a lady awakened by cecilia grant (sneak peek)

8/3/2019 A Lady Awakened by Cecilia Grant (Sneak Peek)

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If you read only one debut this year,this is the one to read! Incredibly sexy . . .

surprisingly sweet. I loved A Lady Awakened!New York Times

bestselling authorEloisa James

N ewly widowed and desperate to pro-tect her estate and beloved servantsfrom her malevolent brother-in-law, Martha Russellconceives a daring plan. Or rather, a daring plan toconceive. After all, if she has an heir on the way, herfuture will be secured. Forsaking all she knows ofpropriety, Martha approaches her neighbor, a Londonexile with a wicked reputation, and offers a strictly busi-ness proposition: a month of illicit interludes . . . for a fee.

TheophilusMirkwood ought to be insulted. Should beappalled. But how can he resist this siren in widows

weeds, whose offer is simply too outrageously tempt-ing to decline? Determined shell get her moneys

worth, Theo endeavors to awaken this shamefullyneglected beauty to the pleasures of the eshonlyto nd her dead set against taking any enjoyment inthe scandalous bargain. Surely she cant resist himforever. But could a ladys sweet surrender open theirhearts to the most unexpected arrival of all . . . love?


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Chapter One

N OT ONCE in ten months of marriage had she wishedfor her husbands demise. Nor would she be glad of theoccurrence even for a moment. Even for this moment.To do so would ill become her.

Martha sat straighter in her chair, smoothing herblack skirts. Ones conduct might owe more to principlethan to sentiment at times, admittedly. But principlecould be relied upon. Principle steadied a person; bracedher up through those same occasions, in fact, where sen-timent made only a sluggish kind of mire to sink into.

She nished with her skirts and folded her hands onthe tabletop. Well, she said into the silence of her sun-lit parlor. This is all legally sound, I dont doubt.

Mr. Keene gave a little bow from his place at the ta-

bles foot, affording her a glimpse of the bald spot atophis head. He did not meet her eyes and had not done sosince beginning to read. A faint sifting sound came fromthe papers before him, as his hands lined up the cornersand made other adjustments of no particular purpose.Really, he ought to stop that.

Across the table her brother sat tight- lipped, his jawworking as if to swallow something of fearsome dimen-


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2 CECILI A GRANT

sion. His temper, that would be. To his credit, he alwaysdid try.

Speak, Andrew. She knew well enough what he

would have to say. Youre liable to do yourself someinjury otherwise.

Id have done injury to Russell if Id known what hewas about. A thousand pounds! He spat out the sumlike a mouthful of spoiled porridge. One thousand,from what began as ten! What kind of man would spec-

ulate with his wifes settlement?A man half lost in drink apparently would. To takejust one example. She drew a fortifying breath. Its notas though Ill be penniless. Ill have my dower.

No dower house, though, and but a tenth of whatyou brought into the marriage. Im sure Id like to knowhis reasoning. This, rather pointedly, to Mr. Keene.

I wouldnt have encouraged the investment myself,came the solicitors reedy voice as he went on shufingpapers. But Mr. Russell had a taste for those things.His will with the rst Mrs. Russell was similar: her por-tion invested in private securities, and all the rest ar-ranged in hopes of an heir. An heir, of course. If therewas any man on earth more eager to get an heir than herhusband had been, she should like to see him.

Well, no. In fact she wouldnt care to see that man atall. She unlaced her hands and touched her ngertips tothe tablecloth. Very pretty, this cloth. Linen, from Bel-gium, and no longer hers.

I wish Id had my own solicitors see to your marriageagreement. I would have had nothing to do with thistrust . More bad porridge. Fathers people were worsethan useless. I ought to have done it myself.

How could you have managed? One had neithertime nor patience for this sort of nonsense. I wish Id

done this; I would have done that; I ought to have donesome other thing. Blind alleys, those were, leading


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A LA DY AWAK EN ED 3

straight to the swamp of sentiment and nowhere else.You had your hands full settling Fathers estate. Thosewere difcult days for us all. Whats done is done. We

neednt say any more about it.Andrew held his tongue, then, but his eyes large, liq-

uid, dark as day- old coffee glowed with strong opin-ions. She angled her head politely away. So indecorous,to let the mood of any moment run rampant across onesface. So undisciplined. For all that she had those same

eyes, shed long since schooled them into sphinxlikecalm. It really wasnt hard.So when is she to be turned out of her home? he

said upon reaching the limits of forbearance. Howsoon will this other Mr. Russell expect to take posses-sion? Of course you will come to stay with me andLucy, he added to her without waiting for the solici-tors reply. When we go to the country you may evenhave your old room.

And live as a dependent child again, for all that shewas one and twenty. A burden to him and his wife.Something stirred in the pit of her stomach: tiny frag-ments of mutiny, chasing about as pointlessly as rubbishin a windstorm.

Mr. Keene inclined his head so as to show her the baldspot again. In these cases, we generally dont proceeduntil the widow assures us there is no possibility of ason.

Well, there wasnt. Her body had resolved that some

three days since, and brought her the news in its usualfashion. For all of Mr. Russells most vigorous efforts,on her and presumably on his rst wife, no child hadever resulted. Now no child ever would.

Was she expected to say so on the spot? Mutiny stilledher tongue. If she left the matter in some doubt, she

could get a few more weeks here. Maybe as much as amonth.


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Of course if she were truly mutinous . . . well, oneheard tales of what desperate childless widows occa-sionally did. Lurid tales, difcult to credit. What woman

could ever be so desperate? Probably it was all somemyth got up and passed about by wishful men.

She lifted her chin. I will send you word when I knowthat question to be resolved. She could see to the ser-vants, at least. Mr. and Mrs. James Russell would bringservants of their own, making some of the Seton Park

staff redundant. She would take what time she neededto get them placed out.Andrew dgeted silently for the several minutes Mr.

Keene took to gather up his papers and make polite re-marks, and when the solicitor was nally shown out,her brother quitted his chair with vehemence. For thelove of God, sister, will you never speak up for your-self? He strode away to the tables other end. Its notright, how youve been served in all this. Why must I bethe only one with the fortitude to say so?

A familiar coolness blossomed in the middle of herchest and seeped outward. I see no question of forti-tude . She measured out her syllables, and folded herhands atop the table again. I could speak of injustice, Isuppose, and indulge myself with some show of outrage,but none of that would change the facts of my currentsituation, would it? Her voice grew atter and atter,like pastry dough under a most adamant rolling pin.

Not now, it wouldnt. He ung out his hand in an

impatient gesture. But this whole thing might havebeen averted. For the life of me Ill never understandwhy you married the man. Why any young girl wouldmarry a widower twice her age when she

He was nine and thirty. Hardly in his dotage. Andno, youre not likely ever to understand. What eldest

son could? He would never be faced with the prospectof a parasitic existence. He would never come to make


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those reckonings in which girlish fancy had no place. Hewould only pity her, provokingly, and wonder at herwrongheaded choice.

As though a love match were the only viable kind ofmarriage! As though humanity had not prospered forcountless generations through unions of other kinds;through respectable alliances between people who hap-pened to prize other things above unbridled feeling!

Her hands had come unfolded and two ngers were

tracing over and over a bit of openwork in the table-cloth. She stilled them. Laced the ngers rmly again.Sat silent.

Abruptly her brother heaved a sigh. Im sorry, Mar-tha. She could hear the change in his voice, though shekept her eyes on the tablecloth.

He came round to stand behind her chair. One handsettled on her shoulder. She lifted her chin and lookedhard at the wall, where peonies marched in a cheerfulred-and- white pattern.

Im sorry if I offend you. He was all uncertaintynow, casting about for the right way to comfort so per-verse a little sister. Sorry youve had this misfortune,and sorry I wasnt more help to you. But Ill help younow, if youll let me. Youll have a good home with meand Lucy.

The wallpapers peonies shimmered for a moment,and threatened to swim. She might have been sevenagain, and he eighteen, that same hand on her shoulder

as awkward as a turkey on a pigeon- perch. Theyd donethis before, though that day theyd sat side by side onthe stone wall where hed nally found her, and the halt-ing words of consolation had all to do with Heaven, andtheir mothers soul.

Im sorry, too. I wish I could want what you offer. I

dont know why I cant. She swallowed, and kept thewords down. You were so kind to come, she said.


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Youve been a great help indeed. These past few daysshould have been much more difcult had you not beenhere. Ill write to you when I . . . Ill write to you. That

was her one toe dipped in the wallows of sentiment, andquickly drawn out again.

He left for London. When shed waved at his carriageall the way to where it turned from the drive onto theroad, she dropped her hand and began to walk. Awayfrom the house she went, south toward the swelling

hills. The August sun showed no mercy to a woman infull mourning, particularly one who covered ground ather pace. So be it. She walked faster.

Soon she was ascending, feeling her stride shorten asshe started up the face of the highest hill. Somewherenearby she could hear the discourse of sheep, plaintiveand petulant by turns. A dog barking as well, and amans voice giving terse commands. Round a fold in thehill she came upon them: one of her tenants training anew dog by guiding it round and round a clutch of threedisgruntled sheep. Mr. Farris caught sight of her and re-moved his hat, and then she must stop to make conver-sation.

One could say only so many things in praise of asheepdog. She said them all, while the tenant turned hishat round between thick ngers, nodding with a sageexpression. My Jane set me to ask, if I should see you,he said once these pleasantries were concluded, whetherwe may expect you to stay on here.

Im afraid its unlikely. More than unlikely. But heranswer to the tenants must coincide with the answershed given Mr. Keene.

Theres many will be sorry to hear. He whistled,and the dog reversed direction, circling in its half-crouched stance. Jane says its to you we owe the new

roof.Well, chiey to Mr. Russells generosity. She bent


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her head and brushed a speck of something off hersleeve.

The rst Mrs. Russell never did take any interest in

improvements. Nor did he, before you come along. Sosays Jane. She gives you the credit.

Her good opinion honors me. She brushed anotherspeck before raising her head. Shes well, I hope? Andthe children?

Aye, everyones well. He made a signal with his

hand and the dog changed direction again. Ben andAdam look forward to the school opening.The school? Delight surged up from her toes, ush-

ing out the mornings disappointment and boosting hervoice into some very strange octave. They werent onMr. Atkinss list, the last time I spoke to him. Will theybe attending after all?

Just three days out of the ve, to start. My youngestgirl as well. Everetts boys will help me out some, and myboys help him, and well scrape by with the rest of it.

Do you mean the Everett children will go to school,too? She wrestled her voice back down to a range thatwouldnt frighten the sheep.

Three days out of ve, aye. Maybe more in thewinter.

Im so glad to hear it. You do your children a greatservice by schooling them.

Well, theyve got some cleverness. He shrugged andturned his hat over again. Pair that with education and

a boy might choose his own course.She recognized one of the many lines of persuasionMr. Atkins had rehearsed with her, and couldnt sup-press a smile. Shed done some good at Seton Park, evenin her short stay. Shed been useful. When discontentthreatened to overtake her, she would remember the

new cottage roofs, and her part in realizing the curateslong-cherished scheme for a tenant school.


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Shed like to remember her improvements to hisscheme, as well. What of your Laura, and Adelaide?Theyll be attending the class on Sundays, I hope?

I cannot say they will. He set his head on an angleand rubbed the heel of his hand along his jaw. Wellneed them at home all the more with their brothers go-ing to school.

Of course. Shed heard this same discouragingresponse more than once. Still, its only an hour of in-

struction, once a week. Perhaps in time youll nd youcan spare them after all.Perhaps. Just now Ive got Laura learning more of

this work. Mr. Farris nodded toward the dog. Shetakes to it, you know. Ordering creatures about.

Well, a gift for command is certainly to be admired.Cultivated, as well. A girl of such talent deserved educa-tion, more education than the reading and cipheringwith which feminine schooling began and ended. Shewould speak to Mr. Atkins tomorrow. A stronger casemust be made to these parents, and with her time herecut short, he must be the one to make it.

T WO WEEKS ago, and for every Sunday of her marriedlife, shed sat beside Mr. Russell in the rst pew on theright- hand side of St. Stephens church. This morningshe sat three back on the left of the aisle, a gesture intel-ligible only to herself. That front pew was for the pro-

prietors of Seton Park. She would sit there no more.One saw things differently from the third row. Onecould see the spot where sunlight through the east wallslancet window struck the tile oor, for example. Onecould make a study of the backs of peoples heads. Sheshouldnt have known, in the rst row, which of her

neighbors washed behind their ears and which did not.From the rst row, too, she should likely never have


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seen the stranger. She might have heard him, hasteningup the aisle to an empty spot even as the rest of thechurch fell silent at the entrance of the curate through

the vestry door. But she should certainly never haveturned to glimpse the tall, nely clothed gure thatslipped into the pew across from hers.

Neither did she turn now. People who came late tochurch deserved no notice, which fact one might wishcould be impressed on those neighbors who were throw-

ing furtive glances his way. Her peripheral view of him,as he seized a prayer book and thumbed vigorouslythrough its pages, was more than sufcient, and she dis-missed him altogether when the service began.

Mr. Atkins preached earnest, unaffected sermons, per-haps a bit longer than one might privately prefer, butusually with a worthy point to make at the end. Hedchosen for his text today the story of Mary and Martha,those sisters who differed on the proper way of receivingthe Saviors visit to their home rather a confoundingverse, endorsing, as it seemed to, the dereliction of duty.But she could bow her head and await the worthy point,and the end.

A childs mufed giggle imposed itself on her attentionsome few minutes in. The little boy in the pew ahead ofhers was craning to look at something over his shoulder.She followed his gaze and met with the gure of thestranger, sound asleep and listing a few degrees to theleft.

Had he no notion of setting an example? She sent aquick look of reprimand to the little boy, who turnedhastily forward, and then she marshaled her disapprovalon the slumbering form across the aisle.

He dozed on untroubled, his head lolling at such anangle as to present her with a view of his hair, which

grew in waves and had the pale raw hue of fresh- splitboxwood. What features went with it, she could not tell.


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The turn of his neck left them to her imagination, notthat she had any intention of imagining.

His posture spoke all over of indolence. Long legs he

had, bent grasshopper- like to cram between his ownpew and the one in front. His hands sat slack on thehymnal in his lap, still open to whatever place hed beenat when last he was awake. Doubtless he was one ofthose men who came to church primarily for the chanceto subject everyone to his singing voice.

He subjected her now to something else: a snore, lowand subtle like the buzzing of some wayward insect, butstill, unmistakably, a snore. Then another, just in thepattern of the rst.

Well, really. Why even bother coming to church? Shefaced front again. Mr. and Mrs. James Russell couldhave the pleasure of dealing with him. Worthier thingsmust claim her own attention. The sermon, for example.Or the state of her prayer book, which smelled of dankwinter even on a summer day. All the prayer books in St.Stephens had that smell, and this one, as she pagedthrough it, revealed the additional offenses of dark spot-ting and pages warped by too much damp. A pity shednever got round to having Mr. Russell replace

Her skin prickled all over. Someone was watching her.Someone to her right. In one quick move she broughther chin up and around and looked into dark blue eyes;eyes the color of some faraway ocean. The stranger, justwoken, his head nearly righted and his countenance re-

vealed.Sleep disheveled his features still. His cheek had acrease where it had lain on his shoulder. A curling lockof hair fell slantwise on his forehead. Beneath the disar-ray were aristocratic bones, a reddish full mouth, andlashes she could have seen from six pews away.

He blinked, and blinked again. Then his whole lowerface melted into a smile, for all the world as though hed


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glimpsed her across a ballroom and was hopeful of anintroduction.

No. Worse than that. She turned quickly away, the

blood already coming up in her cheeks. Women whowoke in his bed saw that smile. Sleep- liquored. A bitsurprised to see her. Ready to see more, just as soon asshed oblige.

She put down the prayer book and folded her arms,hiding as much as she could from his view. The air on

her bare neck felt suddenly like an uninvited caress. Au-gust or not, she wished shed worn a shawl.Once or twice more her skin prickled, but she kept her

eyes xedly forward, even when the service ended andthe pews emptied about her. She was the last to passthrough the doors onto the threshold, and last to shakethe curates hand, and thank him for his edifying sermon.

At close range, perhaps even more so than when hewas in the pulpit, Mr. Atkins looked precisely the way achurchman ought. His austere build lent an extra mea-sure of dignity to his plain dark vestment, and his color-ing was such that one might make a true likeness of himwith only white paper and a bit of charcoal: charcoaleyes, charcoal hair, and thick black brows whose natu-ral slant gave a melancholy cast to his pale, angularfeatures.

I think it a ne text, he said in reply to her compli-ment, gentle mischief just evident in his smile, thoughperhaps I shall have to choose livelier passages in future,

for Mr. Mirkwoods benet. If he sleeps through my ser-mon on David and Goliath, I suppose I shall have nonebut myself to blame.

Is he a neighbor? Over Mr. Atkinss shoulder shecould see the stranger, a good quarter- mile already downthe path that would lead to the road. I dont know him

by sight or by name. He moved with a springy ease,hands thrust in his coat pockets.


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They own the property east of Seton Park, thoughweve rarely seen them there. Not at all, I believe, inyour time, and even now its only Mr. Mirkwood the

younger come down. But Ive spoken too long withoutasking how you do. The curates voice changed. I didnot expect you to be about so soon.

His eyes would be keen, if she should look up intothem. They would invite condences, entirely respect-able condences such as were common between parish-

ioner and pastor. I do well enough. She shaded herface with one hand as she followed the receding form ofMr. Mirkwood. Thank you for asking. May I help youput things away?

Certainly you may. Here, too, he was keen. He un-derstood reticence and met it with a graceful respect.

Back inside the church Mr. Atkins busied himself withpapers at his lectern while she collected books from thepews. Mr. Russell had not thought it suitable for themistress of Seton Park to perform such tasks. But nowshe had only her own wishes to consult.

She picked up the hymnal Mr. Mirkwood had used,

and locked her arms round all those shed gathered. Imust confess an ulterior motive. Feet set, she faced thepulpit. I hoped to discuss the school.

His hands went still for a second or two. Ah, yes. Idid expect this. He set aside his papers and lifted hischin. Come take a seat. With one hand he gestured

her to the rst pew as he came down from the pulpit.Then he leaned against the pew opposite, folding hisarms. I understand Mr. Keene was at the house yester-day.

He was. She set the stack of hymnals in her lap. Ind the estate is very likely to pass to Mr. Russellsbrother James. I shall probably be here but a few weeksmore.


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Theres some chance it may pass to you, though?His upper body inclined slightly toward her.

Some very little chance. This was getting compli-

cated. Lies so often did. The question should be re-solved within the month.

Ah. Understanding colored his face and he took asudden interest in the oor.

At all events we face the prospect of my departure.Onward. No time to indulge in embarrassment. And in

view of that, I should like to recommend certain actionsin regard to the school.Yes, of course. He nodded, gaze still lowered, as

though he were expecting her to say something graveindeed.

Enrollment in the class for young ladies is not whatwe had hoped. But Ive had an idea. She had, surpris-ingly enough. If you were to point to those placeswhere one may nd Scriptural support for womenslearning, these families must listen, I should think, andsee the notions merit in a way they otherwise mightnot. His eyes had slowly risen to hers, and the slant ofhis brows gradually steepened, putting urgency into herwords as she went on. Consider your text of today.Christ bid those sisters leave off their womanly pursuits,didnt he, and learn from him the same as any disciple.If on your next visit to the Farris cottage, or the Cheath-ams, you could remind them of

Forgive me, Mrs. Russell. He held up one hand,

and his face was all resignation and regret. But surelyyou see the school cannot go forward, given what youvetold me.

Not go forward! Her heart lurched halfway up herthroat. But why?

Whether or not to have a school will be Mr. James

Russells decision if you do leave us, and he might notconsider it a worthwhile use of his funds.


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How could he so quickly give up what hed so longworked for? But if you began the school I imagine heshouldnt actually be in residence here for several months

yethe might accept it as something already in place.And he might not. His voice, like his gaze, was soft,

sympathetic, and utterly unyielding. Think of the dis-appointment if I were to get the school going only tohave to shut it down several months later. I cant do thatto the tenants.

He made a good point. But something like mutinystirred up in her again. Shed pared away bits of her soulfor his school. One did not do such a thing in vain. Whatif . . . She searched the oor for inspiration. What if Iwere to write to Mr. James Russell, and tell him all aboutthe school, and perhaps secure his support in advance?

A glance at him caught the change in his face: he wasguarded, indeed, but she could see how ready he was tograsp at any bit of hope. Do you know very much ofhim? Caution kept his speech short. Do you think itlikely he would approve?

Mr. Russell spoke of him sometimes, enough for meto gather hes an amiable man, at least. It might betrue, that last bit. Why should he not be amiable?

If you would undertake to write . . . If your own in-terest so compelled you . . . The weight of his hopeforced her attention down to the hymnals in her lap.The stack needed straightening. I have the greatest re-spect for your powers of persuasion. You know I spent

months working to convince Mr. Russell of the merits ofeducating his tenants, but I do not believe he wouldhave agreed to it in the end without your intercession.

Two books slipped from her lap and went skitteringinto the aisle. She bent to reach for them and nearly col-lided with Mr. Atkins, suddenly kneeling there before

her. Im sorry, she said, rather stupidly, as there had infact been no collision.


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He looked up. A faint whiff of almond came to her: hemust use soap of that scent. A smile modest, decent,kindly played round the edges of his mouth. The

apology ought to be mine. He lifted the books. Youvelabored to no purpose I havent actually been in thehabit of putting these away.

She took the hymnals and sat up straight. You oughtto. Her nger traced along ones failing spine. Espe-cially in the winter. The damp is bad for paper.

Indeed I ought. He got to his feet, brushing absentlyat his cassock.These need to be replaced, at all events. Perhaps I

will ask Mr. James Russell to approve it. She forced asmile and he smiled back, his eyes lit with a trustful grat-itude of which she had long since ceased to be worthy.

T HERE WAS a new man in church today, said her maidthat evening while taking down her hair. Across theaisle from you did you see him?

Mr. Mirkwood, you mean. His family owns Pencar-ragh, just to the east. She tipped her head forward asthe hairpins were drawn out. Perhaps Sheridan coulddraw out her stupidity with them. What had she beenthinking, to propose a letter to Mr. James Russell?

Mirkwood, aye. In her dressing- table mirror themaids blond head bobbed once. Sir Theophilus, as willbe, once hes nished driving his father to an early

grave.I see you know more than I. Is this the fruit of below-stairs gossip? She couldnt work up any stronger ad-monition, with her mind so urgently occupied.

There had to be some way to secure the schoolsfuture; some sounder scheme than a mere written plea.

Mr. Atkinss attering faith to the contrary, she was nopersuader. His thanks ought to go to the bottle, for Mr.


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Russells imperfect recall of what he had and had notauthorized. She should have accomplished nothingwithout that.

You know Sarah, who makes the sauces? Sheridansvoice looped and uttered among her thoughts like acheerful unreproached bird. Her sister works in thehouse there, and she said Mr. Mirkwood had come tostay not by his own choice but by his fathers.

As a kind of banishment? This nally drew her full

attention. What sapskulled father, and what sapskulledson, could view the Sussex countryside as a penance?Banished, to be sure. A handful of hairpins dropped

musically onto the silver tray at her right. Put awayfrom the temptations of London, in a place where thereslittle chance for deviltry. Cut off from his allowance too,Ive heard, so no running down to Brighton for theamusements.

Deviltry. Amusements. This much, she could haveguessed. I am sorry to hear it. She found her maidseyes in the mirror. However we need not sustain thelife of a mans misdeeds with discussion, or with anynotice at all. We will merely hope he may prot by hisstay in Sussex. Not very likely, though, if he continuedto sleep through church.

Sheridan picked up a comb and eased it into Marthashair, ducking her head in a chastened way, but her smilesuggested she was indulging, still, in agreeable thoughtsof Mr. Mirkwood and his transgressions.

Undoubtedly one might have done more, in tenmonths, to curb the maids afnity for gossip and plantsome foundations of decorum. But to regret that nowwould be no good use of her time. Indeed, she mightperhaps employ the trait to some advantage.

Do you know anything of Mr. Russells brother

James? she said. Do the older servants ever speak ofhim?


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Mr. James Russell. A muscle twitched in the girlscheek; her features otherwise went neutral. Why doyou ask?

He stands to inherit Seton Park, and I have certainmatters to discuss with him in advance of that. Thistime she felt a tiny catch in the combs movement,though Sheridans face betrayed nothing. He didntcome to the wedding or to Mr. Russells funeral, so Imust rely on others impressions. Three, then four,

then ve seconds went by in silence. Youve heard somereports of him, I think?

Sometimes the older servants have said things. Themaids eyes icked up to hers in the mirror, and downagain.

And what have they said? I beg you will be frank

with me. A chill was creeping up her backbone. Whatcould instill this sudden reserve in the same girl whodchattered so readily of Mr. Mirkwoods disgrace?

Sheridans mouth pursed. She set her head on an angleand watched her hands combing. Finally, she spoke.They say he ruined two housemaids here when he was

a young man.What? The chill ooded every part of her now.Who says so?

Mrs. Kearney. She was second housemaid then. Shesays it was only her pockmarked face kept her safe.Her lips went tight together; her hands divided out a

lock of hair.Safe from . . . being lured into a degraded connec-tion, do you mean? Or safe from something worse?

Wasnt much luring in it. Like huge malign hail-stones the words fell, a few at a time, while Sheridanworked the comb through. He went into their roomsat night and told them theyd be dismissed if they saidanything about it. And then the two were dismissed all


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the same, because of what condition they found them-selves in.

Was he never brought to justice? The threadbare

whisper exactly suited that woman she saw in the mir-ror, pale as the white lawn chemise she wore. And thequestion was a foolish one. Nobody held such men toaccount. Women could only pray for mercy, and bearwhat came.

The maid shook her head, not bothering to reply in

words. Not that hell ever lay eyes on me, she saidafter a moment. Therell be no place for me here if youdont stay. She set the comb aside and busied herself inplaiting the combed- out hair. Only I was hoping youwould. All the servants were. I suppose things wouldhave come out different if youd been blessed with ason.

Different indeed. Martha lowered her eyes from herblushing mirror image. But as weve known these fewdays, all chance of that is . . . She stopped. Here camethe mutiny again, boiling up from somewhere deep inher belly and confounding all her words.

She raised her chin and met with her reection as herbreaths went quick and shallow. Sheridans reection,too, the sweet springtime face paired with eyes that al-ready knew too much of the world.

Women could only pray for mercy . . . That wasnttrue. Women could do more. A desperate woman coulddo more.

Women could only bear what came. But a chance hadcome. A chance had come and looked her in the eye thatvery morning.

In the mirror her blush was receding, her features set-tling into the lines of calm resolve. This could end in adozen different kinds of disaster. Thered be no guaran-

tee of success. And how to get through it without losingall claim to principle, she couldnt begin to imagine.


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So be it. She could wait for Providence to come tothese womens aid, or she could make use of what Prov-idence had already put in her path. Sheridan. She

twisted to face her maid squarely. Tell me again aboutMr. Mirkwood. Tell me everything you know.


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Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If thisbook is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as un-

sold or destroyed and neither the author nor the publisher may havereceived payment for it.

A Lady Awakened is a work of ction. Names, characters, places, andincidents are the products of the authors imagination or are used cti-tiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living ordead, is entirely coincidental.

A Bantam Books Mass Market Original

Copyright 2012 by Cecilia GrantExcerpt from A Gentleman Undone by Cecilia Grant 2012 by Ceci-lia Grant

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of TheRandom House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc.,New York.

Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks ofRandom House, Inc.

This book contains an excerpt of the forthcoming book A GentlemanUndone by Cecilia Grant. This excerpt has been set for this editiononly and may not reect the nal content of the forthcoming edition.

ISBN 978- 0-553- 59383- 9eBook ISBN 978- 0-345- 53252- 7

Cover design: Lynn AndreozziCover photograph: Marie Killen

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