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When young widow, Tessa Smith, accompanies Emmaline Bartlett to Mayfield Manor, she succeeds in influencing her companion from falling in love and choosing to marry any of the three ne’er-do-well Chinworth brothers.

Yet Tobias Chinworth surprises Tessa when he agrees to help Emmaline escape his conniving family. Perhaps there is good in him after all. In the wake of tragedy, Tessa remains at Mayfield Manor to help him with his ailing sister. Her secret affection for him grows despite knowing that nothing could ever come of it. If only she’d listened to her own counsel.

In the midst of searching for his missing nephew, Tobias receives a death threat and removes Tessa and his sister to his neglected estate, away from potential danger. But is it far enough? When the steward proves to be a gambling drunkard, a plot begins to unravel, but where it leads shocks them to their core. Is Tessa’s deceased husband actually alive? And why had Tobias been told that his uncle was dead?

Sorting truth through a tangle of deceit, Tobias and Tessa discover that love will see them through anything they may face.

Ann Elizabeth Fryer loves nothing more than using story and romance to relay the depths and graciousness of a Father who holds us securely in the palms of His hands. Daydreaming her surroundings from a young age, she’s lived in historic homes most of her life and regularly participates in backyard archaeology. When she’s not writing historical projects, her contemporary novels show a flavor of her forever-passion for all things old. Ann, her husband, and three children make their home in small-town Illinois where they can hear church bells keep time and tradition.

June, 1810

Tobias Chinworth entered the parlor, where I sat primly upon the settee. I was once a lady. I knew how to act the part. Yet, I stood at his entry as the servant I’d been portraying for the past few years…first with Emmaline in London. Now, here. At Mayfield Manor.

The wrinkle between Tobias’s brows belied deep thought, his height entirely unaffected by the discouraged stoop in his shoulders. He bowed to me in acknowledgment. Neither of us stood on ceremony very often, not after what we’d been through. I waited for him to speak.

I knew what he meant to ask—what he’d already hinted upon. He turned to stand before the large window, his gaze unseeing. Was he remembering what I, too, could not forget? Compassion welled within me to near bursting. Was more than anyone’s heart could take.

Never mind that he’d been despicable over the spring tide when he vied for dear Emmaline Carter’s hand. His blasé comments to me were oft accompanied by a wink behind Emma’s back and a twinkle in his eyes.

The man had been a flirt through and through. But now? Grief had drowned the flighty parts of him entirely, and I was seeing a truer Tobias Chinworth. One that had to reckon with the raw reality, and no flirtation, no diversion, no elaborate party could dull the pain. Such grief I, too, have known in my now distant past, though I be but five and twenty.

It has only been a few weeks since Mr. Chinworth, Tobias’s father, returned with news of Samuel’s death—and Mr. Chinworth’s subsequent imprisonment. I was only vaguely aware of the charges as Joseph had left much out of the letter he’d sent to me. But to lose two brothers to an early grave, and a father to due demise, I couldn’t fathom. Twas a shock that coursed through Butterton and all of London by now. The Banbury scandal had brought more than one gentleman to his knees; its scandalous tendrils reached far and wide.

Tobias stilled—the lavish mass of Grecian curls usually expertly tamed bespoke he’d been riding without his hat and at great speed. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes while I waited.

I’d been watching for Tobias the day that irrevocably changed his life. He’d agreed to help us—to help Joseph and Emma leave Mayfield Manor and Mr. Chinworth’s machinations during the busy crush at the Butterton Hall ball.

He’d lost faith in his brother, Samuel. Despised his evil plans. Despised his father’s manipulations. He’d sought his cousin Joseph for counsel.

We didn’t count on little sister Cecily—the girl had a mind of her own and little knew the consequences her actions would take. She’d wanted to attend the ball, too, and had deceived her nurse concerning her medicine. She should have been sleeping.

If Cecily hadn’t—if I had—oh, what could be done now? One couldn’t simply turn back time and make different choices. I’d found her just before the first tragedy. I hid her face within my skirts, then gathered her in my arms and ran to the vicarage, away from the mayhem and Zacharay’s crumpled body—accidentally killed by his drunken brother, Samuel. Later, I heard that Tobias tried to save his life. Tried and failed.

Tobias finally opened his eyes and turned to face me. I had to give him my answer. Today.