Prologue

January 1, 1810, Devon, England, Lady Finch’s Finishing School

O h, how Lady Elizabeth Ashbrook hated resolutions for the new year. Those promises to better oneself were a source of turbulent frustration. At least to her.

Perhaps if she could control her own actions, they would not be so loathsome. But when one’s faults stemmed from being clumsy, how was one supposed to endeavor to be fixed?

Elizabeth couldn’t exactly wish away the various pavement cracks, loose nails, or errant drips from her life.

And yet here she was, amid her dearest friends just after the daunting chime of midnight, with their resolutions hanging over them like something heavy and ominous.

Hannah held the journal in her hands, her cheeks flushed almost as red as her hair with excitement to record all their intentions for self-improvement. She glanced at Lucy’s empty bed and smothered a laugh. “Clearly, Lucy’s resolution will not be punctuality.”

Elizabeth joined the others in a good-natured giggle. Lucy was always running late. Not due to a lack of attention, but due to a lack of care.

Lucy was bold like that. Confident to the point of being enviable. Never in her life did Lucy seek approval or care if the rules were being followed.

Perhaps it was why of the five, Elizabeth was closest with Lucy.

Where Lucy was carefree, Elizabeth was obsequious, following rules within every narrow line and margin. Where Lucy took chances, Elizabeth stayed within the confines of expectation and propriety. Where Lucy was a vibrant of character, Elizabeth was dull—shy, quiet, and demure.

Perhaps Elizabeth’s resolution ought to be to allow herself to become more like Lucy.

But no, for all intents and purposes, Elizabeth was doing what she should be by the standards set for an earl’s eldest daughter. Emulating Lucy would not improve her character. Not to the outside world, at least.

“Maybe she’s with Lady Alison, selecting ribbons for class.” Jillian pinned her dark waves with a pinch of her fingers as if it were a bow, innately artistic with the deft movement of her fingers. She gave a wry twist to her lips and rolled her eyes.

The very idea of Lucy spending a moment of time with the likes of Lady Alison was preposterous.

Hannah erupted into laughter, the clear bell of her mirth ringing out in the small room. If Lucy was vibrant, Hannah was incandescent. Her voice was always the loudest in the room, her joy uninhibited in a way that always brought a smile to Elizabeth’s lips.

Hannah clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide, as though the volume had surprised even her.

But Lucy was taking a terribly long time. She’d vowed to bring a treat to make the resolution party memorable. It didn’t take much to deduce she likely intended to smuggle the bit of brandy that old Jones kept hidden behind the sofa.

“Hopefully she didn’t take a tumble.” Elizabeth looked toward the closed door, earnestly regretting having told Lucy about the stash of liquor in the first place. The poor harassed butler was always pausing by the immensely pink and frilly sofa. He went so often, in fact, it did not take long for Elizabeth to catch him slugging back a draught from the bottle one afternoon amid his irascible grousing about the girls and their antics.

What good could possibly have come from divulging such a secret to Lucy?

“I’ll wager she’s up to no good.” Amy frowned, her maternal side matching that of Elizabeth’s concern. But then, the two of them had always been the ones to look after the others. Elizabeth, from a place of imagining every catastrophe that could befall those she cared about, spurred on by her own impossible clumsiness, and Amy, from a place of craving the warmth of a family.

She would make an excellent mother someday with all that love and care in her heart.

Hannah giggled and pointed to Amy’s head where her silky blonde hair was tied up in rag rolls that bobbed about when she spoke.

Before Amy could chide Hannah, the door swung open and Lucy sauntered in, a triumphant smile on her lips. She tossed her head back to clear a lock of dark hair from her hazel eyes and grinned at them. “I thought our resolutions could be a little more interesting.” From behind her back, she withdrew a corked bottle.

Elizabeth had been correct. Poor Jones would find his secret stash nearly empty the next morning, if not gone entirely.

Hannah leapt to her feet, abandoning that journal Elizabeth loathed so greatly, and ran toward Lucy with a high-pitched squeal.

“I don’t think we should have that.” Even as Amy spoke cautiously, she slid from her bed to examine the brandy bottle.

“From ol’ Jones’s private stash that he keeps behind the sofa.” Lucy wiggled the bottle, sending the liquid sloshing about. “And don’t fret…” She looked pointedly at Elizabeth. “I left him a few coins to cover a new bottle of an even finer vintage than this.”

And this is why Lucy was so easy to envy. Despite her carelessness, there was still a deep consideration for others. One that sometimes made Elizabeth wonder if Lucy was truly as indifferent as she appeared—or if it was all a ruse for something deeper.

Elizabeth beamed her approval at Lucy, winning a proud smile from her friend in return.

“How much does it take to get drunk?” Jillian asked, peering curiously at the bottle.

Lucy pulled the cork free and the hollow thunk filled the room. “We’ll find out.” She sniffed the contents, but despite her bravado, a look of disgust pulled at her features. “I imagine it won’t be much.” Acting on impulse, as she was wont to do, she put the bottle to her lips and tilted her head back. She swallowed, grimaced, and lowered the brandy as she wheezed out a pained exhale.

“I think you’re supposed to sip it,” Jillian mused.

“I’ve never been a rule-follower,” Lucy ground out, likely trying to salvage her brave demeanor. She passed the bottle to Hannah. “And neither have you.”

Hannah hesitated, her head tilted in a show of skepticism. “I ought to take offense to that.”

“But you won’t,” Lucy replied, her husky voice restored.

Hannah didn’t bother to protest—or hesitate—and put the rim to her lips and took a swig as hearty as Lucy’s.

Her blue eyes bulged, and her face went deep red right up to the roots of her hair. Features contorting in agony, she swallowed, the sound making an audible gulp before she exhaled a pained wheeze.

Amy rushed to Hannah’s side, patting her back, concern evident in her wide, dark-brown gaze.

For her part, Elizabeth wanted nothing to do with the stuff. Save it for Jones in her opinion. He clearly had greater need of it than they.

“Is the taste really that bad?” Elizabeth asked, knowing she’d likely be coerced into taking a sip as well despite her unwillingness to do so.

She was spared from being next when Jillian pried the bottle from Hannah’s clutched fist, the challenge making that glint show in Jillian’s eyes. She put the rim to her lips, drank deeply and shrugged. “Not bad.”

Elizabeth gaped at her.

All at once, Jillian burst into a sputtering laugh that turned into a gagging cough, her blue eyes brilliant as they watered. “But not good either,” she rasped.

Amy ran to her and gently thwacked at her back until Jillian waved her off, still laughing.

“Let’s get to our resolutions before any one of us has to drink more of that.” Jillian pointed an accusatory finger at the brandy.

The tension knotting at Elizabeth’s shoulders eased somewhat, and she gave Jillian a grateful smile.

Her friend winked back in understanding. Of the five, Elizabeth and Amy were the least adventurous. Jillian was inclined to allow people to do as they please without compulsion. But then, with all the pressure her own parents had applied on her through her life, it was no wonder.

There was something free and beautiful about Jillian. Not in the rebellious way like Lucy, who seemed ready to throw her actions in the face of those who challenged her. No, Jillian wanted to do what she wanted to for her sake alone, to appease some pulse within her that thrummed to a different beat than others.

Elizabeth envied Jillian as well, the confidence of knowing and accepting herself so thoroughly.

Lucy tucked the bottle against her arm, and they gathered closer to the hearth while Hannah collected the journal.

The plush, salmon-colored carpet was warm in front of the hearth, heating the chill in Elizabeth’s limbs. All eyes turned to her, and she swallowed down her anxiety. Or at least some of it.

Amy carefully dipped the quill in ink for her, likely so Elizabeth wouldn’t spill it.

Dread tightened in her stomach. Might as well declare her resolution now and get the whole business of it over with.

“I vow to be less clumsy this year,” Elizabeth announced. “Or at least not be so terribly awkward about it.”

Amy cast her a sympathetic look and passed the prepared quill.

Elizabeth readily accepted the journal to avoid seeing the pity on their faces. ‘1810’ was written with immaculate perfection in Amy’s neat script. Elizabeth added her resolution in a carefully neat hand, in an effort to match the elegance of her friend’s writing.

Miss Cuthbert would likely be pleased with both of them for such penmanship.

“And you, Amy?” Hannah asked.

Amy accepted the book from Elizabeth and gently blew at the page to dry the ink. “I would like to always be kind.”

“You are always kind,” Lucy groaned and gave her a grimace of exasperation.

Even Amy rolled her eyes at this, albeit playfully, and carefully wrote her resolution.

“And I resolve…” Lucy tossed back another gulp of brandy with barely a wince this time.

“To be as wicked as possible,” they all finished for her in chorus.

Elizabeth laughed aloud and the other three girls joined her.

Lucy blinked in surprise, mock offense showing dramatically on her features. “Apparently I ought to resolve to be less predictable.”

Elizabeth grinned at her friend, loving seeing her boldness in its full glory. “Don’t you dare. We’d be at a loss as to what to do with you.”

Lucy gave a throaty laugh and drank from the bottle again.

Elizabeth glanced toward Hannah as Lucy wrote her resolution in the journal.

A look of apprehension crossed Hannah’s face, and she sighed. “To be more patient.”

“Isn’t that what you tried last year?” Amy asked gently.

Lucy scoffed. “And only made it a week last year, if I recall.”

Hannah wrinkled her nose. “To be fair, patience does take a while.” Twisting her lips to the side, she took the book from Lucy and began to write in a slow, careful, evidently patient script.

As they’d all given their resolutions, Jillian was clearly next.

Elizabeth sat a little straighter in anticipation. One never knew what to expect with Lady Jillian Jennings. The only girl of five children, spoiled to a fault as a child, and then the reins tightened on every aspect of her life once she was old enough to declare she wanted to be an artist instead of an earl’s daughter. As a result of such freedom, followed by such restraint, with a head filled with dreams and feet that refused to stay on the ground, she was perfectly unpredictable.

“I resolve…” She swept her finger over the page as if she expected magic to secret her the answer. “To never wed.”

The girls all sucked in a breath. Well, except Lucy, who simply smirked.

Surely they had not heard correctly. Elizabeth gaped at Jillian. “What?”

“What if none of us ever wed?” Jillian’s chin lifted slightly, and she got that dreamy look on her face like when an idea struck her. “We wouldn’t have to cede ourselves or our property to a man, we wouldn’t be forced into an uncomfortable match.”

“I don’t want to wed either,” Lucy said firmly, her resolution thrown into the group like betting chips in a card game.

“Perhaps we could all live on a country estate together when we become spinsters and our parents have given up on us,” Jillian mused. “And we can make the ballroom into an extra library, stacked to the ceiling with books.”

Elizabeth’s pulse quickened. An extra library. Stacked to the ceiling with books. And no obligation to think of. Just day after glorious day in the country with no balls to attend or dinners to fret over. No stiff, uncomfortable gowns she had to worry about staining, or men she would have to parade in front of to impress while hoping not to trip. Just Elizabeth and books and the idea of reading uninterrupted for days, weeks, months, years on end.

And maybe they could even have a music room where they could host their own concerts. After all, Jillian did play the most exquisite harp, and Elizabeth had always wanted to learn the flute.

“I shouldn’t like to wed, either.” Hannah grabbed the bottle from Lucy and slugged back a drink, as if sealing the pledge with the burn of alcohol.

A smile brightened Jillian’s face as she wrote on a fresh page— The Vow of the Wallflowers, with the ‘s’ blooming into a perfectly drawn rose. She signed, then passed the journal to Lucy who did likewise, and then on to Hannah.

Elizabeth nearly grabbed the book, but hesitated.

She had two younger sisters, both of whom would need to see Elizabeth married before their own chances for unions could be considered. But the thought of meeting men, worrying about treading on their feet or falling on the dance floor, of humiliating someone by spilling something on herself—or worse, on them—it was all too much.

She would never be good enough for love—why bother even trying?

“No man wants a wife who trips over air.” Elizabeth pushed aside her doubt and reached for the book. “And I should love a music room filled with every instrument I could play regardless of the time.” She gave a firm nod. “I’m in too.”

It wasn’t until after Elizabeth signed the book that she considered Amy.

Poor, sweet Amy, with her cheeks brilliant red and a look of hopeless shock in her large brown eyes. Her mouth opened, and closed, and opened again.

Elizabeth shook her head, not wanting her friend to sign. Amy was destined to be a mother, pouring all that love she had into children who would adore her with equal measure.

“You don’t have to sign,” Hannah said, echoing Elizabeth’s own sentiments.

Amy squared her shoulders. “And abandon you lot of spinsters in that manor without someone to properly look after you?” She reached for the book and added her own signature, one she had practiced to loopy perfection. “Besides, I should like to bake confections in a kitchen without judgement.”

“Then it is done.” Jillian snapped the book closed, sat back on her heels, and beamed at them all. “None of us will ever marry.”

“Wallflowers to the end,” Hannah declared triumphantly and took one final swig from the bottle.

And so it was…their fates were sealed.