Chapter One

"Iwill not do it! I will not!" Olivia Agarn hissed to herself as she hurried through the endless hallways of Lord Jodrell's manor house, cursing the dead-ends and wrong turns that made her feel as if she was trapped in a labyrinth.

"Watch where you are going!" a young lady snarled as Olivia passed by, almost knocking the woman over.

Olivia ignored the young lady, pressing onward as if ravenous hounds were on her tail. This cannot be permitted. I shall not do it. My friends will have the answer—they will know how to pry me out of this mess.

"Careful, Miss Agarn!" A gentleman leaped out of her path, his hand shooting out to try and catch her, but she twisted out of his reach, hurtling on with panic throbbing in her veins.

At length, she reached the refreshments room, scouring the elegant dining hall for any sign of her dearest friends. She had left them in the hallway just outside the refreshments room when her mother and father had summoned her away, but it seemed they had vanished, and at such an inopportune moment, she needed them desperately.

Spying a different gaggle of young ladies beside the punch bowl, Olivia took a breath and made her breathless approach, ignoring the haughty looks and turned-up noses.

"Have any of you seen my friends?" Breathlessly, Olivia began to name those dear friends, only to be rudely interrupted by one of the ladies, a rude, superior sort of creature.

"As if we do not know who your friends are," the woman, Miss Patton, remarked with a snort. "Everyone knows ‘The Spinsters Club' all too well."

"Is that what you call us?" Olivia mustered a grin, for the unkind names changed with every season, and it had become a joke between her and her friends to guess what they would become next season. "How quaint."

"We have not seen them," said another of the ladies sharply, glancing around the room as if she might somehow become a spinster by association alone. "You should find them yourself."

Olivia arched an eyebrow. "Do you not think that is what I am attempting to do? Why else would I have intruded upon your little… gossipmongers' meeting, if I was not desperate?"

"You ought to be grateful that we are speaking to you at all," remarked Miss Patton, pulling a face so sour that Olivia wondered if there was an excess of lemon in her punch. "You are a disgrace to young ladies everywhere."

Olivia waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes, I am aware; I have been told often enough. It is exceptionally awful that a lady should want more from life than to be a wife and mother. Atrocious notion, really." She took a moment to bask in their horror, though her satisfaction did not last long, her words reminding her of why she needed to find her friends immediately. "So, you have not seen the rest of the proud spinsters?"

"Certainly not," Miss Patton muttered.

Olivia shrugged. "Then, enjoy your evening. Perhaps, this will be the night that you finally ensnare that longed-for husband, so you may be happily shackled to the institution of marriage for the rest of your days, turning a blind eye to the infidelities and betrayals that will surely come."

She walked off to an explosion of appalled gasps but could take no pleasure in them. Where is everyone? Where have they wandered off to?

Making her way down another endless hallway, lined with closed doors that, ordinarily, she would have been tempted to peek inside, she searched helplessly for her friends. With every minute that passed without them, her heart raced faster, her skull pulsing with the pressure of the fear that swelled within her. Her legs trembled, her gait shaky, as reality began to crush her.

"In here!" A hand shot out from one of the doorways, seizing her around the wrist and pulling her into the dusty gloom of a library. Two lanterns had been lit, casting an eerie glow upon the old bookshelves and the antique reading desk that looked as if it had been stolen from a medieval king. And lounging on the creaky leather armchairs, sipping cups of punch, were Olivia's friends at last: Leah Bolton, Phoebe Wilson, Matilda Elkins, and Anna Dennis.

It was Matilda who had pulled her into the room, and the relief could not have been more powerful as it swept through Olivia's jittering nerves, soothing them. Being the oldest and wisest of their friendship group at four-and-twenty, Matilda's very presence was always calming.

"Do not tell us that you must leave," Leah spoke first, fluttering her bare feet; her legs draped over the armrest of what appeared to be Lord Jodrell's personal armchair, given the wear of the leather. "Has your mother tired of the ball already? You must insist upon staying, for we cannot be without you."

Olivia shook her head solemnly, clasping a hand to her chest. "I wish it were something so simple."

"Do not keep us in suspense, dearest Olivia. Tell us what has happened in your brief absence," Matilda encouraged, taking Olivia by the hand and leading her to one of the brocaded footstools, sitting her down upon it. It was a double relief for Olivia to take the weight off her shaky legs, fearing she might faint.

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. "You are not to have a belated sibling, are you?"

"Again, nothing so simple," Olivia replied, her voice catching in her throat.

To everyone's surprise, it was Anna who discovered the answer first, drawing the attention of the room toward her as she said, "It is a gentleman. There has been a message of interest." Her blue eyes glittered, a faraway smile etched upon her face, for though she was loyal to the supposed ‘Spinsters Club,' it was not for a lack of hoping and daydreaming to be the very opposite.

"Worse than that," Olivia murmured, staring down into her interlaced hands.

"Worse?" Matilda sat down on the footstool, nudging in beside Olivia.

Olivia nodded. "Or, rather, beyond that. Perhaps, there was an initial message of interest, but no one thought it important to make me privy to that knowledge. You know what being a young lady is like—we are good for nothing but bartering with and forging connections for gentlemen's benefit." She shook her head, fighting for her courage. "My father has… arranged a match. I am to visit my future husband and reside at the estate of his aunt for a week or more, so that "introductions" can be made. Although, considering this is already signed and sealed, it seems rather too late for introductions."

A ripple of horrified gasps erupted from her quartet of confidantes. Phoebe and Anna leaned forward in their chairs, while Leah swiveled around in hers; the conversation was too important for lounging.

"You certainly shall not do any of that," Matilda insisted defiantly, seizing hold of Olivia's clammy hands. "We shall steal you away and hide you between our residences. Why, now that I think of it, there is a cottage in the woods near my home that has been unoccupied for years; it will be the perfect sanctuary!"

Olivia mustered a weary smile. "I believe my father has already considered the possibility of my fleeing without delay." She huffed out a breath. "We are to leave for this dowager's residence as soon as the ball is finished. I suspect that is why I was informed tonight."

"But… your mother—why did she not say anything?" Leah jumped in, aghast. "Why did she not forewarn you?"

Matilda pressed a finger to her lips. "Dear Leah, before we consider who is at fault, let us first discuss the specifics. Indeed, to understand how we might resolve this, we must first understand our enemy, so to speak." She drew in a breath. "Who is this gentleman? Is he old? What manner of gentleman is he? What is the cause of this union—fortune, station, connections, a desire for an heir?"

"Of course, we must!" Leah agreed. "Is he a rogue in need of reforming? Has this been demanded by a despairing parent?"

Olivia chuckled tightly. "If you include my father, then yes."

It was not clear, not even to Olivia, which question she was answering.

"He is the Marquess of Bridfield, wherever that is," she continued, rocking slightly to dull the sharp edges of her dread. "And that, my darling girls, is all I know."

Phoebe steepled her fingers and rested her chin upon their points. "Well, it stands to reason that he cannot be terribly old, otherwise he would not have an aunt living."

"Unless she is terribly old," Leah interjected.

Phoebe tilted her head from side to side. "I had not thought of that." She paused. "But why is that name so familiar? The Marquess of Bridfield… No, I cannot place it. Give me a while and it shall come to me, I am sure."

"As you are the only daughter of a Viscount and he is a Marquess," Matilda mused aloud, "we can rule out a pursuit of station. So, we have fortune—possible, as so many of these dynasties are crumbling after centuries of frittering. Connections—even more plausible, considering none of us can place this fellow. Or, there is the desire for an heir to consider, and that needs no explanation."

Olivia shuddered. "I would rather consider none of those notions."

"Quite right," Matilda said, softening the teacherly tone of her voice. "All will be well, Olivia. If we cannot smuggle you out of here this evening, then we shall simply have to kidnap you on another occasion. If we put all of our minds together, I know we can concoct a believable scene; a robbery gone awry, that sort of thing."

Olivia had to laugh. "I should relish seeing that and then, once the fellow has found another involuntary soul to marry him, I shall make a grand entrance at the finest ball of the next season, resurrected from the dead. Oh, I can already hear the screams of terror!"

"Or, you could simply make yourself so unpleasant and repulsive that he decides he does not wish to marry you," Leah suggested with a shrug.

Phoebe nodded eagerly. "If anyone can convince him that you are not a good prospect, it is you. Do you remember your debut, when that Earl's son tried to woo you?"

The girls snickered, knowing the story well.

"I promise, I did not employ the services of those wasps after my lemon ice "spilled" upon him—that was fate itself," Olivia insisted, warmed by the company of her friends and the history they shared. "To this day, he calls me a witch, convinced that I somehow summoned those wasps to swarm and sting him."

"Or you might fall in love with him," Anna said dreamily, sipping from her cup of punch as if she was already toasting to the nuptials.

The other four women stared at her. She blinked, her cheeks flushing red, and immediately dropped her chin to her chest, falling silent. It was no secret that Anna was only part of the never-marrying side of the "club" because she had not yet found a gentleman to rival those she read and dreamed about, but even if she did find such a man, she would still be their friend. Always.

"What I mean to say is," Anna mumbled, keeping her gaze down, "it could be a success. Not all gentlemen are destined to behave as your father did, Olivia. Indeed, society's gentlemen are rather like a… a… basket of fruit—there will be some rotten berries at the bottom, but there are plenty of shiny, sweet apples and plums to be found with time and patience."

Matilda clicked her tongue. "But one cannot always know if a fruit is rotten until you have already bitten into it. In this instance, that bite means marriage for our dear Olivia, and she will be trapped if she finds that it is moldy within."

"It is best to never make it that far. Best to never so much as look at the basket of fruit, for it is all assuredly sour," Leah agreed, her eyes darkening as she turned her face away. Olivia's heart ached for her poor friend, remembering how she had suffered. If anyone knew the pitfalls of engagements and betrothals and weddings, it was Leah.

Phoebe shrugged. "I have never much liked fruit. It is too… inconsistent. Some summer afternoons, you can enjoy the finest strawberry of your life, so sweet and fragrant and perfect it makes you want to cry. Then, you search for a strawberry like that again, and you cannot find it, and you feel disappointed for ever having tasted such a tremendous strawberry for it has ruined all other strawberries for you." She paused. "Apologies. I forgot we were not talking of actual strawberries, though I imagine there is a metaphor in there somewhere."

Olivia did not want to be the one to dampen Anna's still-burning hopes for love and marriage, but nor could she tolerate the fantasy. "All gentlemen are the same. If there is one thing I know about marriage, it is that infidelity is as much a part of it as making vows, declaring false promises, someone drinking too much, and picking through an obscene amount of dinner courses that always end with a posset of some kind."

"That is all you know of marriage," Anna corrected shyly. "Your mother and father are but one example, and if this were an experiment, you would need more than one pair of subjects for investigation. It is not evidence of marriage's absolute failure, but evidence of one way in which it can turn."

Olivia nodded slowly. "Perhaps, but if you were handed a box of twenty sugared almonds and informed that one of them was, instead, a sugared cockroach made to resemble an almond, you would likely refuse to eat any of them."

"An astute observation," Matilda remarked, but Anna seemed undeterred.

"Maybe, in that analogy, it merely shows that courage is required for marriage," Anna said, taking a large gulp of her punch. "Nine-and-ten sugared almonds versus one cockroach seems like rather good odds to me."

Olivia appreciated her unyielding enthusiasm, but she could not share it. If you had witnessed your own mother's heartbreak, Anna, you would not be able to hold so tightly to your candle of hope. She would not say that out loud, though she felt it keenly.

"Well, I cannot take the risk," she said instead. "I do not know this man, I do not want to know him, and I refuse to indulge even the slightest chance of having a cockroach marriage like that of my parents, even if nine-and-ten sugared almonds are precisely what they appear to be. I am a founding member of our Spinsters Club, and that is how I should like to remain."

A plan was already beginning to form in her mind, taking inspiration from the words of her dearest friends: she would make this unknown Marquess hate her and reject her, by any means necessary. Even if she could not summon a nest of wasps precisely when she needed to, she would create a sting of her own that would send him running.

Anna pulled a face. "Do not call us that, I beg of you."

"Darling Anna, that is what others call us," Leah interjected. "We must embrace it so they cannot use it as a weapon against us."

Matilda nodded. "Quite right."

Just then, Phoebe sat poker straight in her chair and her hand shot into the air as if she were in the midst of a lesson with her governess. "I remember where I have heard that name before!" she yelped, blanching. "Of course, the Marquess of Bridfield—why did it not come to me sooner!"

Olivia stared at her friend. "Where have you heard it?"

"Everywhere, all of last season and the season before!" Phoebe spluttered.

Olivia swallowed. "You are certain? In what regard?"

"The very worst regard. You see, I was making enquiries about suitable gentlemen for my sisters and investigating who to avoid… goodness, I cannot believe I forgot him!" Phoebe replied, softening her voice to a worried whisper. "Why, if I am not mistaken, his name was in the mouths of every gossipmonger just a fortnight ago, at the very beginning of the season. He is… he is…"

"Tell us, or I shall burst!" Leah urged.

Olivia needed. "No matter what it is, I must know. Indeed, if it is terrible, it may yet help me."

Phoebe took a shaky breath. "My dearest Olivia, he is one of the most notorious rakes in all of England."