Prologue

A s a little girl, Miss Ruthie Waitrose heard much talk of destiny. It was her father's destiny to be a baron, just as much as it was for him to die falling out of a carriage and smashing his soft head against a paver stone, undeniably drunk.

As such, it was Ruthie's older brother's destiny to inherit the barony at a young age and, naturally, using his father's hedonistic lifestyle as a source guide, continue to run up debts and run it into the ground.

That was when Ruth's mother's gimlet eye finally turned to her. At ten, Ruthie showed no signs of being a great beauty or mind. But she would one day, God willing, become a woman—a blue-blooded one—and her practical mother understood that those types of women were always in demand.

Before sending her off to the nursery one late afternoon, Ruthie's mother declared that she would marry brilliantly. No debate was to be had. It simply must happen for the sake of the family. For the sake of her brother's destiny.

There was that word again. It was then that Ruthie learned that her mother had a plan for her—an ambitious one. But Ruthie didn't have a destiny. Apparently, only men had those. Women had something infinitely more practical.

They had purpose .

They served as the social fabric that kept society proper and warm. They were the form and not the function.

Listening to her mother explain this important role before bed was disconcerting, to say the least. And rather disheartening.

Ruthie fashioned her dolls into knights. She'd read Ivanhoe and Rob Roy more times than she could count. She dreamed of a great love that rivaled her parents' storied romance. Despite the fact that her father had sold all their horses to pay his creditors, in Ruthie's mind, she always galloped, never cantered. Yet her mother was ordering her to amble.

That night, her pillow was soaked through with tears. But in her discomfort, a revelation was born. Desperate times tended to create desperate thoughts. Perhaps a destiny wasn't what Ruthie wanted in life after all. What was so romantic about having one's life planned out before it even began?

That willful thought had felt positively profane…and freeing.

Ruthie was a good girl (as her mother routinely told her). A God-fearing, good girl. And from the crib, she was taught of God's divine plan. Who was she to rebel against that sacrosanct idea?

Well…she was a girl who read too many books. A girl who craved adventure. A girl who didn't desire such an ordinary purpose .

Ruthie wanted a chance. A chance to change her fate. A chance to create the life that she wanted.

By the time her pillow had dried, Ruthie was asleep in her bed, a tiny smile on her face as she dreamed about all the chances she would take when she grew older and how those little chances might make the biggest differences. She would be fearless and carefree. Like a pirate casting out into uncharted waters, she would throw caution to the wind and see where her fortune and her long legs would carry her.

The world would be her playground. Her imagination and courage would guide her.

Yes, her sleep was blissful that night. And deep.

And mischievous.

Because as sleep tends to do, it worked so well that the next morning Ruthie woke with little memory of those far-off dreams or the positivity they'd conjured, and her confidence faltered. She could only recount her mother's steely strategy along with the uncomfortable pain it had left in her chest.

As yellow light leached into the nursery, it carried with it the haunting realization that brandishing a sword against the giants in her fantasies was one thing, but rebelling against her formidable flesh and blood mother was another. Daytime was not a place for flights of whimsy, nor a welcoming hall for chance.

Which was why from that moment on, Ruthie always looked forward to the night. There she could find belief in herself. Under darkness she could be whoever she wanted. In the shadows, Ruthie could see herself clearly.

In the moon's blue glow, anything was possible. Clouds always flooded the sky. If her future was written in the stars, Ruthie didn't have to see it.