CHAPTER ONE

London, 1851

Annabelle gripped the silk curtain, her heart racing as an unknown carriage approached. The carriage stopped at the front door, and the footman lowered the stairs to help the passengers out. A man garbed in black travel clothes emerged. Annabelle pressed her forehead to the glass window to glimpse his face, but his top hat blocked her view. 

The man paused long enough to help two women out of the carriage. The taller woman stayed behind while the slender, petite woman held onto the man’s arm as they walked to the front door. Annabelle blinked back the tears that blurred her vision. She had hardly collected her emotions when Margaret barged into her room.

“Annabelle!” Margaret called, her breath coming in quick gasps. “Annabelle, he’s here! The master’s here!”

Annabelle did not turn around. She kept her eyes on the strangers until they disappeared into the house.

“Annabelle!” 

With a soft sigh, Annabelle let go of the curtains and turned to the frantic maid.

“Lord Henry Finley has arrived, and you choose to remain calm?!” Margaret half-yelled, her brown eyes growing in size as she balled her fists on her hips. “What will become of us if the master turns out to be a monster?!” Brown tendrils struck her face as she shook her head in a panic. Tears filled her eyes, and, turning to conceal them from Annabelle, she paced the room. 

The weight of the truth of Maggie’s words pressed down on Annabelle’s heart. Struggling to stay calm, she mumbled, “Have Caesar tell Lord Henry Finley I’ll join him soon.”

“Perhaps the new master intends to get rid of us.” Margaret raised her gaze to her, and Annabelle saw the tears in her eyes. 

“Every master needs help, Maggie. I am certain he does not intend to get rid of the servants in his home.” She forced an encouraging smile.

“Perhaps he intends to get rid of you?!” Maggie hurried across the room to Annabelle and pulled her into her embrace. Burying her face in her shoulder, she wept.

Annabelle stood motionless for several seconds. If things were different, she’d hug Maggie close and whisper comforting words. But today, she had no comfort to give, for she needed comfort herself more than ever. Each day, she battled the urge to break down from grief and panic over the death of the only man she considered a father: Elijah Finley.

Barely a month had passed since Elijah died. Elijah wasn’t her biological father, but she loved him with deep affection. He was the only family she ever had—the only world she ever knew. His death brought desolation to that world. It was the worst thing that ever happened to her. Yet, she feared another tragedy loomed ahead of her in a man named Henry Finley.

Henry Finley, heir to the Finley estate, was Elijah’s only son. The relationship between father and son had always been strained. After Henry forsook his father in London for Paris, he stayed away for thirteen years. He did not send a single letter, not even when Annabelle wrote to inform him of his father’s failing health. When Elijah passed away last month, Annabelle wrote a second letter to Henry. She tried to delay the burial so Henry could come, but after five days of waiting, she buried Elijah by herself.

Henry Finley cared nothing for his father, only for the inheritance he stood to gain. Now that he was back to claim his inheritance, Annabelle worried he’d get rid of everything that reminded him of his father—especially her. 

“Go now, Maggie,” she said as she worked to untangle Maggie’s arms from around her waist. Once free, she wiped Maggie’s wet cheeks with her fingers. “Tell Caesar I’ll join Lord Finley shortly.” Maggie sniffed and nodded. 

Alone again, Annabelle pressed her hands to her warm cheeks and let out a shaky breath. She waited a few seconds for her heart to calm down. Then, she smoothed her black dress, squared her shoulders, and turned to leave the room.

Memories of Elijah Finley plagued her as she walked through the familiar hallways. Elijah was unlike any man Annabelle had ever known, with the purest of hearts. He never cared that Annabelle’s skin color set her apart from the British elites. He accepted her when others rejected her and loved her when they despised her. Walking these halls without him felt so lonely that instinctively, Annabelle hugged herself. 

She reached the stairs and paused. She clasped her sweaty hands and swallowed the lump in her throat as she went down the stairs. She forced a smile when she saw Caesar, the butler, at the entrance to the drawing room.

Caesar’s brown eyes lit up at the sight of her, and with a slight bow of his head, he greeted, “Miss Annabelle.”

She nodded, then turned her attention to the drawing room. As she neared the entrance, she prayed for the courage to face Henry Finley. She prayed for the wisdom to say the right words and hoped for the grace to be kind to him, despite her feelings about him.

She entered the room and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him. Elijah! He sat cross-legged on his favourite settee by the stone fireplace, clothed in a sharp black suit that fit his lean frame perfectly. His clean-shaven face was unmarked by age. His straight, raven hair was parted to the side and slicked back in an unusual but stylish look.

For a moment, Annabelle believed Elijah had returned from the grave. She had almost succumbed to the need to fall into his arms when she looked into his eyes. Fierce green eyes glared back at her. The frown that marred his features revealed his true identity as Henry Finley. 

Seated beside Henry was a beautiful blonde woman with clear blue eyes that matched her dress. Her gloved hand rested lightly on his sleeve. Annabelle wondered whether they were married. She looked for a ring on Henry’s finger but found none. 

A second woman sat in the corner. She had curious brown eyes and fiery red hair that stood out against her pale skin. Her nose was much too large for her face, and her green dress was relatively modest.

“My lord…and ladies.” Annabelle curtsied.

Henry remained seated, disrespecting her. “You are Annabelle?” His deep voice rattled the chandelier above their heads and caused a shiver to race down her spine. His presence intimidated her, for it dredged up memories of a master she once had. Memories she fought every day to keep buried. 

“Yes, Lord Finley.” 

“The servants tell me my father has passed.” He frowned.

Annabelle nodded, wondering if he hadn’t received her second letter. “Please, accept my condolences.”

“When?”

“Four weeks ago. I sent a letter, my lord. I fear you might not have received it,” she said, and he shook his head, confirming her suspicions. “We had to bury your father in your absence.”

He paused, his expression hard to read. “And you? I understand my father let you run his estate, and you have continued to do so even after his death.” His gaze descended on her body with an air of superiority. 

Annabelle forced a smile. “My Lord trusted me with everything, and I have not broken his trust.”

Henry leaned back against the red velvet settee and continued his study of Annabelle. Nervous, she shifted her attention to the wooden floor.

“Your father must have been a peculiar man, Henry.” The woman beside him spoke for the first time that morning. When Annabelle raised her head, she saw a coy smile stretch across her thin lips. “How strange for a man to trust a woman of color with his affairs,” she said. Annabelle felt a wave of shame wash over her—shame for her past and for the skin color that revealed it. 

“Odd indeed. But it doesn’t matter; he’s dead. Now, we must hope no one has taken advantage of the situation to squander the family’s fortune.” He fixed his gaze on Annabelle. She said nothing. It was useless to deny squandering Elijah’s fortune; Henry wouldn’t take her word for it. He would want to see for himself, and she had nothing to hide. “Send word to the lawyer and schedule a meeting for this evening.” 

“Very well.” She turned to leave.

“While you’re at it, prepare our rooms,” he called after her. She turned back around. “A place for me, Miss Jeanne, and her companion, Mrs. Brighton.” He motioned to the redhead in the corner.

“Hm.” She offered a curt nod and made her way to the door.

“You must serve dinner at seven. Prepare an extra plate for the lawyer,” Henry said.

“Some fresh flowers on the table would be wonderful. Perhaps it will lift the gloom,” the woman said. Annabelle wanted to remind her that they were in a state of mourning. Nothing could lift the gloom of losing Elijah. “And a bottle of sherry. I fear that time on that dreadful ship has wrecked my nerves.”

“Go now, Annabelle. Ensure everything is in order,” Henry said.

“I am not a servant, Lord Finley!” Annabelle blurted. 

“No?” Henry eyed her. “I remember when my father bought you.” 

She swallowed. “Lord Finley was clear about my position in his home. I did not work for Lord Finley but lived here as a companion.” She fought to keep her shoulders straight as she stood under the scrutiny of Henry and his friends.

“You shared my father’s bed,” he accused. He did nothing to conceal his disgust.

“I most certainly did not!” she half-yelled, indignant and horrified.

Henry raised a brow in challenge. “Very well, Annabelle. If you will not take your place as a servant, you must pack your bags and leave these grounds. I have no further use for you.”

Henry waited. She knew he expected her to fall to her knees before him and beg him to allow her to serve him. But Annabelle was unwilling to endure service again. Elijah set her free, ending her years of living a life unworthy of anyone. This freedom was far too precious to lose.

“I will have my things ready by evening, Lord Finley.” Nodding, she walked out on the man she knew would never be her master.