Chapter One

November 1812, London

T he London Season. The Marriage Mart . It was said to be the most exciting time in a lady’s life—the contest for which she had been preparing since birth—during which a mere few months of attending parties would determine her entire future.

Why was that not appalling? Lady Georgiana Stewart, daughter of the Duke of Hovington, turned to her cousin Alice and forced a smile. A waiting footman handed them down from the ducal carriage onto a wide, brick-paved drive. Georgiana’s mother, the Duchess, preceded them, marching ahead as if into battle, nodding greetings to other arrivals. Georgiana gestured up the crowded walkway to the entrance of a blazingly lit Greek revival-style home.

“I hope you aren’t nervous, Alice.” If she was, Georgiana knew she would be no help, not while laboring under her own cloud of dread.

“In these clothes? Of course not,” Alice replied with a jaunty twitch of her wrap.

Alice did look particularly pretty. The high-waisted, pale-yellow gown suited her dark hair and pale complexion. Its green bows brought out the color of her eyes, which were bright with amusement, not nerves.

Alice glanced ahead at her formidable aunt. “Besides, the Duchess has reassured me tonight is strictly for practice. It’s not an official function.”

True, the Season would not officially open until Lady Andini’s ball on Thursday. Meanwhile, Mrs. Preston, the independent-minded sister of the Marquess of Waltham, had been holding this pre-Season rout annually ever since she defied expectations and married a handsome, wealthy cit. The ton may not have approved, but invitations to her parties were highly prized, especially by those young ladies about to be launched, who appreciated a tame evening of preparation. It was the unofficial start to the most exciting time of their lives.

Georgiana looped her arm through Alice’s and followed her mother up the walk.

“I need this too. I’m woefully out of practice.”

She regretted the callous words the minute they left her mouth. Out of practice might be true enough. At the end of the last Season, which had been calamitous, she’d fled London for the peace and quiet of her father’s country house in Marbury, determined to avoid fashionable society for as long as possible. Yet equating her situation with Alice’s was unjust. Mama’s widowered brother’s daughter was what one might call a poor relation. Her dowry was scanty, and her father possessed only proximity to a title. Whereas Georgiana’s advantages still outweighed her disadvantages—that was the problem.

Alice gave her arm a pat. “Once more unto the breach, dear friend. Stiffen the sinews. Summon up the blood.”

At that, Georgiana laughed. No one understood her as well as Alice.

And perhaps their situations were not so different. At nineteen years of age, they both needed to find husbands, sooner better than later. There was no other choice.

When they were young, growing up almost as sisters, they gabbled excitedly, callowly, about coming out together. But as the time approached, without ever discussing it, they realized that a dual debut would be unfair. Alice would have to compete with Georgiana for gentlemen’s attention. And how could she? Whereas Alice was merely pretty, Georgiana was a renowned beauty.

The renown was largely the result of a few egregious sonnets that had made the rounds last winter, praising her strawberry-blonde hair, her Greek nose, her milk-white skin, and, daringly, her pleasing figure—a lot of fustian nonsense. She was a duke’s daughter, and her dowry would be at least twenty thousand pounds. That was the true source of her beauty’s renown.

At her coming out ball, she had immediately been dubbed: the Incomparable , a sobriquet as embarrassing as it was unoriginal. The splash she’d made had merely increased the pressure on her to make a brilliant match. It was expected of her. And she had failed.

Oh, she’d had offers. If she possessed two heads and snakes for hair, she would have had offers. Frightened, she turned them all down. Men she barely knew were asking for a lifetime of devotion! A lifetime.

The balls, the theater, the routs, the musicales, even Almack’s—especially Almack’s—it had all been so…boring. And here she was, preparing to go through it all again. She must. And it would be worse: having failed to pull off a triumph her first Season, she would find suitors warier. What is wrong with Lady Georgiana?

What was wrong was that she could not bear to commit to a lifetime of mind-numbing dullness.

And how unfair that she would still overshadow Alice, who deserved her own opportunity to shine.

They reached the open door where Mrs. Preston greeted her guests. Mama introduced Alice. Georgiana, of course, was known. Their hostess urged them to move into the music room to find the other young people and some light refreshments. The Duchess, she claimed for herself.

Georgiana steered her cousin down the hall toward the sound of voices. It all seemed eerily similar to last year. That impression was reinforced when they entered the music room: the same piano pushed against the wall, a buzzing assembly of prettily dressed ladies and smartly attired gentlemen, the scent of cakes, punch, and perfume. She was acquainted with most of the other guests, Alice less so. She would have to smooth her cousin’s path, but just looking at the gathering made her tired.

Fortunately, the first face to emerge from the mix was that of Lord Haslet. She smiled, relaxing a bit, as he approached.

“Lady Georgiana! How good to see you.”

“And you, my lord. May I present my cousin, Miss Alice Fogbotham? This is Lord Haslet.”

“Delighted.” He bent a leg with an absurd flourish that made Alice giggle.

Viscount Haslet, Hazard to his friends, was a forty-year-old confirmed bachelor. He drank little, gambled less, and was said to be worth a fortune: a spectacular catch if one ignored rumors of hidden vice. He had approached her last year in this same room in much the same way, flirting so maladroitly that she quickly guessed he wasn’t serious. In retrospect, it had been one of the few highlights of the Season. She had looked for him at other parties, but he rarely attended once he’d “done his duty and reminded people of his existence”. He’d proposed to her midway through the calendar, as soon as he was certain, he’d said, that she would refuse him—only so that he could honestly inform his mother that he had.

It seemed his mother didn’t like his heir, a cousin’s son who she’d decided was a wastrel.

At least that proposal had been painless. And they were still friends.

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord,” Alice said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

That was true. Although Georgiana had seen him infrequently, he’d brightened a few of the drearier parties, and her letters to her cousin had reflected that.

“Have you? That’s wonderful. Saves me the effort of explaining myself.” He straightened his waistcoat. “Would you like to accompany me to the Conservatory? The foliage is supposed to be superb and there is more air to breathe. Bad form, I suppose, for me to lure away two young lovelies, but…” He lowered his voice. “I believe the company there is more congenial.”

He gestured with his chin. Georgiana directed her gaze where he indicated, then dropped her eyes. Lord Dunstun. That proposal had been excruciating. The dullard had been convinced of his right to have her and could not believe she didn’t agree. He accused her of coyness. One thing she was not, was coy. It wouldn’t surprise her if he’d gone on to speak ill of her. Hazard had evidently heard something.

“Yes,” she said faintly. “We’d love to see the Conservatory.”

The trio walked the length of the Prestons’ home. Lord Haslet exaggerated the bend of his elbows, like chicken wings, so that he could escort one woman on each side. They passed a darkened corridor where Georgiana saw two shut doors, evidently off-limits. She wondered if they could even be locked. That might be appropriate as the chaperonage was rather lax. Mrs. Preston’s guest list was known to be exclusive: young ladies as yet unfamiliar with the courtship process should not fear being led into compromising situations by rakes—but Lord Dunstun was here, so the winnowing process was not foolproof.

The next corridor was lamplit and opened into a cardroom. Several couples sat clustered at tables. Likely there was low-stakes gambling taking place, something to entertain the young marrieds since there would be no dancing. The library across the hallway was open but empty. Georgiana was not tempted by it. She had taken a peek inside last year and had been unimpressed: nothing scientific or mathematical. It looked to be a collection of travelogues and fat biographies, spines intact and pages uncut. The Prestons were not readers.

They stepped into the Conservatory. Whoever the architect had been, he’d done a beautiful job. The tall gabled ceiling was all of glass, as were the walls, mostly. Small trees with broad leaves were tucked into niches, and huge flowerpots were arranged to create a maze-like arrangement across the floor. There was statuary too, toga-clad male and female figures. A few cherubic cupids. Nothing improper. None of the niches were secluded enough for couples to disappear into. Several guests wandered here and there, no doubt flirting tentatively. Practicing.

Georgiana withdrew her hand from Hazard’s arm.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll sit on the bench there for a few minutes while you and Miss Fogbotham have a stroll. I seem to have something caught in my shoe that I need to wiggle out before I’m blistered.”

“Oh dear, we can’t have that,” he replied, smiling. He drew Alice closer and led her off. He was the ideal guest for this sort of rout. Charming. Safe. Perhaps she should have accepted him. There were certainly worse marriages.

Georgiana took herself to the bench, a wrought iron piece that was even less comfortable than it looked. She sat, breathing in the earthy scent of potted trees, then sighed and tried to forget that Lord Dunstun was at the party. Surely he wouldn’t approach her. It would be as unpleasant for him as for her. But this was another downside to a second Season. London was littered with gentlemen from last year. Most had not chosen to court her at the time. Why would they now? And of those who had been suitors, she’d rejected the ones who’d asked for her hand and would have rejected the others. Spending more time with them, Hazard excepted, would be pointless and embarrassing.

Bending over, she ran her index finger along the heel of her stocking. She hadn’t been telling a tale. There was a pebble or bit of gravel in her shoe. But all she accomplished was to push it further down to torment her more. It was unfair that ladies were not permitted to swear. Or to remove their footwear at parties and shake out the dirt.

She tried to swipe her finger under her heel, but the shoe was too tight. And now, given that her stays were digging into her ribs, she emitted an unladylike grunt, just as a shadow passed over her. She sat bolt upright.

A man had approached her bench from the side—a tall, broad-shouldered, exquisitely dressed, fair-haired man with a strong, square jaw and blue eyes that were clearly laughing. She knew him. His name sat on the tip of her tongue. What was it?

“Georgie! It is you. My word. You’re a young lady now! How can that be?”

Georgie? No one had ever called her that. And if she could not remember who he was, they were not so well acquainted that he could corrupt her given name in a public place.

She gave him a cold stare. “Do I know you, sir?”

He gaped, then laughed. “Well, that put me in my place!” He wagged a finger and scolded her. “Lady Georgiana, you have known me since you were in leading strings. Our fathers hunted together. Our mothers huddled in front of the fireplace discussing novels. And you…” He drew out the word, lifting his eyebrows. “You were determined to train our barn cats.”

Oh, good Lord. She did know him. His father was the Earl of Iversley. He was Lord Taverston, the eldest brother in the trio known as the lords of Iversley by the ton, which—though incorrect, as they weren’t all lords—still had a musical ring to it that had made the nickname stick. He was the only one of the three sons that she’d met, although it hardly counted as a meeting. She’d been seven years old, at most, when her parents had taken her to Chaumbers, the Earl’s country estate, for a house party. Lord Taverston had been home from Oxford. She couldn’t recall if it had been a holiday or a send-down; however, the other boys had been away at school, hadn’t they? So that hinted at send-down. He’d ignored her, naturally. Maybe he’d pulled her braids once. She’d thought him a prince. For the space of a fortnight. It all came back to her now.

“Lord Taverston, of course, I remember.” She relaxed her frown. “You had the most recalcitrant cats.”

He chuckled. “I can’t get over it.” Without being invited, he sat beside her. “Mother told me to look for you here, but I was looking for a little girl with messy red hair and dirt on her nose. I might have walked right past.”

She didn’t correct him, although her hair was not, had never been, red, except in some light where it might be considered redd ish .

She wasn’t sure how to respond. The little he’d said had conveyed quite a bit. Given he was attending Oxford over a decade ago, he would be nearing thirty. He was the Earl’s heir. She did not recollect any recent weddings in the Taverston family. She was a duke’s daughter now, of marriageable age. And his mother had told him to seek her out.

“I can’t imagine how you recognized me, bent over my shoe.”

“Well, Red. ” He smiled and touched her hair. Touched it! She drew back. And realized a lock had fallen from its pin while she’d been struggling with the stone.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” she said, flushing. “Is there also dirt on my nose?”

He shook his head, looking very amused and frightfully handsome. He had not a hair out of place. Then, without a by-your-leave, he reached out and tucked the lock back where it belonged. Despite the gross impropriety, she held still as he adjusted the pin—she was distracted by his cologne, which was subtly pleasant.

He leaned back. She patted her hair self-consciously and found it secure. “Have you been trained as a lady’s maid?”

“Self-trained. My little sister is a hoyden. Rides to the hounds. Both my brothers and I have learned how to fix her back up before our mother sees her. It would kill her, you see, to be banned from the stables.”

“How very kind of you.”

His smile broadened. “Your voice has not changed. You speak to me as if you were lecturing the cats. Am I as disappointing?”

Disappointing? No. His charm was palpable.

“Well, no.” She pointed to her hair. “You are evidently teachable.”

“I suppose I could be. With the right instructor.” Then he winced. “I’m sorry. What an aggressively flirtatious thing to say.”

It was. But how was she to freeze him after his preemptive apology?

“Well.” He shrugged. “I’m just so…pleased to see how you’ve…” He waved his hand at her but didn’t finish the sentence. Yet she knew exactly what he hadn’t said. His mother had ordered him to go have a squint at the Duke of Hovington’s chit. And now he was delighted to discover his mother had been right. Lady Georgiana, all grown up, was a catch.

And so, too, was Lord Taverston. In fact, he must have been one of the most eligible bachelors of the ton. Which begged the question: why had they not become reacquainted last year?

They were such an obvious match that a courtship seemed superfluous. For a moment, she felt a sickening falling sensation, worse than mere dizziness. Vertigo.

To Georgiana’s relief, Alice and Lord Haslet returned just in time to rescue her from having to make some sort of response. The men greeted one another chummily. Georgiana introduced her cousin and Lord Taverston pronounced himself charmed.

“Will you ladies be at Lady Andini’s ball?” he asked. It was a safe question. Of course, they’d been invited and, of course, they would go.

“Yes. And will you, Lord Haslet?” Georgiana asked, hoping that he would secure the first dance with her before Lord Taverston could.

“I expect so. I really should.”

“Lady Georgiana, please say you will dance the opening set with me,” put in Lord Taverston, almost before Hazard had finished speaking.

Hazard gave him a wry look. He saw the obvious. And that was why Georgiana was reluctant to appear at the Season’s first ball dancing the first dance with Lord Jasper Taverston. Everyone would assume the obvious. They were going to be this Season’s Grand Match.

Hazard turned chivalrously to her cousin. “And I hope you will do me the same honor, Miss Fogbotham.”

“I will, thank you, my lord,” Alice said, blushing a little. “Though now, I suppose, you will feel obligated to attend.”

“No, now I will look forward to attending.”

“Lady Georgiana?” Lord Taverston pressed.

“Why, naturally, my lord.” If she refused, manners dictated she could not accept any other partner the entire evening. And she had nothing against Lord Taverston—so long as he did not persist in nicknaming her Red —if she didn’t think about the feeling of being hemmed in.

Then, he said what should not be said. Leaning close, he whispered loudly enough to include the others and make it into a joke: “Just imagine how happy it will make our mothers.”