There really is a Marquess of Powis, created in 1687, and a Baronet of Newborough, created in 1716, with the fictional Marquess of Newglynpowis, led by Marquess Thomas Edward Wynn, being a mixture of the two and mixing the traditional representation of Newborough in the House of Commons with Caernarfon, Caernarvonshire, St Ives and Beaumaris. The Marquess also served as Lord Lieutenant of Caernarvonshire.

The Barons of Newborough lived on an old estate, Glynllifon, in Caernarfon, Wales. The fictional castle/estate, Glynllirhug, is a combination of the estate of Glynllifon and the township of Rhug, a parish in Corwen, Wales, associated with the barons of Edeirnion who ruled from the Gwerclas Castle.

The Welsh phrases are "little devil" and "idiot" respectively.

Winter, England, 1815

To the untrained eye, the layers of white on white unfolding from the terraced patio would all look the same. However, to the artistic vision of Benedict Bridgerton, the various hues of white stood out in different textures. Where the snow piled up, and whatever the victim of its cold smothering was, influenced its coloring and texture, with the dark wood or the brown derelict bush acting as accents to the otherwise pure view. He much preferred the aesthetic and bright colors and variety of spring and summer whenever he painted a landscape piece; however, after nearly a week of being cooped up in the house due to an unprecedented snowstorm, this being the first bright day of clear blue sky, he'd felt the irregular push to try his hand at capturing the magic, and mischief, of a wintry landscape. He would style it after the chiaroscuro school, balancing light and dark, using only cool colors to emphasize the shadows of the distant forest and shafts of light on the terrace.

Finishing the measurements necessary to catch the horizon and properly place the background, Benedict held a pencil between his fingers, blocking areas for major shapes. Another pencil was tucked securely behind his ear, and a cloth to wipe away smudges lay across his shoulder. He didn't intend to have many dynamic elements in the painting; as, even standing at the bay windowed doors leading out to the snowy garden, there was little movement to perceive. The occasional winter bird darting in a flash of color across his field of vision and not much else. All else remained still, pristine, and per-

"Mother," Benedict dropped his hand to his side and stepped back from the easel, calling his question over his shoulder, "do you know where Gregory and Hyacinth are?"

Glancing away from the sudden burst of dynamic movement on the field just below the snow-covered garden, Benedict studied his mother and sister, awaiting an answer. Eloise didn't bother looking up, her feet propped up on the windowsill, body slumped in the chair she'd dragged closer to the window, eyes glued to the pennyrags she'd somehow convinced their mother to allow her access to. Francesca was in the room adjacent, playing the piano adequately but far from well, her back to them, but the movement of her right arm could be seen through the open doors leading into the library. Only his mother stopped her needlework and looked up, a frown tugging at her lips as she noted where her children were or were not.

"Gregory was complaining of a sore throat, so I told him to ask cook for a soothing broth and Hyacinth," she leaned forward and looked into the library, the frown deepening when she saw that Francesca was alone, "was with Francesca last I saw her." His mother looked back at him, raising her eyebrows, asking, "Do YOU know where they are, Benedict?"

Using his pencil as a pointer, Benedict jerked his hand forward, directing her attention to the quickly departing backs of his two youngest siblings. His mother set aside her needlework and rushed to stand beside him, a hand coming up to her throat and tugging at the necklace draped around it.

"Oh dear, Benedict, what on earth do you think they're doing?" She leaned forward, eyes darting to the sky and her shoulders lowering slightly only once she noted little threat of a storm.

"They're probably meeting James and Emily Cecil at Dockbury Hill." Eloise spoke up, sighing when Benedict and his mother looked at her in confusion. "James Cecil is in the same grade as Gregory, and Emily is a year or two younger than Hyacinth. They're always playing together when they are home for the holidays; you know that." When again neither Benedict nor his mother responded, Eloise rolled her eyes and continued. "Gregory told me weeks ago that on the first clear day, the plan was to meet up with the Cecils at Dockbury Hill to sled."

His mother began tugging at her necklace again, "I doubt the earl or his wife would favor either of their children to go to Dockbury Hill unsupervised." She looked to Benedict for reassurance and paused, "What? What does that look mean?"

"The earl is still in London last I heard, and his wife is visiting a distant relative on the Continent." Benedict pulled the cloth from his shoulder, knowing what his mother would ask him once he finished explaining. "Colin told me soon after we arrived home. He and Edward Cecil planned to meet during the season to compare their travel journals. As you know, Edward recently returned from his Grand Tour."

Frown creeping back onto her face, his mother looked around the room as if just noticing her other son wasn't among them, "Is that where Colin is? And without telling-"

"Where am I?" Colin asked, coming into the room with a book in one hand and a plate of chocolates in the other. The sight of the chocolates prompted Eloise to rise from her chair and circle in on her brother, the piano playing from Francesca also ceasing as she, too, noticed Colin's plate of treats. "Er, um," Colin saw both sisters advancing and started to retreat, clutching the plate to his chest. "And what did I neglect to tell you?"

"Are you not going to share?" Francesca took the first swipe at the plate, pouting when Colin evaded.

Leaving the three of them to bicker over the chocolate, Benedict was already pulling his coat onto his shoulders when his mother turned to look at him again. "Will you-"

"Yes," Benedict leaned forward and kissed her forehead, "I will ensure they are well."

With the sounds of his siblings scrambling for chocolate at his back, Benedict moved to grab his winter coat and venture out after the wayward youngsters. A bit of fresh air would do him good, anyway. Armed with a walking stick, Benedict found his siblings' tracks easily enough and set off after them, pausing only halfway across the field to look back at Aubrey Hall. He found artistic inspiration in how the snow softened the edges of his home, giving it an ethereal aura that would be a delightful challenge to capture on canvas. Benedict gave himself a shake before carrying on.

He was warm enough to unwind the red scarf from around his neck and unbutton his outer coat by the time he made it to the top of Dockbury Hill. His mind was briefly filled with similar wintry landscapes of his childhood, populated with the figures of his father and brothers, as they, too, took turns sliding down the hill while his mother and sisters cheered them on in the makeshift competition. So much changed after their father died. So much joy had fled the family. Benedict took a steadying breath, filling his lungs with the piercing winter air, watching as the expected four youths did precisely as he'd once done.

Unlike his mother, Benedict was glad Gregory and Hyacinth had snuck away for this adventure. And in truth, he felt guilty for not having thought of it sooner. By the time he'd been Hyacinth's age, he'd already nearly broken both his arms and probably his neck as well, competing with Anthony for speed and agility going down this hill, and yet, as far as he knew, this was Hyacinth's first winter trying out the sport, possibly Gregory's too. Benedict's smile grew as he heard Gregory's laughter recede over the cusp of the hill as he raced James. Only one figure remained at the top cheering on the competition, but even clothed in winter garb, Benedict recognized his sister's form.

Benedict moved quickly, discarding the walking stick into the snow just a few steps away before he seized his sister around the waist and spun them both in a manic circle. His laughter diminished, however, when, on the third spin, he noted two feminine forms coming back up the hill hand-in-hand alongside James and Gregory. Distracted and confused by this revelation, Benedict stumbled over his own foot. He mercilessly landed atop the smaller form, his weight burying it deep into the snow. Almost immediately upon landing, Benedict spit snow out of his mouth and, blinking it out of his eyes as well, he rolled to the side of the crushed figure, reaching out to tug at her shoulder and then her waist, working to hoist her out of the moat of snow his weight atop hers had formed.

"Diawl bach!"

A very unchildlike voice growled the unfamiliar words at him as soon as he had her on her back, half tucked under his body. Her glove-covered hands reached up to swipe snow from her face while Benedict sheepishly attempted the same by pulling snow clumps away from the loose chestnut tresses his error had dislodged from an already loose hairstyle.

"My greatest apologies," Benedict pushed a mound of snow off her shoulder as he spoke, "I thought you were my sister, and I-"

Her hearty laugh interrupted his apology, and Benedict looked up to catch her gaze. For a heartbeat, he startled, for the blue of her eyes matched almost perfectly the blue of the sky. With her oval face framed on all sides by the pure white snow, it emphasized the olive undertones of her skin. The tip of her upturned nose was pink from the cold air, as were the tops of her rounded cheeks. Though she had the look of eternal youth about her features and form, Benedict could tell from her reaction and the hint of womanly curves beneath the winter layers that she was not as young as he'd initially thought.

"I have been mistaken for a child before but never one of a mere twelve years old, Mister Bridgerton." Her vowels were stretched, her pitch going from high to low, and a slight roll to her r's had Benedict tipping his head to the side, wondering where this woman was from along with who she was. She then calmly laid her hands on her stomach, blinking up at him. A few seconds passed before she asked, "Are you comfortable?"

Her question asked just as his siblings reached the apex of the hill and spotted them, had Benedict inwardly groaning. He'd been so distracted, he'd forgotten how close they'd landed, her body half beneath his. "Yes, I mean no, I mean," Benedict pushed away from her, fighting against gravity and layers of snow that had fallen on his back. "Please, let me help you up." But he fell sideways in his efforts to dislodge his legs from hers. Hearing her responding laughter had Benedict smiling, glancing over to see her obvious amusement as she did nothing to help him. He paused, matching her mirth with his own, "Are YOU comfortable?"

"Actually," without him crowding her side, the woman flung her arms out and waved them up and down, "Yes, I am." She tried to move her legs in a similar waving fashion but frowned when her left leg came up against his waist. "But I would be able to finish my snow angel if you weren't quite so close, Mister Bridgerton."

"Snow angel?" Hyacinth questioned, coming up to stand on the edge of their little snow crater, staring down at the strange woman with a mixture of curiosity and admiration.

"Oh yes," little Emily Cecil cheerily answered, dropping her side of the sled that had been dangling between the two girls. "watch this." The girl fell back into the snow near the woman's head and giggled as she energetically moved her arms and legs back and forth. "She taught us how to do this last Christmas, didn't you, cousin?" Emily turned to peer at the woman, face alight with joy.

That answered part of the mystery for Benedict. Whoever this woman was, she was family to the Cecils, but her accent put her decidedly not from this part of England. Perhaps Welsh? The woman nodded to Emily before looking down the length of her body at Benedict, tipping her eyebrows up in silent question. Sighing, Benedict made an exaggerated show of rolling away to give her the room she needed, eliciting giggles from his sister and Emily and grins from both James and Gregory.

"Yes, during the winter, snow angels decorate every snow-covered patch of open ground back in Glynllirhug." Finishing her movements, the woman held up her hands and looked pointedly at Benedict, "The best angels require assistance, however, if you would be so kind, Mister Bridgerton."

Benedict stepped forward, mindful of the attempted angel, and took hold of her hands. "I feel we are not on equal footing. You know my name, but I do not know yours." She was small enough and light enough that when he pulled her up, she came easily and rapidly, falling against his chest with another round of laughter from children and adults alike. His hands instinctively moved to grip her waist, holding her steady.

"Consider it repayment for the unique introduction, Mister Bridgerton." She patted his chest with both hands, looking up at him with an impish grin before stepping out of his arms and facing the rest of their party. "Now you see?" She pointed to the spot where she'd been buried in the snow, only a portion of it looking remotely like the figure she'd intended, while the rest looked like what it was, the results of a scuffle. "I call it 'The Fallen Angel and the rock that made her fall.'"

The children laughed, and Benedict smiled despite the teasing. Thusly inspired, Hyacinth dropped her sled and moved to help Emily up before falling into the snow as the girl had done earlier. James and Gregory decided to try their hands at it as well, leaving Benedict standing beside the woman, watching with amusement as the children took turns dropping in the snow and popping up again like human snow flowers.

"You should give it a go."

Benedict had no other warning before he lay on his back, staring at the cerulean sky, and listening to the woman laugh again.

"Did you just PUSH me?" Instead of immediately complying, Benedict lifted his head and tried to glare at her—no easy feat, considering the hilarity of their circumstances. She nodded, arms crisscrossing over her chest as she tipped her head back, throwing him a recognizable stare of challenge. "I demand to know the name of the fallen angel that has made me likewise fall. For this is one step, er fall, past repayment."

The woman laughed, pausing momentarily before nodding. "Very well, Mister Bridgerton." But before she could continue, the children called for her attention, requesting she judge their angels. Giving Benedict a sly smile, she darted away with the ready excuse to draw out the mystery even longer.

Benedict lowered his head back into the cocoon of snow and sighed. Such a strange turn of events, yet not at all unpleasant. Without further delay, he waved his arms up and down while he pumped his legs in and out, mimicking what he'd seen the woman do. After hearing the children chattering amongst each other and then seeing them dart across his peripheral vision, grabbing hold of the sleds and gearing up for another round of the sport, Benedict raised his head.

"Are you ready for assistance, Mister Bridgerton?" She shifted into view, already holding her hands out to him as if she intended to help him as he'd helped her.

Benedict accepted her hands, not wanting to offend her offer by ignoring the it altogether. He then looked past her as he watched first James and Gregory disappear down the hill and, soon after, Hyacinth and Emily, their squeals of delight as bright as the warm sun overhead. Both he and the woman laughed when her first attempt to hoist him to his feet failed. By the third time, the woman was nearly crumpled over laughing, and Benedict had difficulty keeping in his laughter and work to stand at the same time.

"You said something about a rock earlier." He had to roll onto his side, ruining a portion of his 'angel' to get a better standing foundation.

The woman nodded, still tugging on his hands. "It seems it wasn't much of an exaggeration."

As if to punctuate the ludicrous nature of the entire ordeal, Benedict made it to his feet far more swiftly than either of them predicted. As a result, the woman stepped back to give him more room. However, standing so close to the hill's apex, her step back resulted in her fall, her grip on his hands jerking Benedict forward. Unlike the fall on the top of the hill, Benedict landed directly on the ground but quickly oscillated as his body weight and momentum carried him rolling and tumbling down the steep hill. He lay stunned, half face down, submerged in snow, and groaning at the foot of the hill what felt like a lifetime later. Pushing onto his knees, Benedict closed his eyes, bracing his head between his hands as he willed away the sloshing nature of the world.

"Brother!" The fright in Gregory's voice as the boy called his name worked like a charm, chasing away the worst of the spins.

Benedict opened his eyes and looked around, his heart stuttering when he spied the children gathered around the woman's prone form. Half crawling, half sliding his way over to them, he saw the reason for Gregory's fear when the pristine snow around the woman's head rapidly turned crimson. The woman was awake, though far more dazed than Benedict, because of the tumble and a gash cutting across her forehead. While he couldn't see the bone of her skull, the cut was deep, and the blood was coming fast. She was trying to push herself onto her elbows but kept falling backward.

"What happened?" The woman's voice was weaker now, her eyes wandering from person to person as if she were having difficulty focusing.

Benedict pulled the scarf from his neck. He lifted the woman's head into his lap, held the flap of skin closed, then tightly wrapped the scarf around her head. She grumbled at the pain but didn't fight him.

"Bring the sleds here," Benedict instructed the boys to position the sleds next to the woman's body, "Gregory, take Hyacinth back home and tell Mother what happened. James," Benedict looked to the elder Cecil, "can you lead the way to your home?"

James looked uncomfortable, his hand reaching for his sister's. "There's no one there. At least no one who can help. And it is much further away from here than Aubrey Hall. Edward has gone to town for the day and left us with cousin Isa."

Isa. Benedict looked down at the glossy-eyed woman. At least she had a name now.

"Very well, help me." Benedict pulled himself out from under her and worked with the children to heave her onto the sleds. "I still want you and Hyacinth to run ahead and tell Mother about the accident. We need to send for the doctor if possible." As his brother and sister took off back up the hill, Benedict handed the rope of one sled to James and kept the other, "we will need to go around the hill, and Emily," he looked to the youngest of their group. He offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Hold her hand and make sure she stays on the sled." Emily nodded, immediately reaching for her cousin's hand. Benedict crouched next to the sled, reaching out to check the security of the scarf, "I'm taking you to my home, Aubrey Hall. Please, try to stay awake for the journey."

"Twpsyn," Aside from the strange word grumbled in his direction, Isa kept her lips pinched together as the pain of her wound set in.

Benedict hurriedly stood at the front of the sled and worked with James to pull it. Though small, Isa was still longer than the sleds, and her ankles dragged in the snow so long as she lay on her back. Emily quickly moved to walk behind the sled, helping to keep her cousin's feet up, and making it easier to drag the combined sleds. The young James also had difficulty keeping up with Benedict, leaving him to shoulder the bulk of the weight after some time. All the while, Benedict offered encouragement to both children and occasionally asked Isa questions to keep her alert. The answers she offered were typically in her native language, again, he supposed Welsh, but when she answered in English, her answers were short, her voice strained from holding in the pain she likely was feeling. It impressed Benedict how she remained alert and that not once, aside from the sharp growls in her native language, had she cried. He was also impressed with the courage of both children, for neither one of them fell into hysterics, even when the edge of the scarf tied over Isa's head dragged on the snow, leaving a faint scarlet trail alongside their footprints.

Colin and a few servants rushed to their aid just as the hall appeared in sight. Benedict pulled James away, and gathered Emily to his side as well, while Colin directed the servants to drag the sled to the garden entrance closest to them. They followed the procession and came up to the garden terrace when his mother, with more servants in tow, swept into view and descended upon James and Emily with coats and directives to hie into the house for food and drink to recover.

"Mister Smith has gone to fetch the doctor," Benedict's mother spoke once the children were hurried ahead, "and Colin said he will ride over to Billougy Hall to inform Edward."

Benedict nodded. "Young James mentioned Edward may not be home at the moment. That was why they were with her," as Benedict pointed toward the prone form, he noticed her blood on his fingers, "their cousin. They called her Isa, but I never caught her full name."

"Isa?" His mother reached for her necklace, arm linked through Benedict's as they followed the servants, observing the group maneuver the sled up the steps leading into the house. "Their cousin, you said?" Benedict nodded, watching as a myriad of emotions crossed his mother's face. "The only cousin I know of who could match that would be from the Wynn family, from Glynllirhug in Caernarfon, Wales."

"That explains it," Benedict nodded, more to himself than to his mother's words. "She's been muttering in another language, and her accent was assuredly not from this area. I had guessed at Wales, and she'd mentioned Glynllirhug earlier when talking about snow angels."

"Snow angels?" His mother glanced at him as if he'd been the one injured. Benedict shook his head, and she sighed. "There is a new Marquess of Newglynpowis living at Gynllirhug, Lord Thomas Edward, I believe. His uncle, Lord Edward Berkeley, died without an heir, and the title was passed on to Lord Thomas. This," she pointed to Isa, still muttering and biting back moans of pain as the servants made it to the top of the grand staircase. "Must be his daughter, Lady Isabella. Though," she hesitated, hand again tugging at the necklace, "I vaguely recall some sort of scandal but-"

"I really don't think now is the time to worry about that," Benedict kissed her forehead before extracting himself from her side, "maybe once she's settled and recovering, you can tell me all the gossip over tea."

His mother glared before moving past him to give further directions to the servants as they made it to the doors. There was then some hesitation when they collectively realized someone would have to carry the lady up the stairs to her temporary quarters. Considering how much they'd already gone through, both pleasant and unpleasant, Benedict thought nothing of moving through their midst and extending a hand to the still-conscious, though obviously uncomfortable, lady.

"Please let me help you to your room."

She accepted his hand without preamble, but muttered a series of incomprehensible words in her native tongue when he swung her up into his arms and moved over the threshold into the hall. He expected her to complain or start groaning as they started up the back set of stairs leading to the second floor. But it took him aback when he felt her body shiver, and he realized she was chuckling.

"What on earth can you find amusing?" His lips pulled back into a half-smile, his concern for her well-being fighting for dominance over his own amusement at her strange mirth.

Her head cradled against his chest, he barely heard her words, "Over the threshold in your arms and with nary a meal shared." He felt her sigh and glanced down to see her features suddenly pull into a scowl, likely as another wave of pain overtook her. She murmured, "Twpsyn," again before falling silent the rest of the way to her room.

Francesca and Eloise were already there, armed with towels and a change of clothing. They stared at Benedict carrying Isa with equal sets of fascinated expressions but quickly set to work, pulling down the bedcovers and laying down the towels, as his mother swept past him and began ordering the servants to fetch more supplies. Benedict took great care in depositing the mysterious lady on the towel-covered pillows, pulling away with the same slow movements but stopping when he felt her ungloved hand grasp his wrist.

"Isabella," she gave him a half-smile as all around him, in his mother and sisters and servants, continued the whirlwind of activity, "my name as repayment for your services. Isabella Maria Elizabeth Wynn."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Benedict couldn't help the wry smile. "One name not enough for you, milady?"

"What I lack in stature, I make up for in monikers." She replied, amazingly still mirthful, though decidedly diminished.

"Out." His mother broke their momentary connection, tugging at his elbow. "We need to ready Lady Isabella for the doctor."

Benedict nodded, patting Lady Isa's hand before pulling away altogether and leaving her in his family's often overwhelming but capable clutches.