Which left Knighton out in the cold…and as far beyond Fancy’s reach as the glittering stars.
For how could a tinker’s daughter hope to win the heart of a duke?
Although Fancy had the soul of a dreamer, she also had both feet planted on the ground. She had seen enough of the world to know the way it worked. Only in the safety of her imagination could she weave her faerie tale ending. There, she could dream of a prince with stormy eyes falling madly in love with her. He would give her a kiss that would make the earth tremble and the oceans roar. Then he would sweep her off to a castle in the clouds, where they would live happily ever after.
In reality, she would be lucky to find some halfway decent fellow who respected her. Who saw her as more than a broodmare for his offspring and helpmate for the chores. Who might look at poor, ordinary Fancy Sheridan and see something…special.
A snapping twig punctured her reverie, her fantasy prince disappearing in a puff. She spun around, had an instant to glimpse a looming, hooded form. She felt a stab of terror, then something slammed into the side of her head. Pain exploded at her temple as she tumbled to the ground.
An instant later, she felt nothing at all.
1
Five days earlier
Riding up the manicured drive toward Camden Manor, Severin Knight reflected upon the irony that he was fulfilling an old dream. As a boy growing up in a London rookery, he had fantasized about becoming a gentleman. Those dreams had helped him to endure the cold, hunger, and other assorted miseries of poverty. At age fifteen, he’d been hired on as a stable boy by the noble Viscount Hammond, giving him a glimpse into what a life of money and privilege entailed.
The Hammonds were never cold or hungry. A fire burned in every hearth of their spacious residence, and they ate their meals in courses, never finishing the abundant dishes. They spoke in cultured tones and didn’t fight or worry about anything. While they each had their own private chambers, they never had to be alone if they didn’t wish to be. They had servants, guests, and each other. They existed in a realm of calm and harmony.
Watching through a window, Severin had seen a portrait of perfection. The Hammonds’ joy was painted in lavish strokes, the gilded frame of wealth separating them from the outside world. Everything about the family was beautiful…most of all Imogen.
The thirteen-year-old girl with the strawberry blonde curls had captured Severin’s adolescent heart from the moment he’d pushed her out of the path of an oncoming carriage. Her grateful papa had rewarded Severin with employment, but it had been Imogen who’d given him the resolve to better himself.
Because of her, he’d worked to pull himself out of the gutter. To amass the necessary wealth to live in her world. To become a gentleman worthy of her hand in marriage.
He supposed accomplishing two out of the three goals wasn’t bad.
He had lifted himself out of poverty, initially by working as a guard-for-hire, then investing his profits into manufacturing. He now owned factories in Spitalfields and beyond, employing hundreds of workers in the silk-weaving trade. His influence in Spitalfields was such that men and women of the neighborhood came to him when they needed help. Having been in their positions (and, frankly, worse ones), he did what he could. He loaned money, settled disputes, and saw that justice was served in his territory.
He had become a leader in his community, earning a seat at the table with other men of influence in London’s underworld. These men were called “dukes” for they were indeed considered nobility amongst the lower classes. Severin, in particular, was known as the Duke of Silk, a nod to his business interests and his smooth, collected manner.
Then a year ago, he’d made a startling discovery: not only was he a duke of the underworld, he was a bona fide duke. A team of solicitors had tracked Severin down and brought him to see Arthur Huntingdon, the dying Duke of Knighton…and the father Severin had never met.
Severin’s maman had kept his true origins a secret, all the way to her bitter end in Bedlam. On his deathbed, Arthur Huntingdon had explained that she’d done so in order to protect Severin. Knowing the sacrifices she’d made, how much she’d suffered because of his sire’s perfidy, had made Severin want to refuse the damned title.