Loving the Enemy

Chapter 1

5 July 1815, London

With the start of each Parliamentary session comes the Season, and London becomes even more of a bustling city than it already is. Townhouses that have stood vacant for months on end can finally have their shutters and doors be opened and aired, the dust covers over the furniture within lifted and shaken, the silverware stored in cupboards washed and polished.

The young marriageable women and their mothers would descend en masse on the shops along Bond Street to ready themselves for the rounds of parties and balls and assemblies in the hopes of finding a husband.

Adelaide's mother was no exception. They had attended endless rounds, but they hadn't been successful.

However, they were near the end of the Season now. Parliament was due to close in a week and the aristocracy was preparing to decamp to their country estates. But Lady Healey hadn't yet given up hope.

Hence, they were out for a soiree at Lady Holland's. The countess had invited a number of those she considered her acquaintance and Adelaide was fortunate that her mother could count herself as one of those who was close enough to be issued an exclusive invitation.

She should have danced every dance and beguiled the gentlemen in attendance — who were many since Lady Holland was also hoping for her daughter to make a good match — but tonight, her heart hadn't been it, not like it had just yesterday at Almack's.

Her body might be here in the drawing room, watching the men and women dancing the quadrille. But her mind was back in her father's townhouse, specifically on the letter her childhood friend, Miss Beatrice Dryden, had sent to her.

She hadn't had the opportunity to read it yet but the letter would bear news about the village her father's main seat bordered, and the tenants of Healey Manor. Beatrice was the daughter of the rector in charge of the parish Healey Manor was located in. And because she accompanied her father on his rounds as he visited the parishioners, she was able to deliver the ongoings to Adelaide.

In her previous letters to Beatrice, they'd discussed what might be done to help the wounded and the widowed. She'd set aside some of her pin money for her friend to use to carry out their plans — false legs for those who needed them and someone to help the widows to farm, look after the children or whatever help they required. Beatrice was supposed to inform her of the progress she'd made.

Ever since she followed her father to visit his tenants two years ago, the view she had on her life changed. She was no longer the naive, sheltered girl who only cared about the latest bonnet trimmings or the lace patterns one had to have on one's dress.

That wasn't to say she didn't enjoy all those things, or the attention the gentlemen showered upon her. Frivolity had its purposes, but she never took what she had for granted.

Her views were decidedly different from the other debutantes, and even many of the older titled gentlemen who were potential husbands did not seem to share the same beliefs she had about rendering assistance to those who ensured they had food on the table, or cloth to make the fine dresses and distinguished coats they wore. And even those wounded in the war, for the brave soldiers had ensured war never reached England's shore.

At the beginning of the Season, she'd innocently shared her thoughts on this matter. Many had looked quite put off by her conversational topic and she likely would have found herself exiled to be with the wallflowers had she not quickly realised such discussions did not take place amongst the Season's activities.

Or at least among people she were acquaintances with.

And so she created the image of herself as being like the other debutantes. It helped that her mother ensured she wore only the most fashionable gowns — which many had complimented — and had her brown hair dressed in the latest styles, thus she was able to pass herself off as one who cared only about frivolities.