Chapter 1

CHAPTER1

"Dearest, do tuck your head back in or you shall catch a cold!"

Amy smiled a little before conceding to her aunt’s wishes by drawing her head away from the window of their carriage and allowing the curtain to drop back into place. She, along with her father and Aunt Dorothy, were on their way to attend the ball held by the Countess of Glendale—yet another one of the endless functions she must be subjected to as an eligible female of the ton.

"I just do not see the point of prancing about in balls and soirees," she sighed, irritation edging her tone. Her green eyes, normally shining with intelligence and wit, held a trace of scorn in them for the very event she was about to attend.

Her father, the Marquess of Irington, let out a soft sigh and shook his head at his daughter’s words. Amy had already acquired a reputation amongst the ton as a rather... difficult woman, and it was becoming increasingly arduous task to find a suitor for her.

Or even just a man who would not be so intimidated by her rapier wit and even sharper tongue.

"Oh, poppycock!" her Aunt Dorothy muttered. "We all know that you have no intention of ever getting wed, my dear girl."

Amy grinned in a rather unrepentant manner. "Precisely."

"But," the Marquess told her in a firm tone, "you cannot just back away from a task without exhausting all possible options for it."

Amy narrowed her eyes slightly at that. "Whatever do you mean, Papa?"

"I meant," he enunciated clearly, "that it has already become very clear to us that you intend to become a spinster and I will allow it…"

Amy felt her smile growing wider on her face.

"...as long as you consider the men who will approach you this Season," he finished.

She felt her world tilt and sway at her father’s words. "What?"

"I believe that you are a rather intelligent young lady, but let me make it clearer," the Marquess of Irington smiled benignly at her. "You are not to refuse any suitor who wishes to pay a call to you, nor will you attempt to dissuade anyone from doing so."

"But... but," she sputtered, "I will go mad trying to hold an intelligent conversation about the latest fashions and the weather which is all a ’proper lady’ is expected to talk about!"

"I am most certain there is at least some sane fellow in the whole of London who would appreciate a lively and intelligent conversation." The Marquess paused and added, "I most certainly would. It was why I was so taken with your mother, you know—she was the only one in that entire ballroom to talk to me without boring me to tears."

Amy had heard the story of how her mother, the late Marchioness of Irington, captured the heart of her father so many times that she had learnt it by heart.

Unfortunately, she had already come to the conclusion that the story of her parents was more of an exception rather than the norm in the ton.

Most of the men she encountered were all rather disappointing—and those were the ones she could mostly tolerate!

The rest did not even bear mentioning.

She glanced up at her father suspiciously and found him looking at her with an unwavering glint in his eyes. It would seem he truly was set on this...this arrangement if she could call it that.

"You really will allow me to become a spinster?" she asked him.

"Only if you agree to my conditions."

"And what if, at the end of the Season, no suitor wants me for a wife?"

"My dear daughter," the Marquess smiled at her, "the many fops you are acquainted with might not be as astute, but I doubt that the whole of England is filled with such men."

She crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. Her father had never lied to her before or gone back on his word. He truly believed she could find herself a husband by the end of the Season.

But would she be able to stomach living with a man for the rest of her life? One who might be particularly inclined to lord over her entire existence?

"As long as he is willing to accept me for who I am," she finally said begrudgingly. "Then, I shall not outwardly refuse him."

"Of course," her father nodded with a twinkle in his eyes. "I would not have it any other way, dearest."

"I wager that you will lose by the end of the Season, Papa."

She caught sight of her Aunt Dorothy looking from her father to her before sighing in a long-suffering tone, "Proper young ladies are not supposed to wager on anything."

But Amy had never done things the way a proper young lady should.

A proper young lady would have gladly accepted the attentions of her suitors, happily promenading about in the Park...

Not so much for Amy Clarke.

She knew that at the end of the day, the men of the ton were nothing more than selfish creatures with base desires, and she would never allow herself to fall prey to their devices.

No, she would much rather live out the rest of her life alone.

In peace.

Even if it meant taking her father up on his ridiculous offer to consider the notion of a lifelong match with one of the dandies of London.

After all, it was just one Season. Since she had already successfully evaded the marital noose for four Seasons, she had no doubt she would be triumphant in this endeavor, too.

* * *

There was already a crush in the ballroom by the time Amy arrived with her Aunt Dorothy and the Marquess of Irington. When their arrival was announced to the rest of the guests, hardly anyone turned to glance at her.

She had, after all, garnered quite a reputation for herself already. Any man who dared approach her risked having his dignity torn up into ribbons by her sharp tongue before she served it up to him with a scathing smile.

But this Season was different, for this time, she must at least try to be pleasant. To her father, it might be the bare minimum, but Amy was never one to withhold her opinions however strong they may be.

She sighed inwardly at that. Her father’s challenge was proving to become far more difficult, the more she thought of it.

If no man ever approaches me until the end of the Season, that would be most ideal, she thought to herself. After all, it is highly unlikely that any man would like to strike up an inane conversation with me, knowing my reputation…

"There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you!"

Amy turned to find a young lady with wide blue eyes and thick brown hair. Esther Follet was her dearest friend in all the ton as well as a known bluestocking—much to the dismay of her father, the Earl of Farthingon.

Fortunately, she had a much milder temperament compared to Amy—much to the relief of her mother, the Countess of Farthington.

"I was afraid that I was going to lose my mind having to humor Lord Chauncey with a discussion of the classics," she complained. "But if I turned him away, I would never hear the end of it from Mother. She is most eager to see me married off this Season."

You and me both, my dearest friend, Amy seconded in her mind, recalling the agreement she had with her father earlier in the carriage.

Amy smiled a little as Esther complained a little bit more about her conversation with a young lord. Her best friend could have easily been acclaimed one of the most brilliant minds in London if only she had not been born a female.

Lord Chauncey, on the other hand, was a blithering idiot—and she was already being kind in saying it. However, like most men, he was so puffed up with his own self-importance that it would never occur to him that he was wrong.

For an intellectual like Esther to have to sit through his drivel would have been a feat worthy of martyrdom.

But such was the fate of women in the ton—one that Amy was determined to avoid at all costs.

"Do not look now, but I think that someone is looking over our way!" Esther suddenly hissed in warning.

"Oh?" Amy tilted her head as a wry smile graced her lips. "Is it Lady Manderley and her friends?"

Because the only time anyone would consider the both of them was to make fun of them both. Other young ladies of the ton were, most unfortunately, rather shallow and vain—which was why Amy rarely associated with them.

She would much rather cut off her own arm and bleed to death on the carpeted floor...

"No!" Esther told her urgently. "It is a group of gentlemen!"

Amy felt her heart sinking. That somehow sounded worse than Lady Manderley and her gaggle of friends.

"Well, do not make eye contact with them!" she warned her friend. "Perhaps if we ignore them, they will... move on to other pursuits."

It sounded ridiculous to her ears, though. After all, which gentleman in his right mind would pursue either of them, for they were a well-matched pair of curiosities in the ton.

But still, her father’s stern challenge resounded in her ears and maybe—just maybe—she should consider being more approachable. She would not want to lose out on their agreement.

Not when freedom was so close at hand.

I did promise not to refuse anyone...I never promised that I would not try to ignore potential suitors...

And if Amy was to refuse any potential suitors...well, they had to at least have the courage to approach her.

Perhaps if she made herself a little bit less approachable, her father would not mind it so dreadfully.

Yes, that would be a wise course of action, she thought to herself.

After all, London was filled with spineless men looking for biddable wives and gentlemen were forever looking for the paths with least resistance—socially and economically. They would never consider someone with her reputation.

She had no idea just how mistaken she was in that aspect.