Florrie Buckley is an orphan, living on the wind-blasted moors of Cornwall. It's a hard existence but Florrie is content; she runs wild in the mysterious landscape. She thinks her destiny is set in stone. But when Florrie is fifteen, she inherits a never-imagined secret. She is related to a wealthy and notorious London family, the Graces. Overnight, Florrie's life changes and she moves from country to city, from poverty to wealth. Cut off from everyone she has ever known, Florrie struggles to learn the rules of this strange new world. And then she must try to fathom her destructive pull towards the enigmatic and troubled Turlington Grace, a man with many dark secrets of his own.
Extract:
It was the kindness of his smile that caught me first. He was
attractive, yes, with curling hair like yellow gorse, clear brown
eyes like moorland pools and a lovely face caught somewhere
between manhood and boyhood. That drew me, for I felt so in
between myself at that time; from the sunny smile on his face
he looked as though he were handling it far more gracefully
than I. His patient expression, the way he looked upon each
person as though he were truly interested in what they had to
say, impressed me in a room full of masks and formalities. As I
watched, a number of proud mamas and papas introduced their
young daughters to him. At last he caught one by the hand and
led her into the dance.
I stifled a giggle. That was the most ungainly girl I had ever
seen! And my hero, though moderately graceful, was not so
skilled a partner that he could compensate for her. Together
they stumbled gamely through a gentle waltz, bumping into
pinch-faced couples and sending them staggering. They were a
liability on the floor. When the waltz finished and a lively
polka struck up they should have known to retire, but they
started leaping and skipping with all the poise of a pair of newborn
calves. I covered my eyes briefly, then took my hand
down just in time to see them hurtle off-balance. Inevitably
the young lady tripped in her skirts and tumbled to the ground,
knocking into a trio of chairs upon which were perched more
circumspect young ladies – and sending them flying.
I was about to roar with laughter when my companion in
the nook flew to her aid. I remembered that I was there to
work after all, so I chased after her. The girl’s father was at her
side in a trice, shooting a fierce look at the young man and
helping his daughter to her feet.
‘Here, girl, help me,’ he said to the other maid. ‘Take her
arm. Come, Fanny, lean on us. Let us seat you somewhere
quiet.’
The little cluster limped off, leaving me standing without
purpose in this sparkling room full of people who weren’t like
me. I noticed one, however, who was doing as I had longed to,
and rocking with laughter. He was another young man, sitting
in the farthest corner of the room. He shook with a wicked
mirth. I grinned, then looked away.
‘Be you all right, sir?’ I asked the golden young man, since no
one else had. Everyone seemed to hold him responsible for the
catastrophe.
‘Really, young Sanderson!’ muttered more than one portly
gentleman, and ‘Sanderson, you must take more care!’ admonished
a number of ladies. It seemed hardly fair.
He looked at me in great surprise but before he could answer,
a forbidding-looking woman with a sweep of dark hair bore
him off. His mother? I could see no resemblance, and yet she
behaved very proprietorially towards him. I took advantage of
being universally ignored to slip back behind the curtain and
continue my evening’s entertainment.
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