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my prince will come, and I want to be available.” She grinned mischievously. “A little bit more time for it all to die down, and then I shall return, scrubbed clean of silly gossip.” She laughed outright. “Besides, I want to finish writing my novel so I can start the gossip all over again.” She hugged Eleanor again. “I wish you luck, my dear Eleanor. You will have a marvelous time. New clothes, new shoes, new acquaintances. I shall give you a list of establishments, although I know Harry and Julianna certainly know the best dressmakers in London, but I swear by Madame Pomfroy. Oh, it’s an affected name, I know, but still. And I do have friends from school who will welcome you into the fold with an introduction.”
    Eleanor stopped listening as Lady Anne continued on about dressmakers and cobblers and stationary shops. London . She would be in London, with Harry at last. Finally the excitement and relief hit her and she grinned at Wiley, who grinned right back.

Chapter Three
    London, February 1820
    Eleanor walked around the perimeter of Harry’s drawing room, watching the people there as they mingled and laughed and sipped their champagne. How she envied them. This was her entrance into London society, her big debut. This evening she officially came back to life. Well, in a way. She’d been here for two months, getting fitted for a new wardrobe and meeting a few people in order to garner invitations to events during the season. She was posing as Harry’s widowed cousin, Mrs. Elizabeth Fairchild, as Harry had suggested. In a macabre way she owed this night to Enderby. She prayed nightly for that poor lost soul he’d buried in her place, whoever it was. She wondered, not for the first time, if Enderby had actually killed someone to do it. The thought was chilling. But it had definitely changed her life. He wouldn’t come looking for her now. It would be disastrous for him if she were found to be alive. She would never be able to marry again, of course, but she’d never had the intention to do so. Her dependency on Harry and Roger was a worry, but once she’d established herself in this new identity she was determined to find a way to support herself and pay them back. She didn’t want to depend on anyone. She wanted complete and utter freedom.
    For her return to the land of the living she wore a pale-pink confection of a dress far too young for her in both color and style, and she was wearing maquillage. She felt positively decadent. She hadn’t worn a color this pretty and bright since she was a young girl. She’d kept her hair short, though Harry had brought in a little man who snipped and clipped it into fashionable submission. It was a little defiance. Enderby had been quite proud of her long, brown hair. When they’d first married, he’d watched her brush and braid it at night, like a hawk waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse. She shuddered at the memory. Years later, when they hated the very sight of one another, he’d mocked it relentlessly, mocked something so sensual and alluring in one so barren. So she’d kept itshort because she knew he would hate it. It did make her more remarkable among the fashionable company here. There were a few women with shorter locks, but most wore their hair in elaborate long styles. The advantage, however, was that she would be almost unrecognizable to anyone from her past who had been used to seeing her with unusually long hair. Eleanor liked it. It was different and fun and exciting, which is what she wanted to be as Mrs. Elizabeth Fairchild. She thought she might rather enjoy this new identity.
    The evening was going well. Harry was a brilliant hostess. The baby was old enough at four months to sleep contentedly with his nurse this evening, leaving Harry to entertain. She looked ravishing, as usual, in a lavender dress that made her look like a goddess. Some might expect Eleanor to be jealous of her younger sister. She was beautiful beyond anything most