Chapter One

London, England 1848

M iss Anna Smythe slammed the newspaper down on her lap. "I'm going to be sick!" she exclaimed irritably, fiddling with the corners of the rag paper, thinning out the wrinkles made by her incensed grip.

Across the carriage, Sir John Smythe's head popped up from his latest book on fly fishing, and he frowned at his eldest daughter. "I told you not to read. You always get sick when you read in the carriage. The bumps have never agreed with you, my dear."

"It's not the bumps on the road, Father," his other daughter said. Miss Beatrice lifted a lovely, arched brow at Anna. "It's the bumps in the article that are making her stomach roll. Yet again ." The girl swiped the newspaper out of her older sister's lap. She took her time, straightening and folding the pages until they rested harmlessly and small in her own hands. "That article was written months ago. Why do you keep torturing yourself?"

Anna averted her gaze, staring out the window of the carriage where the lush open fields were beginning to become swallowed up by the well-worn signs of a village. Charming little houses and perfunctory, squat gardens swam into view, informing her that their ride was almost over. It wasn't a long journey—an hour was hardly anything to complain about—but perhaps she should have chosen better reading material.

Nevertheless, she wasn't about to admit that to her nosy little sister. "I'm not torturing myself," she huffed, avoiding yet another arched brow from Beatrice. "We're staying at the man's house; I just thought it would be important to memorize every word so when I confront him, I will be ready."

Her father finally dropped his book to his seat, revealing his entire confounded face. Though now firmly entrenched in his middle years, Sir John seemed to be one of the lucky few who aged like a fine wine. Tall and barrel-chested, he had refused to give over to the softness of an easy living, and his hair—at one time, as fiery as a summer sun—had mellowed into a respectable and less shocking auburn with only the faintest hints of gray bordering his temples.

Even the wrinkles on his distinguished face were barely noticeable… when he wasn't scowling at his middle child so harshly. "Confront him? You absolutely will not be confronting anybody. For the next month, we will be guests in Lord Newton's home. You will not"—he leaned over his seat, firmly catching Anna's eye—"I repeat, you will not start any confrontations, especially on something as ridiculous as cricket."

Anna's mouth dropped as heavy as a brick to the floor. "Cricket is not ridiculous! And I'm not going to confront him in a malicious manner… I'm merely going to ask why he wrote such a rude and outlandishly untrue and foul article. That's all."

"It was hardly rude," Beatrice contended.

"Nor was it untrue," Sir John added.

Anna tossed her hands up in the air, settling back into her seat smugly. "Thank you. Both of you agree that it was foul. I know it was! And I want—nay, need—to ask the viscount how he had the gall to write it."

Beatrice and her father shared a knowing look before pursing their lips. Anna was used to this encounter. Many a conversation between the trio had ended with it, and Anna was always on the receiving end. Beatrice was just as similar in looks to their father as she was in temperament, but, luckily for her, she never had to go through the red-carrot stage of her hair and instead skipped straight to the lovely auburn portion. Though everything about Beatrice was lovely, from her slender form to her long limbs. She had only just turned sixteen and men were already lining up to fill her dance card. Anna should have been excited for her sister. She tried to be. However, with age came wisdom, and even though Anna was only three years older than Beatrice, it seemed like she had a lifetime of worldly knowledge under her belt. And most of it wasn't optimistic about a young woman's future.

"For heaven's sake, the article wasn't foul," Beatrice replied, throwing the newspaper back onto Anna's thighs. "He even said your cricket match against the matrons was a success. He acknowledged the talent of the players and the large crowd of people that had come out to see you play. How can you find fault in that?"

"Because…" Anna started, lengthening out the word like she was beginning a speech in the House of Parliament, "the tone of his article was one of shock, as if the viscount hadn't expected it to be such a success."

"It was not," Beatrice argued. "You're reading into it."

"Hardly," Anna countered. "And also, do I have to remind you of that little part at the end? The one where the viscount said that women's cricket was a fad and that it wouldn't catch on? The problem, according to this wise man, was the women's game was slower and we couldn't hit the ball as far as men. He said it would hinder us from gaining more supporters in the future. Can you believe him? The nerve! He thinks women are weak!"

"He does not!" Her father cocked his head. "And why do you keep saying it like that?"

"Saying what?"

"Viscount," he answered. "You keep saying it oddly. Viscount . With a demeaning emphasis on the word. Why?"

"W-well," Anna blustered, gripping the paper, "he's new to the job, isn't he? He's only been the viscount for a couple of years. He didn't even know he was the old viscount's cousin until someone informed him. He was working for that newspaper in London when he found out. I heard all about it."

Indeed, she had. The captain of her cricket club, Miss Myfanwy Wright, was the old, deceased viscount's daughter. After the funeral, she'd had to move out of her family home when the new viscount moved in, though it turned out all right in the end. Myfanwy was now blissfully engaged to her guardian, Mr. Samuel Everett. But that fortuitous turn of events was beside the point!

"What does that matter?" Sir John asked.

Anna shrugged her shoulders. "It just does."

"Why?"

"I just don't think he should be putting on airs. How many viscounts do you know that work? It's odd." She punched her fingers into the maligned newspaper. "He's an odd man with odd ideas."

"I've heard he's given up that writing business," her father replied. "And how exactly is he putting on airs?"

Anna tugged at the hair at the nape of her neck, twirling a tendril around and around her finger. She caught herself staring at the long curls framing her sister's oval face. Her hair had once been that full and glorious, the tips grazing her lower back. It had been taken from her three years ago, chopped off when she'd been too delirious with fever to stop the doctors and their large, commanding scissors. Not a day went by that she didn't think about it. Still… she could never decide if she truly missed it or not. Perhaps she just missed what it represented.

"Anna?" her father repeated sternly. "Did you hear me?"

Anna's hand dropped from her hair. She cleared her throat. "Don't play with me, Father. You know exactly what I mean. How preposterous it is, making us come stay with him for such a long period of time. You asked his mother to marry you and she said yes. There's no reason to prolong this courtship. It's not like you're children, and yet this viscount is making you grovel. It's ridiculous. That, dear Father, is putting on airs. You should be offended. You're a baronet, not some second-rate chimney sweep."

Finally, her words seemed to strike a chord. Sir John jostled uncomfortably in his seat, and Anna knew it had nothing to do with the plush pillows at his back or the length of time in the carriage. "On the contrary. I'm not offended in the least. Lord Newton seems like a fine young man with a good head on his shoulders. In her letter, Mrs. Wright informed me that he wasn't against the match. He didn't say she couldn't marry me. He only wanted her to wait to make her decision after we've spent more time together. It is a sound and reasonable request. Especially since… especially since…" He let his words fall. With a quick flicker, Sir John dashed the curtain out of the way to glance outside the window. If Anna didn't know any better, she would think her father's nerves were getting the better of him.

Helpful as ever, Beatrice picked up the sentence. "Especially since you haven't actually seen Mrs. Wright in thirty years."

Sir John's Adam's apple jumped, and he gave his daughter a tight smile. "Precisely."

"It's so romantic," Beatrice went on, her voice heavy with the kind of dreaminess that only a sixteen-year-old can muster. "It's like a fairy tale. How can Lord Newton not recognize it too? You and Mrs. Wright were childhood loves and grew up together. You wanted to marry her, but your father wouldn't let you, and when you broke the news to her, she ran off and married another. Now, all these years later, after your dear spouses have departed, you reached out to her again, asking for her hand. You don't know what she looks like, who she's become, and yet you still want her. She could be all wizened and prune-y by now."

"She's younger than I am," Sir John piped in wryly.

"She could have a wooden leg."

"She's not a pirate—"

"She could have a glass eye, missing teeth, a hunchback, a disease where she smells like old, dirty feet all the time—"

"Beatrice, good Lord," Anna interrupted. "Are you trying to scare him to death? Look at our father. He's gone positively green."

Beatrice's large eyes went wide, and she hugged her father's side. "I'm only teasing you, Father. I'm sure she's none of those things. The point I'm trying to make is that it doesn't matter what she looks like now. You'd still love her. That's what makes this whole thing so wonderful. Mrs. Wright is so fortunate to have you."

Anna didn't think it possible, but her father appeared even more uncomfortable. "I am the fortunate one," he said gruffly. "I was angry—furious—at your grandfather for many years, but I had to forgive him in the end. I married your mother, and she gave me the loveliest children a man could ask for." After a pause, the wrinkles returned to his face, as if the picture he created could only satisfy his nerves for a short time.

An unsettled, cagey feeling sank into Anna's bones. She hated to see her father so uncertain, almost lost. "I know that we already talked about this… however, I want to ask you one more time," Sir John said, peering at his daughters through heavy lids, imploring them for their truths. "You are fine with my marrying again… with adding to our family? Please know that I would never do this if I thought it would hurt you in any way. I loved your mother the best I could, but she's been gone now for over five years. I tried to do right by you; I tried to be the best parent I could be—both mother and father."

Anna couldn't take it anymore. The idea that her father believed he hadn't been everything to them—to her in particular—was more than she could bear. She leaned across her seat, knocking the newspaper onto the floor of the carriage, grabbed her father's hands, and locked them between her own. "We couldn't have asked for a better father," she said, holding his gaze. A silent conversation flowed between them even as she continued to speak. "You have done more, given more to me, than I could have ever asked for." Anna could feel Beatrice watching them, feel the curiosity rising from her like the heat off a sidewalk, but she didn't want to stop. "You gave me a second chance at happiness. Now it's your turn to do the same."

The anxiety in Sir John's face melted, leaving a smile that brought an ache of homesickness to Anna's stomach. Her father always seemed to be a content man, but smiles like that had been few and far between in recent years. Slowly, he untwisted a hand from Anna's grasp and palmed her cheek, squeezing her face just enough to let her know that he valued everything she had just told him… and understood so much more.

"Thank you, my dear," he said softly before turning to his youngest daughter. "Thank you both. I love you more than words can ever say." He chuckled, reclining more into his cushions, as if a weight had been ripped from his shoulders. No longer a worrying father, he was back to being a confident would-be bridegroom. He peered out the window again, musing in a quiet plaintive voice, "We're almost there. What will they think of us?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Beatrice answered anyway. "We're not so rough around the edges," she said, laughing and sharing a look with her sister. "We may surprise the viscount. He may even grow to like us when everything is said and done."

I doubt it. If the viscount made a list of all his friends, Anna was positive that her name wouldn't be on it at the end of the month. Not that she cared! Her only goal was to make the shortsighted man see that there was room in the world for women's cricket. If that meant she had to be a little heavy-handed, even confrontational, then so be it. Naturally, she wouldn't do the confronting when her father was around. What the man didn't see couldn't hurt him.

"And just wait until he meets David," Beatrice continued. "No one has ever met David and not taken to him immediately. Besides me, he's the most likable one of all of us."

Anna let that little comment slide, along with the tongue that Beatrice stuck out at her in silly fun. "When is David coming?" she asked instead.

"Not for a few weeks, but please don't get your hopes up, Beatrice. His ship might be delayed," her father answered, his tone immediately thickening with pride. "It's been so long. God, I missed that boy. I can't thank the Lord enough that he's coming home to us safe and sound. I'm never letting him leave again.

Sir John would get no arguments from his daughters there. David, the eldest of the Smythe children, had surprised them all three years ago when he decided to take a position as a clerk in the East India Company alongside his best friend, Mr. Phillip Williams. Sir John had bribed his only son and heir with everything under the moon to stay home, but to no avail. The Smythe children might have been attractive and well mannered, but they were also exceedingly obstinate and opinionated. A fire ran in their blood that Sir John had never been able to contain. Even threatening to cut David off financially did nothing to curb the boy's zeal for adventure. So, to India he'd gone, taking Sir John's potential line with him.

"Is… um… Is he bringing anyone with him?" Anna asked, lowering her head. She couldn't look at her father while she asked the question. It was too much. She was embarrassed enough when the words left her lips so haltingly.

"I don't know, my dear," Sir John said gently. "You mustn't worry about it."

"I'm not worried," Anna replied quickly. Her finger was back to twirling a short curl. "I just… You know… I don't want to overburden the viscount with so many people. I don't want to be rude."

"Oh, so now you're worried about being rude." Beatrice chuckled. "It's too late anyway. We're here!"

Sir John patted the young girl's hand excitedly. "So we are!"

The next few minutes were interminable. The carriage took its time as it bumped and shook its way down the long drive to the large home, eventually coming to a stop. Sir John inflated his lungs with a steadying breath before exiting the vehicle. Then, with single-minded purpose, he helped his daughters out of the carriage one by one as if they were as delicate as china.

The day was bright, and it took Anna a couple of seconds to acclimate to the scene presented to her. A line of servants flowed down the steps of the country house, as commanding and awe-inspiring as an army readying for battle. A diminutive woman stood out front at the base of the steps, absurdly dwarfed by the gigantic Georgian-styled house behind her. Anna had attended a garden party at Newton Place months before, but she was still taken aback by the splendor and ceremony laid out for them. She felt like royalty being received this grandly. A statement was being made, although Anna couldn't be certain what it was saying or who was saying it.

The tiny woman bobbed gracefully as Sir John came to meet her. He was hesitant at first, and his legs appeared to be trudging through mud, slow and cautious. Anna remained behind her father, so she couldn't see his expression, but the lady's said it all. Like the rest of her, the older woman's face was tiny, her features plain and unassuming, and yet the moment she gazed upon Sir John, light flooded out from her like a broken dam. Extreme, unrelenting pleasure poured from every inch of her pale skin. If someone would have told Anna that the woman was a star, she would have believed them. Was that what love did? Turn the impossible into the possible? Anna tried to remember but quickly slammed the door on those memories. Now wasn't the time, and this certainly wasn't the place.

Sir John jerked forward, outstretching his arms as if to take the woman into an embrace. However, years of gentility halted his progress, and he cleared his throat. "My dear Mrs. Wright," he said gruffly, his voice stuffed with the feelings he crammed inside. "I cannot tell you how glad I am to be here. Finally."

Mrs. Wright also seemed to remember herself and where she was. Her ebullient smile relented into shyness, and she dipped her head in a way that reminded Anna of Beatrice. Childlike. Overcome. She was a handsome woman, though Anna wouldn't call her beautiful. Her hair was pulled back drastically and formed into a bun at the nape of her neck, which only accentuated the sharpness of her straight nose. Her chin was just as long and pointy. But there was something in her cheeks that was soft and pleasing. Age might have withered some of the plumpness, though it was easy for Anna to imagine the round, fleshy cheeks that once graced her face. How creamy they must have felt. How welcoming for a kiss.

As Sir John introduced his daughters to his old love, Anna didn't miss the hesitant way the older woman addressed them, or her growing apprehension. Mrs. Wright was nervous to meet the girls. It hadn't dawned on Anna that it would be so. She'd been too caught up in her own drama, and no doubt her continued silence was only making the hostess feel even more inadequate.

"You have a lovely home," Anna finally said, her voice a little higher than she would have preferred.

Mrs. Wright nodded warmly. "Thank you. It's my son's." She glanced over her shoulder almost like she was unsure if the large structure would disappear at any moment. "To be honest, we're still getting used to it."

"I can imagine," Anna returned easily. However, now that the elusive son had been brought up, it seemed as if he was all anybody could think about. Just like a man, Anna thought dismissively. He wasn't even here, and yet he commanded all the attention. How could they all prostrate themselves at his feet and slide into his good graces if the viscount couldn't be bothered to greet them? Was he rude or just ignorant? Did it matter?

Anna couldn't stop herself from pressing further. "Will we be meeting your son while we are here?" she asked. Wasn't that the point, after all? For them all to be one happy family?

"Yes, of course!" Mrs. Wright replied, visibly shaking as if the question had startled her. "He's here now. He's only…" Her brow pinched. "He's working… writing."

Anna stole a look at her father and sister and pursed her lips in displeasure. Sir John ignored her, but she knew she'd got her point across. Given up that writing business, indeed. "Still writing?" she drawled. "For the newspaper?"

The older woman's pleasant veneer cracked slightly. "I'm not sure, to be honest," she said. "My son likes to keep to himself. Are you familiar with his work?"

Anna's laugh was as light as a summer breeze. "You could say that, Mrs. Wright. I most certainly am."