Chapter One

Broadmere House

London, England

Late September 1819

L ady Blessing Abarough, Essie to her siblings and third-born of the eight offspring of the now sorrowfully departed Duke and Duchess of Broadmere, clenched her teeth and held her breath to keep the tears at bay. They had all known Papa would never last long without Mama at his side. He had adored her so, and when the dreadful consumption finally claimed her, he had been inconsolable. Now, a mere six months into the mourning for his precious Cassia, Papa had succumbed to a broken heart and joined his beloved in the great beyond.

Serendipity, Blessing's eldest sister, reached over and squeezed her hand. Blessing's sisters, all six of them, and her brother Chance had always teased that she was Papa's favorite. They didn't do it with malice or mean intent because, in truth, Papa cherished all his children and made them each feel special. But in her heart, Blessing knew without the slightest doubt she had always been closest to their wonderful father.

She cut a sideways glance at her only brother where he sat on the other side of Serendipity. Out of habit, they had seated themselves in birth order when Mr. Granville Sutherland, Papa and Mama's solicitor, gathered them into the parlor for the reading of the will.

Chance was now the fifth Duke of Broadmere at the tender age of two and twenty. While Blessing loved her brother, she harbored some doubt about his ability to take Papa's place as head of the family. As Mama had so often observed, Chance toiled most strenuously when it came to enjoyable activities, but when it came to applying himself to more sober endeavors, he dabbled at them.

Blessing eased out the breath she held, took in another, and held it again while blinking faster to beat back the tears. Her loneliness for Mama had barely become manageable, and now she faced the insurmountable task of grieving for Papa too. She swallowed hard and glanced at her brother again. He stared straight ahead, his powerful jaw locked in place, much as Papa had always done when he was determined to charge through an unpleasant situation. Blessing had no doubt Chance would do his best to care for them, but she wondered if his best would be good enough. In his defense, though, he did seem much older these days and far less carefree and haphazard than before.

Once again behind the gauzy black veil she had recently put away after the appropriate mourning period for Mama, Blessing shifted her attention to the esteemed Mr. Sutherland and his junior partner and son, Mr. Sutherland the younger. Mr. Sutherland the older, as the Abarough brood had taken to calling him after being introduced to his son, would keep Chance—or at least attempt to keep her brother—from doing anything foolhardy. She only prayed that Chance would heed the man's advice.

As the solicitor seated himself behind the small table placed in front of their line of chairs, she sat taller, perfecting her posture as Mama had always taught them. The kindly man with his snowy-white hair in barely tamed tufts looked as miserable as each of the eight Abaroughs. Blessing didn't doubt the man's sorrow was genuine. Mama and Papa had considered Mr. Sutherland a dear friend—not just a family solicitor.

He looked up from the papers in his hands and peered over the tops of his spectacles, eyeing each of them in turn before focusing on Chance. "With your permission, Your Grace?"

Chance paused a hairsbreadth longer than necessary, as if suddenly realizing that Mr. Sutherland was addressing him and not Papa. Blessing noticed how her brother flinched before tipping a curt nod. Her heart went out to him, and she prayed Papa had prepared him for what lay ahead.

Mr. Sutherland straightened the sheaf of papers by tapping them on the table until the edges were even. He neatly stacked the pile in front of him, slid his spectacles higher on his nose, and cleared his throat with a long, drawn-out harrumph. "I cannot express how much it pains me to be here today under these circumstances." His mournful expression spoke much louder than his words. He squinted at Serendipity, then swept his gaze to Blessing and on down the line of sisters, ending with Merry, the youngest Abarough daughter at the tender age of ten and five. "Your Papa set aside generous dowries as well as ample allotments for each of you, as I understand you well know, since he felt it important you be fully aware of your situations when the time came." He shook his head and gave a disgruntled snort. "Sadly, that time is now at hand, and my old friend knew it would be here before any of us were ready to embrace it."

He settled a worried scowl on Chance. "While Your Grace may not be pleased with the contents of this will, I do hope you bear in mind that your parents thought it best for all concerned. They constructed it as they did in the hopes that each of you would discover the same depths of joy and happiness they knew in their time together."

Chance narrowed his eyes as if sighting a target on the solicitor's forehead. "Pray, get on with it, Mr. Sutherland. Making this day draw out even longer than necessary is a cruelty I do not wish any of us to be forced to endure."

Mr. Sutherland gave the faintest nod, his face tightening with a thoughtful pucker. "Your Grace will not receive the entirety of his inheritance until all your sisters are married. Happily. To gentlemen of their own choosing. For love's sake—as your parents were."

Chance leaned forward, tilting his head as if that would help him hear the edict of the will differently. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Sutherland?"

The solicitor wet his lips, shifted with a deep inhale, then snorted the breath back out. "Your Grace shall receive a monthly stipend. An allowance set by your parents until such time as the conditions of the will are fully met. Your Papa thought the amount ample, but…"

"But?" Chance prompted him.

Mr. Sutherland cleared his throat. "You may find it somewhat restrictive , Your Grace."

"Why would my father do such a thing?" Chance demanded.

Blessing gritted her teeth to keep from reacting. Apparently, Papa had shared her doubts about Chance's ability to follow in his footsteps with any degree of success.

"Your parents thought long and thoroughly about the terms they wished to set in this will," Mr. Sutherland said. "They wanted each of you to marry for love, and for you, Your Grace…" He tucked his chin and cleared his throat again. "Your mother and father felt it would help you mature into your role as the fifth Duke of Broadmere with as little risk to the estate as possible."

"But my sisters are wholly unsuitable for the Marriage Mart!" Chance jumped to his feet as though ready to charge into battle. "My parents indulged them. Spoiled them beyond redemption." He flung a hand in the air and swept it down the line to include each of his siblings. "All seven are wild, giddy, opinionated things whom no man in his right mind would ever wish to marry." He jerked his head at Serendipity and Blessing. "And the lion's share of them are entirely too old to retrain and break to the ton 's bridle with any hope of success. We might have a chance at changing Merry's behavior, but even at her tender age of ten and five, that is extremely doubtful." He threw both hands in the air, then jabbed a finger at the pile of papers in front of the solicitor. "I want that abomination contested. Immediately."

Blessing and Serendipity rose in unison and turned on him.

"Now see here, Chance!" Serendipity poked him in the chest, backing him up a step. "You will apologize to us at once and stop behaving like an overgrown horse's arse. Do you hear me?"

"See what I mean?" Chance said to Mr. Sutherland before turning back to his sister. "You just proved my point, Seri. What woman speaks in such a manner?"

"A woman defending herself against an overgrown horse's arse." Blessing whipped off her veil and charged toward him. "Mama would box your ears, and Papa would punch you in the nose for saying such things just because you're afraid you won't get to go to the gaming hells or travel to the Continent at the slightest whim, as you've always done before."

"Now, ladies," Mr. Sutherland began, then snapped his mouth shut when both of them turned a silencing glare on him before continuing to advance on their brother.

"Everything I said was true," Chance said, jutting his chin higher. "Serendipity, you with your mother henning won't marry until the rest are married off and happily settled. Blessing, you won't leave that infernal observatory Papa built for you. Fortuity wants nothing but her books. Grace is infatuated with her horses and dogs. Joy gambles worse than I do—"

"I do not!" Joy stood at attention and pointed at him. "I always win my bets. You always lose."

"Be that as it may…" Chance continued, backing away. "The only thing Felicity loves is food, and Merry is too young to be married!"

"That is the first thing you have said that is not cruel." Merry popped up and flitted to her sisters to administer hugs. "And Blessing is right. Mama would box your ears, and Papa would thrash you for being so very mean to us on this terrible day."

"I am not being mean." Chance backed into the wall with a solid thump. "I am being honest."

"Is this any way to honor your parents?" Mr. Sutherland banged his fist on the table. "Shame on all of you! Your parents loved each of you more than life itself and drew up this will out of that love." He yanked on his sleeves to straighten them, then shook a finger at Chance. "Apologize to your sisters, Your Grace. Even when overwrought or angry, a brother should always protect his sisters. I know your papa taught you better behavior than I have witnessed thus far." Before Chance could speak, Mr. Sutherland continued, "Ladies, you would do well to heed what your brother has so clumsily noted and attempt to rectify your actions or resign yourselves to living under the same roof with him for the remainder of your days." He tugged on his sleeves again. "I ask you—is that what you truly wish for yourselves? A future where you never have homes of your own? No children? A future where you are nothing more than a sibling? I understand that the circumstances of the past few years have trapped you—what with caring for your mother during her illness, mourning her death, and now losing your father." He threw up his hands, then thumped the table again. "Do you not wish to move forward and claim the happy lives you so richly deserve?"

"All I wish is that Mama and Papa were still here," Blessing said, her voice cracking, and the tears she had held at bay finally escaping. Oh, how she ached for her parents and would give anything for another of their hugs.

Mr. Sutherland's shoulders slumped, his son bowed his head, and Chance scrubbed his face with both hands.

"I wish they were still here too, Essie," Chance told her, his tone suddenly hoarse with emotion. He pulled her and Serendipity into a hug and waved for the rest of his sisters to join in. "Forgive me, my precious pets. I was thinking only of myself. Seri and Essie have the right of it. I am a horse's arse."

"An overgrown horse's arse," Serendipity corrected him.

"An enormously overgrown one," Joy added.

"Mama and Papa are probably laughing right now." Blessing pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it to the corners of her eyes. "Remember how they always stood back and let us squabble, laughing all the while unless one of us picked up a weapon?"

"They always wanted us to work it out for ourselves," Chance said. "Work together and negotiate a peace acceptable to all parties involved."

"Without bullying, lying, or cheating." The knot in Blessing's throat loosened just a little. Mama and Papa were together again. That was all that really mattered for now. "Surely, between the eight of us, we can figure this terrible new time of our lives out?"

"As I see it, it is quite easy," Chance said with a subtle wiggle of a blond eyebrow. "All of you simply need to marry as soon as possible."

"Happily marry for love." Blessing cut her eyes over at Mr. Sutherland. "Correct?"

With a hint of relief in his smile, the old solicitor nodded. "Yes, Lady Blessing. Happily marry for love. Not for dowry or duty."

"Heaven help us," Chance groaned. "We shall be trapped together till the grave."

*

Broadmere House

London, England

April 1820

"You are the eldest sister, Seri. That makes it only proper that your lovely neck be first in the marriage noose." Blessing moved out from behind the telescope and pulled a face at Serendipity, resenting the interruption more than her sibling would ever know. "Besides—if Chance had his way about it, our family would be the talk of the ton for having the first wedding in London with seven brides and grooms. This Season, no less." She couldn't resist rolling her eyes. "Wouldn't that confuse our doddering old vicar?"

"Essie!" Serendipity gave her the very same look Mama had always used whenever less than impressed with her children's conversations. She added a heavy sigh. "I shall pray for your soul."

"Pray for your own soul," Blessing advised with a warning tip of her head. "You are as deep in this muddle as the rest of us. More so, really." She couldn't resist a petty smirk. "What with your being the eldest."

"Do you not wish to marry?"

"Of course I wish to marry. Someday off in the future. Under my terms—and the terms of the will. Not to satisfy Chance's whims, nor your intention to parade us through every social gathering available as though we are fruits that must be promptly eaten before we rot." Blessing glared at her sister, daring her to deny it. "And as I said, as eldest, you should be eaten first."

Serendipity's dark sapphire eyes flashed with irritation as she smoothed a stray curl behind her ear, a curl so blonde it was almost as white as a dove's breast. Blessing had always envied her sister for the shade of her eyes. While the color of their hair was the same snowy blonde, and their height and slenderness very much alike, Blessing's eyes were a light, clear blue like that of tinted crystal rather than the deep, regal shade of her sister's.

Marching forward with the tight-lipped expression that warned her usually amiable nature had reached its limit, Serendipity closed the astrological journal with such a resounding pop that the small table on which it rested shuddered. "I cannot in good conscience marry and leave this home until I see each of you happily settled in the love match Mama and Papa envisioned for us all. I promised Mama. Would you have me go back on my word? Word given during Mama's last days?"

Blessing bowed her head. She had pushed her dearest sister too far. "No, Seri. I would never ask you to break your word to Mama. You know that." Then an irksome suspicion filled her, making her slowly lift her head and narrow her eyes. "You already knew the terms of the will. Even before Mama died. Didn't you?"

Serendipity turned aside while setting her chin to a haughty angle. "What a ridiculous thing to say."

"And yet you do not deny it." Blessing waited, knowing her sister to be a miserably poor liar. When they were little and into mischief, Serendipity's inability to lie had gotten them sent to bed without their supper on numerous occasions. "Mama told you what the will said, and you didn't think to warn the rest of us?"

Her sister twitched a shrug. "There was nothing to warn of. It is only natural for all of us to marry someday, and Mama and I may have discussed it a time or two." She aimed a pointed glare at Blessing. "Why do you think Mama insisted we all be presented before she died? Even when Merry and Felicity were entirely too young to come out officially in Society? It brought her great comfort to know we had been to the drawing room, as behooves the daughter of an esteemed peer—especially since it was Queen Charlotte's final drawing room before she passed."

"I am hurt that you did not share this with me." And Blessing was hurt. Deeply. As the two eldest and most like-minded, according to Papa, she and Serendipity shared everything from a bedchamber to dresses, slippers, and opinions. Fortuity, the next sister in line, shared their bedchamber as well but always kept her nose buried in her books and papers.

Blessing folded her arms across the front of her favorite morning dress of pale blue edged in lace and fancifully sprinkled with darker blue cornflowers. At a little over six months since Papa's passing, they had only just set aside the black bombazine of mourning. Once more, color filled the Broadmere household, yet the dark cloud of Chance's anxiousness to marry them off added a grayish tint to everything like the swash of a dirty paintbrush across a precious watercolor.

"I have decided not to marry," she announced, meaning it more than she had ever meant anything before.

Serendipity pinched the bridge of her nose as if suffering from the sudden onset of a headache. When she lifted her head, she looked at Blessing with such weariness that it tugged at her sister's heart. "You wish to spend the rest of your days living with Chance? A man capable of becoming even more fractious than a spoiled toddler denied its sweets?"

"Chance never comes to my observatory." Blessing swept a heartfelt gaze around the wondrous room Papa had built for her. A room made for studying the stars. She and Papa had shared many a robust conversation about the mysteries of the universe here. "My dear brother could either remain here at the townhouse or move to one of our other residences." Although she very much doubted he would ever give over his place in London without an unpleasant scene. After all, he enjoyed the many amusements the city had to offer.

"Nevertheless, Lady Atterley was a dear friend of Mama's," Serendipity said, changing the subject with her gentle but firm stubbornness. "She is giving this ball to reintroduce us to Society as she knew Mama would have wanted."

"Just because you were Mama's favorite does not afford you the right to use her memory as a weapon to achieve the results you wish." While holding her sister in a hard glare, Blessing reopened the astrological journal with a defiant thump.

"Chance was Mama's favorite, and you very well know it." Serendipity returned a hard glare of her own. "We must attend. All of us. Chance has already accepted." She waved Blessing forward. "Come. We must choose our gowns and then guide the others in their choices."

"Merry is naught but ten and six, and Felicity ten and seven. A bit young to be used as bait to snare Chance's full inheritance, don't you think?" Blessing refused to allow some lecherous old dowry hunter to sink his claws into her youngest sisters.

Serendipity moved to the doorway, glanced up and down the hallway, then lowered her voice. "While I have not addressed that particular fact with our brother, please know that I keep it at the forefront of my thoughts." With a significant arch of her fair eyebrows, she added, "Always."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I intend to ensure that Merry and Felicity have at least two more years of grace from Chance's edict to fall in love and marry. They will attend the parties to keep up appearances and give Chance a false sense of our honoring his wishes, but I refuse to allow them to be sacrificed like a pair of fatted calves."

"Milk-fed veal," Blessing corrected her, "and at least we agree on that."

"I am not the enemy here," Serendipity countered. She held out her hand. "Now, come. We shall choose our gowns, guide the others in their choices, and then enjoy a nice pot of tea before time to dress."

Thankfully, as they swept up the stairs, they did not encounter their brother. Blessing flexed her fingers, wishing she were a male so she could punch Chance in the nose. A hint of remorse flickered through her at the scandalous thought. Mama and Papa would not approve of such unladylike ideas at all.

As they entered the room, their sister Fortuity, Tutie to those who wished to tease her, never paused or looked up from her writing desk in her corner of the expansive bedchamber the three of them shared. The other four sisters, Grace, Joy, Felicity, and Merry, shared an even larger suite of rooms on the same floor—the two suites connected by a shared sitting room.

"Time to scrub the ink from your fingers, dear sister." Blessing pulled open both doors of her wardrobe and tried to stir at least a modicum of interest in dressing for the evening. "Lady Atterley's ball is tonight. Remember?"

Fortuity lifted her golden blonde head, feigned a cough, then patted her chest. "I fear I am unwell and will not be able to attend." She cleared her throat again before dipping her quill and continuing to scratch across the foolscap in front of her.

"You lie as poorly as Seri," Blessing said with a disgusted shake of her head. "Did it ever occur to you that claiming poor health would be much more convincing if you took to your bed and pinched your cheeks to make them appear flushed?" Honestly, was it any wonder that she and her sisters had never gotten away with the slightest bit of mischief as children?

Fortuity eyed her with a pained frown as though suddenly realizing she had planned her subterfuge poorly. "I felt compelled to finish this chapter."

"Well, you are also compelled to attend Lady Atterley's ball with the rest of us," Serendipity said as she brought forward several choices of gowns. "And I am glad you lie as poorly as I do." She cut a sour look at Blessing. "One should not be proud or accomplished when it comes to the telling of falsehoods."

"One should be if they wish to get away with anything other than sitting in the parlor and discussing the weather," Blessing said under her breath as she dove back into the depths of her wardrobe. What did it matter what she wore, since she in no way wished to attract attention? She chewed on her lip while eyeing her gowns. Nothing too fetching would do, but, then again, anything horrendous would as much as shout her intentions to avoid matrimony at all costs—or at least avoid it until she was ready.

The simple blue satin made somewhat fancy by a diaphanous overlay of even paler blue that started at the empire waist and fluttered gracefully to the floor to give the impression of a breezy blue mist would do. No lace, sparkling glass beads, seed pearls, or delicate embroidery decorated the gown. It was simple, subdued, and the perfect thing to wear when one wished to fade into the background and disappear. She pulled it from the wardrobe and draped it over the chair beside her bed.

"Fortuity?" She understood her sister completely, but this battle they faced had to be played with a great deal more cunning than simply ignoring it or trying to run and hide. "Do work on ridding your fingers of the ink stains. Please? I do not like this any more than you do, but as Seri so coldly pointed out, we have no choice."

"I did not point out anything in a cold manner," Serendipity said, her retort muffled since she was still somewhat buried in Fortuity's wardrobe. She withdrew a gown of the palest yellow and held it high. "This one? Isn't this one of your favorites?"

"Does it really matter?" Fortuity asked with a despondent sigh.

"Of course it matters," Serendipity said with a strained smile that made Blessing arch both her fair brows. "One must always strive to look one's best."

"Must one?" Blessing couldn't resist asking in her most impertinent tone.

"Yes, one must," Serendipity forced through clenched teeth before turning back to Fortuity. "Make the best of it, sister. That is all any of us can do."

"And not fall in love," Blessing advised with a wicked grin. "Remember the requirements of the will. We do not have to marry anyone we do not wish to marry."

A thoughtfulness came over Fortuity like the lazy rising of the sun. "That is right. Darling brother cannot marry us off to whomever he wishes if he expects to gain access to the entirety of the Broadmere accounts." She set her quill aside and stoppered her inkwell. "Is the water Meggie brought up still quite warm? Warm works best on these stains." Without waiting for an answer, Fortuity hurried into the dressing room that also served as a place for either bathing in the lovely copper tub at its center or much quicker refreshing at the counter that held three large porcelain bowls with matching pitchers filled with water.

"Do not encourage her defiance," Serendipity whispered to Blessing. "You know how easily sparks can burst into raging infernos between her and Chance."

"Dearest Seri." Blessing shook her head in disbelief as she returned to the blue satin gown she had laid out and tried to remember if she had loaned the matching slippers to one of the other sisters. "Are you so na?ve as to believe there will be anything but raging infernos in our foreseeable future?"

"I do so hate conflict."

"I know." Blessing offered her sister a sincere smile. Serendipity had always been the peacekeeper. "But you might as well resign yourself to the fact that our household will be in an uproar for quite a while." She went to the bellpull beside the door and tugged on it. "Gird your loins, sister. We are at war."