Forbidden

by Rachel Van Dyken

Slender features.

  Delicate.

  Different.

  Bright eyes that lightened when she had something exciting to tell Emma and couldn't keep it a secret. Lately, that had occurred more and more frequently.

  "I do. Truly amazing. Hold still. I'll put this in your hair." Emma wanted to envy Trudy. A coming out party. A ball. A whole life in front of her. Then again, her own life would begin in a few days as well. When she could go home to her father and sister. A time she'd prayed for and looked forward to every day since she had begun worked for Mr. Dodsworth.

  Not liking the fact that her mood had soured, Emma threw her shoulders back and tilted her chin slightly. A sullen ninny she refused to be! Instead, she would be brave. She wouldn't dwell on the past. Especially not now. Not when things were so close to being over.

  Not every girl needed to go to balls and dance with her prince.

  Emma couldn't help but smile, though she struggled against the constricting of her chest again, as she watched Trudy in the mirror. I won't be sad… I won't be sad… I refuse to be sad, she repeated to herself, praying she would believe it soon. Envy wasn't her normal attitude, and she very much disliked it.

  While Trudy sat in a chair with the fabric of her emerald green dress billowing out in all directions, Emma attempted to put a rose she'd picked from the garden into Trudy's fiery hair.

  "Hold still." She giggled despite herself. Trudy really was one of those girls who could light up a room. A sweet girl. The total opposite of her father who could be kind at times, but there was always something secretive about him. Something Emma could never place. Something she wouldn't miss when she went back home to Enhurst.

  "I'm sorry. I'll try to sit still." And she did. She tried, but her excitement made her feet shake first… then her knees…. then her hips… in a few seconds, her entire body shook to some sort of rhythm and to a tune only Trudy could hear.

  "This won't work unless you stop." Emma laughed, fighting to slide the stem of the red rose into Trudy's matching hair. There. It would have to do. Getting Trudy ready was fun, but it took away from her other chores — and, thanks to Mr. Dodsworth, Emma had plenty.

  Though the Dodsworths were rich, they didn't have many servants. Possibly, as a way for stingy Mr. Dodsworth to keep more of his wealth. Less workers meant less wages. Of course, it meant more work for Emma, Elizabeth, and Miles — the only servants in the entire household. Emma was both the lady's maid and the chambermaid. The only other maid in the home, the housekeeper, was Elizabeth — a woman not two years Emma's senior. Rules of polite society dictated Emma should call her Mrs. Elizabeth, though the girl wasn't married. It was of no consequence: Emma never could bring herself to do it. It would almost be as strange as calling Trudy Miss Gertrude. She shivered at the unpleasant thought.

  Imagine if someone called her Miss Emma. She scoffed and shook her head. Maybe in her dreams. Maybe when she got back to Enhurst and forgot all about this time of her life. Maybe when she could be the Baron's Daughter and not some lowly house servant. She'd miss Trudy and Elizabeth — and Miles in a small way, but she wouldn't miss having to work for someone else to pay for a debt not hers. Perhaps if she went far away, no one would know of her servant past.

  Perhaps if it were far enough away — Ravenston or even Everdale.

  Emma's mind wandered, and she could picture sitting in a chair like the one Trudy occupied, with a maid helping her get ready for her coming out party — or one of the many balls. She'd wear a blue dress, for it was her favorite color and matched her eyes so well. Her maid would put one of her mother's combs in her hair, keeping the blond curls from escaping. Emma would stand. Twirl. Feel the rich fabric as it flew against her skin.

  Then she would turn to her maid and thank her for everything she'd done for her and tell her she was appreciated.

  Finally, Emma would get in a white carriage drawn by a white horse and be whisked away to — not Darenset where she lived now. It was a beautiful town. Large. The biggest in the area, rivaling London with its beauty and wealth. Not to the balls in Enhurst, a much smaller place where everybody knew everybody — and a baron's daughter being gone for years was no exception. No, Emma would make the three-day journey to London where she would attend every ball the city had to offer. Where no one knew her. Where she would find a husband who would never have to know what she had done for the past five years. She would have to learn new customs and social etiquette, of course, but how hard could it be?

  And she would never think of Darenset again. Only in her nightmares. Being a servant wasn't the part she hated. She didn't mind cleaning or helping Trudy. It was the highlight of her day. What she disliked was being away from home. Away from her childhood friends. Friends she'd been forced to leave without any notice.

  One day she'd come home from her dear friend Ruby's house. Her father had greeted her with a bag and escorted her out to a waiting carriage, not a white one.

  Mostly Emma understood why she had to leave, but she was more than ready for this part of her life to be over. She would miss Trudy. Though the two were close in age, their appearance and attitude about life couldn't be more different. Trudy had the most beautifully different red hair Emma had ever seen, blue eyes that were so light they looked like the sky on an early autumn day, and, though she wasn't nobility, Trudy had a titled air about her. She expected certain things in life and pouted when her expectations weren't met in her desired time. Trudy's one downfall.

  Emma had stone blue eyes, a round nose, and dark blond hair just like her mother. The mother she would never see again. The mother she still grieved for, though it had been nearly seventeen years since her passing when Emma was only two. Her mother's death had left her with a father and a newborn sister. It had also led to her father's grief and mounting issues with currency.

  No matter what was whispered in haughty tones every time she went to the Darenset marketplace, Emma knew the truth. Her father had done all he could to take care of them. It wasn't his fault Mr. Dodsworth had called in his debt.

  None of that, Emma chided herself. She would not waste time worrying over things she could not change. In a week's time, her father would come and fetch her home. It would be wonderful.

  Emma choked back a tear. She wouldn't cry. Not now. Not when it was so close to being over. And not with Trudy looking so beautiful in her ball gown in front of her. Tonight was special for her friend, and she did not want to ruin it.

  Too late for that.

  "Is something the matter?" Trudy asked, staring at Emma through the mirror for the first time that evening. Her forehead creased, and she appeared troubled.

  "No. Nothing." Not wanting to cause a scene or take the attention away from Trudy and her big night, Emma shut her eyes tightly and willed the tears to cease.

  Trudy turned in her seat and took Emma's hand in hers, gently patting it. "Do not lie to me, sweet Emma. I've known you far too long for that. What is troubling you? Are you sad you cannot come to the ball? If I asked father…"

  "No," Emma said louder than she'd meant. She removed her hand from Trudy's quickly and nearly knocked her over in her haste. When she faced her again, Trudy's eyes were wide in surprise. Emma couldn't blame her. She hadn't told Trudy her thoughts, so she had had no idea what had been going on in her head while she'd rambled on about the coming Season and the handsome Lord Waverly she'd hoped to dance with. Though, when she'd spoken of Lord Waverly, it was with a sullen whisper.

  "No," Emma said a little more calmly, wiping her hands on one of the insufferable white aprons Mr. Dodsworth insisted she and Elizabeth wear. "It is not that. I promise you. Though I would love to attend your first ball, I understand why I can't. If things were different…"

  Trudy stood with a sad smile on her face. Again, she took Emma's hand firmly and bent down so she was at eyelevel with her maid. "Emma Rose Hartwell, you are my dearest friend, and it does bother me that you have to work for my father, and it absolutely kills me that my friend cannot attend
my coming out party or share the Season with me. It isn't fair."

  Emma appreciated Trudy's words, but she knew the ways of the world. Though of noble blood, the daughter of a baron, she was a maid paying for her father's debts. She could not attend the ball without scandal, and she would not wish that on her friend. She would not wish scandal on anyone.

  Five years ago, scandal rocked her home in Enhurst, and she refused to live though those times again. "It really is alright. I promise. Soon, the Season will start and you will find a suitor. Or several. Maybe even the Lord Waverly you go on and on about. You will forget all about me."

  Trudy's cheeks blushed, and she held on to Emma's hands tighter. "While Lord Waverly is a dream of a gentleman, I daresay I will never have him. Not if my father has anything to do with it. Besides, never in my life will I forget you, Emma."

  She let the words sink in. No, she would not cry again. "And in a few days I will have paid my father's debt to your father and will be on my way home. So, you see? We both have things to look forward to."

  "Still doesn't mean it is fair. I will miss you when you go." Trudy leaned over and hugged her tightly. Outside of that room, it would have appeared strange, even scandalous for a lady to hug her servant. Such behavior was not acceptable. But in Trudy's room, it was a friend hugging a friend.

  For a brief few seconds, Emma did not worry about what the outside world thought of her. The only thing that mattered: Trudy, a girl she had shared dolls with and had pretend tea parties way past the age acceptable for young girls to play in such a way. A girl, who, late at night, after everyone else had gone to bed, had snuck into Emma's room and taught her the lessons Trudy's tutors had given her during the mornings. Emma wagered there wasn't another maid in Darenset as educated as she. A fact she cherished.

  "I will miss you too." Emma pushed her friend back gently and studied her face. In the five years she had known her, Trudy had changed from a gangly child into a sophisticated woman. After a fortnight, she likely would never see her again, and it broke Emma's heart, but she was more than ready to begin a new time in her life. "But we have to finish getting you ready. You have a ball to attend."

  Trudy took her handkerchief and dabbed the wetness under her eyes. "That I do."

  "Let's get you ready, Gertrude Dodsworth. The world is waiting for you, and I shall want to hear every detail."

  ALSO BY RACHEL VAN DYKEN

  When Ash Falls

  London Fairy Tales, Book 4

  PROLOGUE

  Ash didn't want to remember her this way. Her beautiful face, so often lit with a breathtaking smile, was now cold and dead.

  The first time he'd seen her, he had thought she was an angel, and he'd said that very thing under his breath when she had made her debut that season…

  "Beautiful," he murmured as Lucy took a turn about the room, gaining introductions to all the available gentlemen who came her way. Taking an earth-shattering breath, the kind that every man took when he was about to approach a beautiful woman, he made his way over to her.

  Music faded into the background with each step. All Ash was aware of was the clicking of his boot against the floor as he progressed toward the beauty. One dance… if only she would give him one dance, he would secure her hand forever. He knew it in his heart, in his soul. She was meant to be his.

  Heart beating out of his chest, he could barely contain his excitement as she lifted her eyes and met his gaze. Blue eyes twinkled in his direction, and then she lifted her hand in a wave. A wave? Something was wrong. Ash paused and then glanced self-consciously over his shoulder. There was no one but him, and then he gazed back at her. She crooked her finger, beckoning him forward.

  Completely under her spell, he couldn't deny her any more than he could cease from taking his next breath. Finally, he stood before her, at least a foot taller than she.

  "Where have you been, you rogue?" She swatted him on the arm and gave him a coy laugh. "I have been looking everywhere for you!"

  "For me?" Ash questioned. "Are you certain we have met?"

  "Must you always joke at such serious times?" The girl laughed again, and he was caught at the sight of her dimples as they danced along her cheeks. Carefree. She appeared so carefree, so perfect, un-weighted by the things of this world, by the responsibility and darkness, by disappointment. He tilted his head and then reached out to touch her — perhaps she truly was a dream. And then a voice broke out into the pounding in his ears.

  "Ah, sweetheart, you've met my brother." Hunter stepped beside the girl and wrapped his arm around her.

  Ash stepped back, his heart sinking down to his feet. She hadn't been looking for him at all, but his older brother, his twin, the duke. It was such a sad joke, a sad existence really. Would he ever be first in anything?

  Months had progressed into a year as he'd watched his brother and Lucy fall into such a deep love all he had been able to do was be happy for them and try to spend as much time away as possible. After all, it was not done to want your brother's wife, to want to care for her and protect her. It was fate's final, cruel trick to allow Ash to feel something for another and then have that person ripped away by his brother. Though he loved his brother more than his own life, it seemed Ash was always left with nothing while his brother was given everything.

  His name fit.

  For he was the ash after the fire of Hunter burned out.

  He was nothing but soot, darkness, and sand. One day, his ashes would trickle away into the wind, never to be remembered and never mourned, but forgotten.

  "Ash! Do you hear me! I love you! I love you!" Hunter yelled at his brother as he shook his shoulders, and then his eyes widened with desperation as slapped him across the face.

  Ash stared at the blood staining his hands. He tried to wipe it off. Tried but failed as it continued to drip down his wrists into his jacket. "I'm so sorry," he kept repeating over and over again, but it did not matter.

  The carriage had come too fast. Lucy had thought Ash was Hunter and had run to him right into the street.

  The fault was his.

  He knew it, Hunter knew it, and Lucy, beautiful Lucy, his brother's innocent wife was dead, and it was all because he had lied about who he was, tried to be better than just the second son.

  He backed away, slowly at first, and then he ran.

  His feet ached, his stomach heaved, and finally he stopped in the middle of the street, hoping, praying that someone or something would hit him. Death, it seemed, was his only option; it was his wish, his choice. For how could he live with himself after what he had done?

  Hunter had loved Lucy, but so had Ash. She was his everything, his only relative other than Hunter, and although he had wanted her for himself, he had pushed those emotions so far beneath the surface of his heart that he hadn't understood how far the love had run until now, until it was too late.

  On legs like lead, he walked until he reached the tombstone of his parents. Both taken from him too soon. What would they think of him now? He was the disappointment in the family, the second son by minutes. And now he was a murderer.

  Disgusted with himself, he sat down on the cold grass, leaned his head against the stone, and cursed. His brother — his only living relative — and he had ruined his life and ruined his parents' memory in the process. All he had ever wanted as a boy was to please his father, yet all he'd received was disapproval. One time — just one time — he wanted to make someone proud, make himself proud.

  But it was impossible.

  He looked down at bloodstained hands.

  His future stared right back at him.

  Flee! He needed to flee, to get away. No, not just get away. He needed to die. A life for a life. So he set about doing exactly that. It was not fair that he was able to live, to survive, when the one woman who had done nothing but brought happiness to everyone she'd met, lay dead in the street.

  "Lucy," he whispered as salty tears ran down his cheeks and across his lips. "I'm so sorry… but I will see y
ou soon. I will see you soon." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pistol. With shaking hands he lifted it to his chin and pulled the trigger.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I have lost the war that wages between my mind and my soul. I have allowed myself to become swallowed up within the darkness and despair of the world I exist in. What cruel God would allow me to live when my greatest desire, was to follow her into the next world? —The Grimm Reaper

  Ash traced the scar beneath his chin. Usually his cravat did the job of covering the monstrosity, but today, today of all days, he needed another reminder of who he was, of what he was.

  Thick and grotesque, the scar went from just above his throat across his neck and ended at the bottom of his ear. The carriage jolted, causing his hand to slip. He slowly lowered his chin and looked down at that hand, the same hand, the same fingers responsible for pulling the trigger.

  Ash closed his eyes and squeezed his hand tight until he felt the leather numb his fingers. Another reminder. They were everywhere. Since that day, he hadn't been able to hold a pistol in his right hand; too many memories caused him to pause before he shot. In his certain business, pausing meant death. And though at one time he had wished for it, he had found a greater purpose: killing those who deserved it more than he and watching the life drain from their bodies as he said a prayer for their damned souls.

  Exhaling, he slapped his glove, once, twice against his thigh and then put it back on his right hand. He squeezed into the smooth leather, relishing the way the tightness fit around his fingers. Every day he drew a breath was another day he was alive; every time he had a sensation of warmth or contentment, it was soon followed with guilt. Guilt that Lucy would never again experience any of those things, guilt that he was.

  "Are you certain you are up to it this time, Ash?"

  Ash's head snapped to attention. He gritted his teeth as his nostrils flared in irritation. "Up to it? When have I ever given you reason to doubt my abilities?"