Fancy said aloud. “He is the eldest of my grandmother’s Leslie children. My mother is the youngest child of her second marriage to the marquis of Westleigh.”

      “If you know that,” Bess chuckled, “you know more than me, mistress.” Then she said, “Lady Diana is the sweetest lass you’ll ever meet with, but beware of Lady Cynara. She’s proud beyond all bearing of her Stuart blood. She don’t mean to be difficult, but she can be. Don’t let her bully you, and I hope you’ll forgive me for being so frank, but here you are, all the way from the Colonies, and not knowing a soul. My conscience wouldn’t let me rest if I didn’t give you the lay of the land, Mistress Frances. You seem as good a lass as your cousin, Lady Diana.”

      “I’m grateful to you, Bess,” Fancy quid. “It is difficult being so very far from home, and a stranger.”

      The coach now drew to a stop. The door on the right side was opened by a liveried footman, and the steps pulled down so its occupants might dismount the vehicle. The duke of Lundy stepped forward, and offered his hand to Fancy.

      “May I welcome you to England, and to Queen’s Malvern, Niece,” he said, helping her from the coach. “I am your uncle, Charles Stuart, your mother’s younger brother.” He bowed and drew her forward into the group of her relations.

      “I am your grandmother.” Jasmine Leslie greeted Fancy with a smile, and then she kissed the girl on both cheeks. “You look nothing like your mother, but you certainly do look like your cousins, and all of you resemble my grandmother. Blood will indeed tell. Welcome to England, and to Queen’s Malvern, dear girl.”

      “And this is my wife, Lady Barbara,” the duke continued.

      Fancy curtsied politely.

      “And your cousins, my daughter Cynara and my niece Diana Leslie,” the duke concluded.

      Fancy curtsied again, and her cousins returned the gesture, but all three girls were eyeing each other curiously.

      Jasmine put an arm about Fancy. “Bess Trueheart has taken good care of you, Frances?”

      “Oh, yes, ma’am!” Fancy replied. “She has been most helpful. I wanted to bring my own servant, Junie-Bee, but Mama said my break with Maryland must be complete.”

      They entered the house and settled themselves in the old hall that was Jasmine’s favorite room at Queen’s Malvern. The servants took her traveling cloak and came forth with trays carrying goblets of

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