Prologue

"Slow down!" the woman who sat diagonally across from Arabella Betez screamed as the stagecoach lurched around a corner at a far faster speed than the occupants considered comfortable. Her words were wasted; the drivers and passengers outside could hear nothing from inside the carriage.

Arabella clung desperately to the seat. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to travel by stage. If she was honest with herself, it had been a moment of stubbornness and ill-temper that had caused her to act so out of character when everyone within her circle had advised her not to. She had wanted to go to the exhibition, and go she would, no matter what her uncle advised, though he was her guardian. The fact that she had enough funds to hire a carriage of her own flashed through her mind as the passengers were thrown into each other, which was a feat indeed as they were already squeezed in far closer than was comfortable. It was the first time she had travelled by stage. She had felt rebellious, taking control of her life; it had been another way to show that she was not too high in the instep to travel by a mode of transport her uncle would never consider using. The arrogance had now been replaced by fear as the stage lurched uncomfortably time and again.

She was supposed to be intelligent, she cursed silently to herself, gritting her teeth and closing her eyes briefly. Instead of using that intelligence, she had opted for a foolhardy scheme, ignoring the warnings, which had proved to be right. She had been convinced that Philip loved her and determined to support him on his first exhibition. Instead of being delighted and impressed by her resourcefulness, he had barely acknowledged her existence at the exhibition and had let her down in the most cruel, public way.

He had professed to care little for money, that he loved her and his art and nothing more. But she had been witness to him fawning over the richest of the women who had come to view his exhibition, gushing when they bought one of his paintings. She could tell they had been blinded by that same practised babble she had believed, and had seethed on realising that she had been taken in.

Her friends had cautioned her against him, but then they were the Bluestocking Club and had shown their astuteness where he was concerned, whereas she had trusted in every foolish word he uttered. Her vanity had led her to believe that he wanted her for who she was, and that he was not, as the others suspected, a fortune hunter. Of course she had not listened to anyone's doubts. A person in love believes nothing to the detriment of their chosen one, and he had seemed everything that was perfect for her: out of the ordinary, not the usual member of the ton, a free spirit who would understand her own need not to conform.

It was a harsh lesson to overhear him using the same words and phrases that he had whispered to her, enough that she had been fool enough to fund his exhibition. When she had arrived, it was as if they had not known each other, had never shared illicit kisses, his greeting was so distant and unwelcoming. She had been surprised, hurt, shocked, and then angry with his easy dismissal of her. She had wanted to shout that she was paying for all this and that he owed her some respect, but she could not utter the words, or she would have been ridiculed by the ton. All she could be grateful for was that her uncle never found out that she had funded the exhibition, for he would have had apoplexy.

Philip had claimed that an artist's soul could not be constrained by society's restrictions in order for him to fly free and create. What a blasted fool she had been to not only have listened to his words but believed them, when the reality was that he just wanted to do as he wished without considering anyone else. If he saw a better opportunity than she offered, he was going to take it.

She could no longer believe that he thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever met, as he had told her from the second day of meeting him. Instead, he had shown her that her beauty meant nothing to him. She had been a woman with loose purse strings, that was all and a willingness to believe his false words, and there were now other women who could offer him more than she could. He made it quite clear that Arabella was no longer a requirement for his success.

His rejection had hurt more than she would ever confess to anyone. Doted on by her parents and then her uncle when her parents had passed, she was not used to being dismissed as cruelly, as heartlessly as he had done. Even her friends had often told her that she was the most beautiful of their group. She had been arrogant enough to think that any man would be grateful for her attention. It was a hard lesson to learn.

Her now acknowledged arrogance had led her to reject suitors in her first years out of the schoolroom, and she had been callous in her dismissals of their proposals. Why did she want to shackle herself to a husband when there could be someone more worthy of being married to her? She had gained a reputation for being aloof and unfeeling, and they were not unjust accusations. She had been a badly behaved, overindulged girl, but the pitiless set-down by Philip had made her realise just how poor her own behaviour had been.

At six and twenty, she was still considered beautiful, but there were few proposals to speak of. Not only did she have a reputation, but she was attached to the Bluestockings, who took more pleasure in each other's company than in trying to find a husband. That was until she had been deceived by Philip. Now she stung to be on the receiving end of a dismissal. But she was aware enough of her own behaviour to feel guilty that she had never considered any man's feelings when she rejected them, so why did she not expect to be treated in the same manner.

She had stormed out of the exhibition, not even sure he had noticed her leaving. He was driven by money, the lying cad. She would show him that she was not as easily swayed by money as he was. She could live a good life within her means, and she would be nice to people, no longer dismissive or unfeeling. It had been a sobering lesson, but she would learn from it, and no man would ever touch her heart again. She was not one to be fooled twice.

That Philip would know nothing of her actions, nor would he care even if he did, was not wasted on her as another lurch flung her against the grumbling man sitting beside her.

She apologised to the stranger, but for what? None of them had any control over the carriage, but she begged the stranger's pardon nonetheless. It was the right thing to do, just as it had been the right thing to give more credence to her uncle and her friends. They had always had her best interests at heart, so why had she treated their opinions as less valuable this time? Because she had been an arrogant fool, believing the shallow words of a cad.

As the vehicle rocked perilously, she vowed never to travel by stage again. She had been foolhardy once too often, and being stuck in a carriage with strangers who looked as ill as she felt was the jolt she needed to admit that she was old enough not to act on pettishness or ill-temper. She only had herself to blame, for she prided herself on being astute, yet she had been taken in so easily. She could have laughed if she had not been in danger of casting up her accounts.

Taking a steadying breath, she almost groaned when she noticed the man in the window seat opposite, who looked ready to be ill. She hoped to goodness he pulled the window down in time or that would finish off the day to perfection. She longed to move, but there was nowhere to go. Never again would she complain about carriage travel, for never had she experienced anything as bad as this journey. How the passengers outside were keeping seated, she had no idea.

The passengers within the vehicle did not realise that the carriage needed to slow as the next corner approached; they did not see a curricle coming at speed in the opposite direction, itself overshooting the corner, and both curricle driver and stage driver realising that disaster was unavoidable. The driver of the stage tried to swerve to avoid the smaller equipage, but his actions were too hard and too late.

Horses and people screamed amidst the crashing sounds of wood against metal hitting the road, causing dust and debris to billow up around the unfolding disaster. The noises were deafening and overwhelming, time seeming to slow as the horrific scene played out on the country road. Once again, the frightened screams of the passengers inside were drowned out by the carnage outside.

Arabella was flung forward onto the ill-looking gentleman, colliding with him roughly, her head slamming into the window. When the carriage started to roll onto its side, everyone was flung around as if a box of rag dolls had been thrown from a great height. The doors burst open, failing to offer protection, flinging two of the passengers out onto the landscape. Those who remained in the vehicle fared no better, crushed against sharp objects as the carriage continued to move haphazardly because of the momentum of the terrified horses still attached to it.

The endless nightmare eventually stopped as the horses came to a standstill, either from injury or exhaustion. An eerie silence descended for a matter of moments before the screams and cries of those injured started to ring out into the afternoon while other bodies lay unnaturally still.

Arabella lay still on the side of the road, blood oozing from her face, her arm and her ankle both twisted at odd angles. She could not remember at what point she had been flung out. Fortunately for her, she did not feel the pain; she just stared at the sky in confusion, wondering how she could be outside when not so long ago she was inside the carriage. She frowned, trying to remember what had happened, unconcerned by the amount of blood she was losing or that she could not feel anything. Gradually, she gave up the struggle and did not fight the blackness overtaking her. The last thing she remembered was that she had been angry about something, but she could not for the life of her think what it was.