Page 1 of A Torn Allegiance
Chapter One
Grosvenor Square, London, 1814
Lady Elsie Morrow, daughter ofthe Duke of Shelby and twin sister of Duncan, Baron of Argyll in Scotland, wished she stood on a craggy rock, the wind whipping all of the pins out of her hair. She could almost see the hills rolling in every direction, a low stone wall lining portions of properties and a stubborn crop striving to break through the dry earth. The sky would be blue, the clouds sparse, and everything would be just as it should be.
She murmured words from Sir Walter Scott: “‘O, might I live to see thee grace, / In Scotland’s court, thy birthright place.’”
Instead of standing on her beloved Scottish soil, her feet stood firmly planted in London. Unfortunately, time spent in London always dragged for Lady Elsie. Not just dragged, it creeped along like the snails over the rocks on her estate. But she missed the snails. The London Season she could do without. Even the small ball she’d attended one week past had been trying. She and Lady Sophie had weathered the gossip and upturned noses of some while enjoying dances and warmth from others. Who was friend and who was foe? She would never really know, and for that, she clung to her best friend, Lady Sophie, and to the women who regularly met in her home.
The meetings with the ladies in her Books for Change group were a weekly solace. Their thoughtful words, their wisdom, their very intelligence prompted her to learn more herself.
She returned from the park to prepare for such a meeting. Before she could lift a hand to the brass knocker, their family butler opened the door with a small smile. “Welcome home, Lady Elsie.” Timson took her parasol and bonnet. “You’ll find the duchess preparing for the Books for Change meeting.”
“Thank you. Has anything of note happened while I was out?”
“In this house? Things of note happen all the time.”
She laughed, as she assumed he’d meant her to. “Anything ofparticularnote?”
The man refused to be her spy, no matter how often she tried to make him do so. But today he surprised her with one tidbit. “Your father has had a visitor.”
“Oh?” She turned to go to her father’s study.
“He’s come and gone, your father with him.”
“Who was it?” Her nonchalant tone and partial attention were likely not fooling good Timson.
“The Duke of Grant.”
She whipped around to face their butler fully. “I suppose you don’t know the purpose of the visit?”
“I would never presume to say.”
She nodded. “Thank you.” Then she hurried up the stairs to change into an appropriate morning dress for the Books for Change meeting she and her mother were hosting.
When all their guests had gathered, Elsie sat at the side of her best friend and let the general conversation of the room sink into a happy place inside her, clearing away the past weeks’ frustrations.
Lady Locke stood at the front of the room, completing their weekly recitation.
“As wreath of snow on mountain-breast
Slides from the rock that gave it rest,
Poor Ellen glided from her stay,
And at the Monarch’s feet she lay;
No word her choking voice commands,—
She showed the ring,—she clasped her hands.
O, not a moment could he brook,
The generous Prince, that suppliant look!
Gently he raised her,—and, the while,
Checked with a glance the circle’s smile;
