Chapter 1

MAY 1816

The Salisbury Ball

"…And then there is Lord Wetherby," Lady Prudence Sommers explained, holding up a third finger as she compiled her list thusly. "He may be somewhat lacking in height, but his shoulders are admirably broad, and from the looks of things, his stomach—and this is coming from my cousin's mouth mind you, one could scrub their washing on it! Can you imagine?"

"Is that so…?"

"And let us not forget Lord Tarrow," Prudence continued, holding up a fourth finger. "Only a baron, yes. And word is that he is close with his mother… too close that it borders on obsession in fact, so marrying him would undoubtedly be marrying her as well. And no one wishes for a mother-in-law who is perpetually present, prying into one's affairs and dispensing unsolicited advice on how to please one's husband—look no further than Lady Susan." She cast a glance across the busy hall and licked her lips. "He is quite handsome though… so perhaps it would not be entirely intolerable."

"Yes, very handsome…" Lady Virtue Hartleigh said absently, her mind wandering as her friend chattered on. Prudence, enjoying the sound of her own voice as ever, scarcely noticed.

"Of course, we mustn't overlook Lord Hightower either. Father says he is one of the wealthiest men in London, and already a marquess at only one and twenty. But…" she bit into her lip and sighed. "Men that age are hardly willing to settle down for things such as marriage, are they? Typical." She clicked her tongue. "We are expected to be wed as soon as we turn eighteen, yet they are allowed to gallop all about town like stallions in heat! Perhaps it is best if we leave him off the list for now. Why waste our time?"

"A wise idea…"

"Oh!" Prudence clapped her hands with sudden excitement. "I almost forgot. Lord Wexley!" She glanced around eagerly, searching for a familiar face. "Annabelle was speaking of him earlier. Down from the north, she says, here this Season specifically to find a bride. An earl, terribly wealthy, and the way Annabelle described him, you would think that you died and went to heaven—he is that easy on the eyes. But I have not seen him…" She continued to scan the ballroom cautiously. "I do hope he has decided to attend tonight. He has no reason not to."

"Oh yes, he sounds delightful…"

"Virtue!" Prudence snapped her head around, looking at her friend for the first real time since the two had started speaking well over ten minutes ago. "Are you listening to me?"

"He sounds wonderful…" Virtue muttered, very evidently not paying attention.

Prudence pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. "They also say he is extremely well endowed."

"That's nice."

"And that is not to mention the goiter on his neck. But apparently, one can scarcely notice it."

"I am sure one cannot."

"Virtue!" Prudence slapped her on the arm. "Will you pay attention!"

"Pardon?" For the first time, Virtue returned to the present moment—the conversation, that is. She focused on her friend, took note of the scowl that she wore, and offered an apologetic smile. "I apologize. My mind was elsewhere for a moment."

"You don't suppose."

"It is not personal," Virtue tried. "I'm just not… I am nervous, Pru. This is my first public outing since…" She trailed off, not wishing to voice it, knowing there was no need, for certainly everyone already knew. "And I feel as though everyone is looking at me."

"Don't be so vain, my dear."

"I assure you, I am not!"

"Indeed you are." Prudence took Virtue by the arm, and with a decisive tug, pulled her shoulder to shoulder, aligning them both to overlook the crowded hall. "But shall I tell you a hard truth?"

"Pray, do."

"Not one soul here has concerns for anyone else but themselves, Virtue. You may fancy yourself the subject of every whisper, but truly, you are not the cynosure you imagine. And I should know, for I have been trying to speak with you for the last ten minutes, and where it might shock you to hear, I have found more amusement in discourse with the stone walls of Sommerton."

"Oh, what a delight to hear," Virtue said flatly.

"You are most welcome, my dear. Now, stop with this nonsense, and let us enjoy ourselves."

Lady Virtue Hartleigh, only daughter to Lord Holmfield, wanted to believe her friend. Oh, how she wished that her words held a semblance of truth. It might have been nice to have gone unnoticed. Even Prudence's comparisons to a brick wall weren't nearly as cutting as she meant them to be. To be able to pass on by without knowing that she was the subject of whispers and titters from her contemporaries was a dream that Virtue doted like a bee might a freshly bloomed flower. And yet, reality painted a far different picture.

She had nearly forgone the invitation to tonight's affair entirely—the inaugural ball of the Season, a spectacle she had not missed since blossoming into society at the tender age of eighteen. It was the most anticipated event of the year, a pivotal night for all young debutantes seeking the admiration of potential suitors, with hopes of romantic courtships and perhaps even fortuitous marriages. Where fates intermingled like the gentle swirls of mist over a moonlit mere.

Yet, as things stood, Lady Virtue Hartleigh was as unspoken for as they came.

But that was also the point.

The evening was designed specifically for young women of Virtue's ilk. And indeed, as she stood, her arm gracefully linked with Prudence's, her eyes swept across the hall, noting the scores of young women dressed in their very best as they filtered from group to group, suitor to suitor; some on their own, some led by their fathers, and a fortunate few lucky enough to have found a gentleman to occupy themselves with tonight. A rainbow of reds and yellows and greens and oranges and purples and every color imaginable washed over Virtue, an intense feast for the senses that was as overwhelming as it was breathtaking.

To be among them, Virtue would have loved nothing more. She was, after all, dressed in a similar fashion. Her gown was emerald green, wreathed with a darker green floral pattern, hemmed with golden stitching, flowing from the waist like a cascading waterfall while cinching about her hips and hooping low across her neckline. She was petite in stature but curvy in frame, hair as red as a roaring hearth in a cold winter, skin as white as freshly poured milk. A true beauty – according to many. Yet, none of these attributes were the crux of her plight.

Again, she wanted desperately to spread her wings and walk through the crowds that gathered in the hall. Sip some wine, maybe share a dance, or partake in a few lively conversations. Perhaps even ask her father if he had identified any suitable suitors. Yet, such aspirations seemed just beyond her reach—or so she believed.

"Come on then." Prudence straightened up her posture and fixed a smile on her face. "Let's go."

"Wait!" Virtue's hand shot out, grasping her friend's arm as her face grew paler still. "What in heavens do you mean by let's go? Where? Who are we—"

Prudence rolled her eyes, her patience waning thin. "If only you would listen, V. I just listed six – six eligible gentlemen for us, Virtue. All of whom are likely present tonight. All of whom we should be introducing ourselves to, instead of skulking in the corner like petty thieves."

"And we just… approach them?" She could feel her face begin to flush red with embarrassment.

"Why ever not?" Prudence countered with a nonchalant shrug. "Times are not what they used to be. Men appreciate a woman who asserts herself. Takes initiative…" She pumped her eyebrows.

That wasn't true at all, but Prudence seemed set on this little task of hers, willing to say whatever she needed to, to force some action in Virtue.

"Wait… perhaps I should consult my father first." Virtue feigned a scan of the room, seeking her father among the clusters of gentlemen. She knew all too well that he would disapprove of her making such bold overtures unbidden.

"And squander precious time? I'd wager his list contains Lord Ambrose, and our neighbor, old baron Grimsby." She took a firmer grip of Virtue's arm. "No. We ought to take fate into our own hands, lest we end up like Lady Phillipa. Now, come."

"But Lady Phillipa is wealthy and rather happy, don't you think?" Virtue tried for a final time.

"Pah! She detests that Rochester Lordling. He ought to have been her half-brother with how he followed around her father like a lost puppy before the marriage. The Rochesters…" she shuddered, "an odd family." With that, she pulled Virtue forward and, with little real choice, Virtue followed.

Beside her, Prudence beamed as she swept through the crowd. Oh, she was confident, as she had every right to be. Dark hair. Darker features. Undeniably pretty. And the daughter of a marquess! Men's heads turned as they passed, and a few smirked in her direction, no doubt already planning their approach.

There had been a time—not so long ago, at the dawn of the previous Season—when Virtue herself had embodied that same boldness. She had been the one to lead, eyes keenly searching for a promising suitor. That was, after all, how she had first encountered Lord Prescott…

"There!" Prudence's sudden halt drew Virtue's attention. "Do you see?"

"See what?" Virtue swallowed and dared to follow her friend's gaze.

"Lord Tarrow!" she whispered excitedly. "Leaving Annabelle's side right now. See!" Her eyes flashed. "Oh, isn't he just handsome! And I don't see his mother about either."

Virtue saw immediately who Prudence was speaking of. A dashingly handsome lord with golden blonde hair and a cleft chin which he held high as he stalked. A smirk on his lips, which spoke to his confidence. A way of walking that had his chest puffed out, an air to his gait that told the world he knew what tonight entailed to the t. Virtue eyed him with a sense of desire she didn't know she was capable of feeling anymore, wanting desperately to cross the room to him, but not able to force herself to make the move.

And then, as she stared, Lord Tarrow looked up suddenly and met her eyes. Time seemed to stand still as they gazed at one another, that feeling as if they were the only two in the room and nothing else mattered. Virtue licked her lips, daring to dream for the first time in months…

"Somebody is interested," Prudence giggled. "Now, you better do something about it."

"Wh – what?" Virtue felt her stomach lurch. "I am not so sure I can."

"Of course you can. Go to him." She stepped back and pushed Virtue forward.

Virtue stumbled. "And say what?"

"I don't know," Prudence groaned. "Anything! Honestly, Virtue, how you were engaged before is beyond me. Have you ever spoken with a man before?"

"Of course!"

"Then prove it!"

She thought to argue, the only thing stopping her being a keen awareness that Lord Tarrow was still watching. He, and several others who were in the vicinity and seemed to understand what Virtue was doing, deciding to stop and watch. Oh, maybe she was imagining the last part, but she didn't think so. She had been the talk of the ton for months now, so why should tonight be any different?

A deep breath had Virtue steadying. Then she forced a smile, focused on Lord Tarrow – who was observing her with a sense of want she found wholly appealing – and started toward him. She was doing it. She was taking action. She was leaving the past where it belonged and carving herself a new path. Soon, what had happened to her would be forgotten. Soon, she would be a new woman with a new name.

And that was about the moment everything went wrong.

Just behind Lord Tarrow, with a drink in his hand, a curious smile on his face as he watched her approach the eager young lord, was a man whom Virtue had been hoping to avoid tonight, one whom she presumed wasn't attending, one whom she knew that if she saw—well, it had the potential to ruin her entire evening and then some.

His name was Lord Prescott, and until three months ago, he had been Virtue's betrothed.

Indeed, no sooner did Virtue see Lord Prescott, their eyes connecting across the room, did she forget all about Lord Tarrow and what she was doing as that sudden desire to escape and remain hidden took hold. Her chest tightened. Her body grew red hot. The room spun about her. Eyes widening as if from fear, she turned on the spot suddenly, meaning to run, only to find herself face to face with Prudence.

"What are you – oh!" Prudence cried as Virtue ran headlong into her.

Their bodies collided with a tremendous crash. Prudence stumbled backward, arms flailing. She caught the edge of a footman's wine tray, sending the glasses of wine flying into the air as their reddish-purple contents emptied all over her dress.

Virtue tried to help, but as the glasses of wine smashed around her feet, she slipped and stumbled, again falling into Prudence, grabbing a hold of the woman around the shoulders, losing her balance entirely, and falling to the floor in a heap. Oh, and of course, with another loud crash—enough to alert the entirety of London.

The music that played throughout the hall silenced in an instant. The gossip and chatter and banter that filled the cheeks of the guests stopped dead as if it had never been. All eyes, what had to be hundreds of them, turned as one and looked upon Prudence and Virtue lying on the floor, covered in wine, dresses torn, embarrassment piqued. A beat, the silence, and shock so heavy that Virtue could feel it, broken when someone began to snicker.

Laughter erupted from the mouths of a few of the immature young Lords. Raucous and bawdy. Fingers pointed. Bodies doubled over as sides were held to keep them from splitting.

"You…. how could you!" Prudence cried. "What have you done!"

"I… I didn't… I did not mean…" Virtue stammered, unable to form a cohesive thought as the laughter and jesting and mockery crashed upon her like relentless waves.

Just three months ago, Virtue had been subjected to a kind of embarrassment that she was certain would be the worst of her entire life. Yet tonight, this very moment might well have surpassed that.

Drenched in wine. Bottom bruised. The center of attention in the worst possible way. Forget seeking a new suitor, Virtue thought as she covered her face and tried to stand – only to slip and fall once more. After tonight, she might never go out again. And who could blame her?