Diana sat on the sofa with her baby, who was half asleep. Her other children gathered around his chair on the floor. Except for three-year-old Georgia, who climbed onto his lap, careful not to jostle Missy or his injured leg. “Sing, Uncle David,” Georgia demanded, pressing her ear against his chest. “Make me shake.”
Earlier that afternoon she had snuggled in his lap to press her ear and hand to his chest, and squealed in delight when he had growled like a troll and other scary beasts, intoned the lowest notes he could reach, and practiced scales.
David sang, one arm around Georgia and the other cuddling Missy, even while he stared daggers at Lydia. His friends would never let him live down the ignominy of playing nurse for a half dozen nieces and nephews, even if he did dearly love the little curtain climbers.
An idea formed as he sang the familiar lullaby, a soothing melody with horrific words about a baby in its cradle falling out of a treetop.
By the time he finished, Diana’s youngest and Missy were both asleep. “Would you like to hear a bedtime story?” he quietly offered.
Nodding eagerly, the children drew nearer. Lydia and Diana beamed.
David tilted his head back and gave a low, menacing laugh, and then proceeded to warn the children why they should stay indoors after dark and go to bed on time. He described the gathering of ghouls and goblins who came out every night to torment the living with fiendish glee. The hideous creatures would come indoors to hide under the stairs or under the beds of children if the doors were not locked and windows closed. If the children didn’t behave, the Bogeyman would get them. As he spun his yarn he let his voice get quieter and rumble deeper, and finished with another demonic laugh, head tilted back, his teeth bared.
Diana and Lydia looked equal parts horrified and appalled. The children squealed in delight and begged for another.
“Silly Uncle David,” Georgia said, patting his cheek. “You’rethe Bogeyman.”
Chapter 1
London, March 1816
Miss Ashley Hamlin followed her Aunt Eunice and Uncle Edward up the steps into the grand home for her fifth ball of the Season. They made their way along the receiving line to greet their hosts, Lord and Lady Sedgewick, admiring the sumptuous interior and equally opulent guests. After working at Torquay Academy for Young Ladies for five years, Ashley could perform the social niceties by rote, yet still struggled to not feel like an imposter here in London. She adjusted her silk shawl, marveling anew at her recent good fortune.
After they were announced at the entrance to the ballroom, Ashley stepped forth into the swirling crowd, feeling like she was heading into battle, flanked by her uncle and aunt.
Lord Sedgewick had engaged a sextet for the event that included a viola and violincello. After so many years of hearing primarily high-pitched feminine voices, and girls who played treble clef instruments like flute and fife, Ashley felt starved for sounds from the bass clef. Dancers had already formed a long double line performing the steps of the polonaise.
“See anyone you like tonight, my dear?” Uncle Edward patted her hand on his arm. “I’ll arrange introductions.”
“Only for eligiblepartis,” Aunt Eunice said.
“Of course, darling,” Uncle said.
Feeling the rhythm of the music resonate within her bosom, Ashley itched to dance. “I’ll be sure to let you know.”Not bloody likely. She pasted a smile on her face. At best, she hoped to hear talented musicians and dance a time or two with some kind gentleman or other who took pity on a spinster. Someone who could suppress his cringe of horror after learning she was a bluestocking.
Three weeks into the Season, the only attention she seemed to draw was from gracious hosts, men doing a good deed, or reprobates interested mainly in the modest dowry Uncle Edward planned to settle on her. Though there was that widower who wanted a mature woman as a mother figure for his brood of eight children. She shuddered.
Her official goal for the Season, the same as for any single young lady, was to secure a husband. Barring some miracle, however, based on the empirical evidence of her social outings so far, she was as likely to jump and land on the moon as get married.
This probable future did not keep her awake at night. She had truly enjoyed her work at the academy. She looked forward to obtaining a position at another school before the Season ended.
They greeted friends as they promenaded the perimeter of the ballroom. Uncle Edward was soon drawn into a discussion with two of his cronies about horses for sale at Tattersall’s, and the men drifted toward the card room.
“Miss Hamlin?” came a surprised greeting.
Ashley smiled at the former student of the academy. “Miss Barrow-Smith. How lovely to see you.”
Miss Barrow-Smith took a few more moments to recover from the apparent shock of seeing her at a London ball.
Ashley couldn’t blame her. The cost of her ecru silk gown, pearl necklace, and other accessories totaled more than double what her annual salary had been at the academy. “May I make you known to my aunt, Mrs. Endicott.” She patted her aunt’s hand that was tucked in her arm. “Miss Amber Barrow-Smith completed her studies at the academy last year.”
The two curtsied and exchanged greetings.
Ashley recognized the looks on their faces—Miss Barrow-Smith calculating the cost of their respective ensembles, Aunt Eunice considering why Miss Barrow-Smith needed a second season on the Marriage Mart to make a good match—and almost laughed.
They parted after exchanging a few more pleasantries, then Miss Barrow-Smith disappeared with other friends and Ashley searched the crowd for a likely dance partner.
“Oh no,” she said, stepping behind Aunt Eunice and her purple turban with three ostrich feathers. “He’shere.”
