One

In which our story begins.

London, England, 1843

Lady Abigail Aurora Ashfield threw her head back and trilled a silvery laugh. Her most recent dance partner, a Sir John Eden laughed along with her, not realizing how completely the small debutante had woven her snare around him. Abby smiled to herself, proud of her handy-work. 

"Sir Eden, you are just too amusing!" she exclaimed. "But I am truly afraid I must leave! My dance card is just so full! I'd no idea I was so popular!" she lied. In truth, she felt her mother glaring daggers at her from the other side of the hall.

Taking her blue silk skirt in one hand, Abby swept past the dance floor, chin lifted, blue eyes shinning. Her dark hair was twisted in a knot at the nape of her neck and held in place with jeweled pins.  Her cheeks were pink with the excitement that came with the balls of a season in the ton. 

Abby's mother, Duchess Elizabeth Ashfield, stepped forward to meet her oldest daughter, her eyes snapping with impatience. 

"Abby Aurora, what have you been doing?" she scolded. "I've been trying to get your attention for the past ten minutes!"

"Oh?" Abby asked, raising an eyebrow. "What's so important that you so desperately need me for?" 

Elizabeth linked her arm through her daughter's and steered her over to where her husband, Duke Brigan, waited with his second daughter, Rose, and a tall, handsome young man in navy dress. 

"Brigan, darling!" Elizabeth called. "I've found her, at last!" Brigan bent down and planted a kiss on his wife's lips as Rose, a gray shadow in the corner, and Abby, a vibrant peacock, watched silently. 

"Abby-Aurora," Brigan said formally, taking his daughter's hand. "May I present Commodore Sam Marx?" The young man inclined his head, and Abby had to admit he was quite the looker, with black hair in a disarray and gold eyes. "Commodore Marx, my eldest, Abby."

"Pleased to meet you, Commodore!" Abby trilled, dipping a curtsy. She felt rather than saw Rose's disapproving glare, and glared right back. Just because her sister was as stern as a nun didn't mean she had to be!

'Girls," Brigan said to his wife and daughters, oblivious to their silent exchange. "Commodore Marx will be staying with us as long as he's in London as my guest. Abby, dear, perhaps you'd care to offer the Commodore a dance?"

Abby noticed the younger man's golden eyes narrow as he studied her. He had stayed silent throughout the conversation. What an unpleasant man, she thought. No, she most certainly would not dance with him! 

Turning to her father, she smiled slightly and hung her head, trying to appear contrite. At least she wouldn't have to lie. 

"Oh, papa!" she moaned. "I'm so sorry, but my dance card is completely full! In fact, I owe Baron George Allen an apology, for I just missed the waltz, which I was to spend with him!" ANd with that, she whirled in a cloud of bright blue silk and sashayed off to find her next partner-or should she say victim?

 

Throughout the night, she constantly felt the Commodore’s critical eye on her, judging her every move, her every word. She suddenly felt self-conscious of the way she flirted with every man thrust her way, promised nothing to anyone, gave herself to none.

 

Finally, Abby couldn’t stand it any more. Excusing herself to her partner-a lord something-or-other who’d come all the way from Yorkshire to find a bride-Abby sought out her parents. She couldn’t bear the stress of the Commodore’s heavy gaze for another minute.

 

“Mama!” she all but wailed. “Oh, I’ve got the world’s worst migraine! Please!” Elizabeth turned, shocked, to her daughter, and immediately felt her forehead for a fever. “Can we leave now? I know it’s still early…” she trailed off as Elizabeth bustled into action.

 

“Yes, yes, of course! Brigan, round up the girls and Henry! Abby, the Commodore and I will wait in the carriage! Oh, where did Sophie and Rose disappear to? Oh, I suppose Henry can make his own way home!”

 

Abby was amazed at how well her plan had worked. Brigan hurried off to find Rose and his niece, Sophie, who was visiting for the season from India, where she and her family lived. He also left word with their hosts to tell Rose’s twin brother, Henry, to find his own way home.  

 

Before she could blink, she found herself bundled into the carriage, her head resting on her mother’s shoulder, facing her father, sister and the Commodore. Her cousin sat at her side, holding her hand.

 

Though Abby felt bad for having forced her family to leave the first event of the season, she knew she would have felt worse had she had to endure the Commodore’s horrid stares all night. At least now she would be free of him in twenty minutes at the most, and she wouldn’t have to face his critical behavior until morning, and maybe then his behavior would be better.

 

She wouldn’t count on it, though. For all she knew, this man always had the manners of a wild dog and the temperament of an ice cube.

 

As they arrived home, Abby pretended to have fallen asleep, so she wouldn’t have to face telling her mother that she really felt fine, and there was no need to summon a doctor. Though she wouldn’t admit it to herself, she was also hiding from the Commodore, knowing she wouldn’t see his rudeness if her eyes were closed.

 

To her surprise, she felt strong arms lift her out of the carriage, arms that were not her father’s, and the Commodore’s voice telling her parents not to worry, that she’d probably just exerted herself too much during the dancing. When her mother protested his carrying her up to her room, he shrugged it off.

 

“It’s no bother, your Grace. I don’t mind, truly. She weighs next to nothing, your daughter. You should try to get her to gain a little weight. It’s unhealthy to be so thin,” the Commodore assured her family.

 

His hold was gentle as he carried her up the stairs to her room, and he was careful to pay special attention to not knocking her head against the wall, despite his earlier coldness towards her.

 

Abby would have to find a way to thank him without revealing that she’d been awake all along. That would just prove awkward for him.

 

Then he let her down gently onto her bed, and she felt him move away as she felt her mother move in. She heard Elizabeth’s soft voice politely shooing off the Commodore while seeming to thank him at the same time.

 

Abby heard the door close behind him, and then Elizabeth’s gentle fingers unbuttoning her gown, unlacing her corset, pulling the covers over her. Abby would also have to thank her mother.

 

And then Elizabeth left, and Abby was left alone. She finally allowed herself to truly sleep, and fell asleep thinking about the strange Commodore Marx.