CHAPTER ONE
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1897Lady Verena Rosslyn gazed at her reflection in the ornate French dressing table mirror and sighed. The image pleased her – a young, attractive, heart-shaped face framed by masses of dark hair, punctuated by a full mouth the colour of crushed strawberries.
As she searched her deep blue eyes, she noticed a certain wistfulness about them.
Of course, she always carried a degree of sadness within her heart, having lost her mother some six years ago when she was just fifteen but no, it was more than that.
There was a longing within the depths, but for what she could not say.
As she was musing over the possibilities, there came a sharp knocking at her bedroom door.
“Enter,” she said in a voice that was soft and melodious. So like her mother’s, as her father, the Earl of B
