Chapter 1

London

1790

"I t is time, Winifred. You will go to the country and look after your great aunt, my dear, and you will be a comfort to her."

Her mother's words cut through the small salon like a knife, straight to Lady Winifred Tuttle's heart.

For years, Lady Winifred had been a good sport about being a spinster.

After all, what other choice did she have? Should she be bitter? No! She refused to succumb to such a thing. Bitterness did not suit Winifred. It was true that many people might not like her or understand her, but choosing bitterness?

What was the point of that? She had no desire to wither like a grape left in the sun. Turning into a sour little thing simply was not an option in her decided opinion.

No, life was too full of possibility. Though her family desperately wished she would suppress it, she could not cease her fascination with books, history, and Shakespeare.

Ah, Shakespeare! He was her greatest love, particularly the plays Henry VI Part I , Henry VI Part II , and Richard III .

She was obsessed with them. How she loved the history of them, though they were not actually history, if she was quite honest. They were quite full of propaganda. But the poetry, the humanity, oh, how they filled her soul!

Not many people seemed to understand her desire to immerse herself in those plays. But she could not deny how much she found the fight over a kingdom and the failure of a king most interesting.

Thankfully, she would never be like the sadly ineffectual Henry VI, but she now understood what it was like to go from having many hopes to none as she looked at her pitying mother.

Surely, she had not heard her mother correctly.

Her mama arched a brow. "Put that book down, my dear," her mama said.

"Mama, please, I don't need to." Winifred's stomach twisted. Her books and plays were her greatest recourse. "I understood what you said. I am to go—"

"I am not certain you do understand," her mother said with surprising gentleness. "You seem quite lost."

Lost? How else was she to seem? After all, she was being condemned… To a life away.

Her brother, Alfred, sat near the window, his eyes wide at their mother's pronouncement. He was seventeen years old and ready to go to Oxford. But the dear boy had no desire to go. Their mama was determined that he should study for orders. And yet Alfred had very little interest in the church.

No, he was interested in many other things, most of them on the European continent. He was quite political and had a desire to travel to France to see what was transpiring there. To understand the political upheaval of the people in Paris.

Her mother found that to be absolutely abhorrent.

Winifred found the idea of going to the country and becoming a nursemaid abhorrent.

She swallowed and then dared to protest, "Mama, you cannot possibly mean it. You can't send me into Suffolk to look after Great Aunt Josephine."

Her mama tilted her head to the side, which caused her dark curls laced with silver to tremble about her face. Her mama had been a beauty in her day. Her mama was still beautiful, but her mama did not care for reading books, history, Shakespeare, or politics. Nor did she particularly like the continent of Europe, though she liked the fashion plates that came out of Paris.

"Of course I mean it, Winifred," her mother affirmed, pulling out a handkerchief from her sleeve and waving the lace about. "My dear, you are an utter failure here in London, and we must finally admit that the only thing to do with you is to send you into the country where you might find some sort of purpose with your dear great aunt. She, unlike the rest of us, can greatly appreciate all your ramblings…as she is now all but deaf."

The blow was sharp.

Winifred tried to hide her wince. But suddenly emotion welled up inside her. All her life, she'd desperately tried to win the approval of society, but she'd never been able to successfully hide who she was enough to succeed.

Tears burned her eyes.

The truth was most people could not bear her ramblings, and she did like to ramble. Once she had learned that no one liked to listen to all of her favorite facts and information, she had learned to write them down in a journal or share them with her brother Alfred.

But this blunt comment from her dear mama did seem particularly unkind. No one really understood her except Alfred. And in years past, her father. But he had died a long time ago, taking all his understanding with him. He had not thought her odd. No, they had rambled together, chatting about all the kings and queens of England and the way Shakespeare had used them in the plays.

When her father had died, she'd been left alone in her thinking and her obsession with such things.

She tried, oh, how she tried to fit in.

She wore a mask like the greatest Venetian maskers who went to balls during Carnival. And like those revelers, she desperately tried to pretend she was someone she was not.

But no matter how hard she tried to pretend that she was something different than she was, the more she seemed to fail. Everyone seemed to understand that she simply could not perform the way a young lady ought. And so she had stood for years as a wallflower and then as a companion. Then she'd become a spinster.

And now it seemed this was her fate.

She pressed her lips together, trying to find some argument that would sway her mother. Was she really, truly so very impossible that she must be sent away?

How she loved London. At least here in London, she could study, and she could see plays, and she could read! Why, almost every day she went to buy books.

There were so many wonderful things that one could do in London. And it wasn't that the house in Suffolk didn't have a great library, but it would be so very lonely. And whilst she understood that people did not necessarily enjoy her company, she didn't actually like being alone entirely. It was a conundrum—the fact that she needed to be around people, even though people didn't seem to understand her.

"Please, Mama," she begged. "Papa would not have—"

Her mother's face creased with pain. "Your father is not here, and I must do what is best for us. Now, we shall not have another word about it," her mother said gently once again but in a tone that brooked no argument. "After a few weeks, you shall go to the country."

Her father was gone. And her mother had done her best. But the best had still left Winifred feeling terribly alone. Tears stung Winifred's eyes. "Mama—"

Her mother gave a tight shake of her head. "You will take up your place."

She sucked in a breath, then rushed, "But, Mama, I don't want to."

Alfred swung his gaze back and forth, watching this exchange with growing horror, but he was silent.

After all, their mother was a woman who was not easily gainsaid.

"My dear," her mother said, letting out a sigh as if this was a burden she could no longer bear to carry. "This is not about what you want but what is good for you. And our family. You have run your course here. And if I'm quite honest, you are beginning to be a blemish upon the family, and we mustn't have you reminding everyone of your awkwardness when your sister Alison takes to her debut."

"Mama," she gasped, tightening her hands on her book until the binding pressed into her skin, "I would never do anything to hurt Alison's chances."

Her mother stared at her for a long time with sorrowful eyes before finally replying, "You wouldn't do it on purpose, but, my dear, you do say the most awkward things in conversation. And you just look so out of place, no matter how hard you try to fit in. I wish it wasn't the case. I love you dearly, Winifred, but I have to look out for your little sister. It is settled."

And with that, her mama turned, her full lavender skirts rustling, and quit the room as if she had not just condemned Winifred to a tragically lonely future.

Winifred could not move. She felt frozen to the spot.

This was terribly difficult. Her mama was perfection. Everyone adored her. And living in her shadow had been no small thing. Alison was just like their mother. Beautiful, interesting, capable.

Alison didn't really care about books either, but gentlemen did seem to love her even if she had not made her debut yet.

Alison had already had two proposals in the country, but their mother was quite determined she should make a great match.

Winifred turned to Alfred, who still sat rather quietly in the window seat.

"Am I really so very terrible?" she whispered, every word painful.

"Of course not, Winnie," he returned indignantly. He stood up from the window seat and crossed to her. Without a word, he took one of her hands in his and gazed at her sympathetically. "Mama should never have been so..."

"Honest?" she rasped.

Alfred paled before he tugged her into a quick embrace, not caring that her book was wedged between them.

He really was a soft-hearted young man. A man who seemed to feel the weight of the world upon his shoulders. Like herself, in some ways. Alfred was odd. For he wanted to understand people and why the world could be so very cruel.

She didn't understand it herself. The truth was people were a bit of a mystery to her, her own family included, except for Alfred. He was the only one out of all her siblings who seemed to understand her, who cared about her and was quite happy to listen to her and her peculiarities.

"Whatever shall I do?" she whispered against his slender shoulder. "I can't bear Great Aunt Josephine. She doesn't like Shakespeare. She prefers Johnson. And she has terrible theories about the Tudors. I can't bear to listen to them. And then there is the fact that she really can't hear a word I'm saying. It'll be like talking to the great void." She let out a sigh. "Not that I don't feel sorry for her, of course. That must be very difficult, but to be alone like that for the rest of my life. To be put away…"

"You mustn't do it then, Winnie," Alfred said softly.

"But what shall I do?" she countered. "How can I go against Mama? I have no fortune of my own. There's nothing put aside for me. I am completely at the mercy of them. I don't have any skills. I can't earn a wage. No one would hire me as a governess." She wrinkled her nose. "I'm too odd."

He laughed at that. "You are, Winnie, and it's why I love you because I am odd too. You and I are quite a matching set. It's quite inconvenient for the family." He pulled back and gazed down at her. "It's a miracle that they haven't tried to ship me off to somewhere too."

"You are being shipped off," she reminded. "You're going to Oxford. It will be wonderful."

He snorted. "No, it won't, Winnie, because they're making me study something that I don't wish to study."

"But at least you shall have friends," she offered, feeling his own worry deep in her bones. How she wished she could soothe away his fears too. But both of them were out of step with the world around them.

He scowled. "I'm not so sure about that." He said, "I don't really like the other young men of my generation. I'm not one to tear about, drink brandy, and wench. Perhaps I shall find someone to befriend, someone else who is led by curiosity about the strangeness of humanity, but I should much rather go away and see what there is out there and discover what might be beyond England's shores. Don't you wish that too?"

She laughed, though it was a bittersweet sound. Oh, how she wished she could take all her brother's concerns away! He was such a wonderful person. He deserved friends and joy and a chance at pursuing his own dreams. But it seemed dreams were just that, not real and impossible to seize.

"I'm rather obsessed with what is within England's shores," she replied as her eyes welled with tears and she realized all that she had ever hoped for was fading away. "All I want to do is travel about the country and visit the spots that inspired Shakespeare's plays."

"We both have fruitless wishes then," he said, his face pained.

She had a great deal of sympathy for her brother and his plight. He wasn't in an easy position either, what with the determination of their mother to have a vicar in the family.

But still, as a young man, he did have far more options than she did. And then it hit her. An idea seemed to slam into her from out of nowhere as if it had come from on high.

Perhaps… Just perhaps, there was something that she could do!

Young men did have options. Not always many, but certainly more than a spinster!

And Winifred thought of the characters Rosalind and Viola from Shakespeare. They had been faced with terrible odds, but they had not let that stop them! No, they had made choices!

"Oh my goodness, Alfred," she gasped as an idea hummed to life in her brain.

"What is amiss?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

Hope sprung inside her, beating back the darkness. "There is something that we can do."

"What?" he asked warily.

She gazed at her brother and grinned, hardly daring to believe her madcap scheme. "We must hatch a plan worthy of any Shakespeare play itself."

"Winnie," he began softly. His eyes narrowed, and then his eyebrows shot upward as if he was quite concerned. "What is going through your head? You're quite impulsive when you want to be. Remember the last time and the trouble it got you in?"

She did used to be impulsive. But it had been years since she'd done anything truly outrageous. She'd learned the consequences of being her bold self. But now? Now…this was her last chance to live a little.

And if she could just live a little for a few weeks, then she could resign herself to a lifetime of caretaking. Truly.

"I know," Winnie agreed. "And I haven't let myself be impulsive in years."

He was so right. She had got into a great deal of trouble the last time she had been herself and followed her instincts.

Of course, Alfred was referring to the event where she had quite accidentally ended up in the middle of a ball dancing by herself.

That had, no doubt, sealed the final nail on the coffin of her spinsterhood. But she had been rather inspired by the music and she had not been able to stop herself. She'd begun to sway back and forth and then dance right to left… And well, it had all gone terribly wrong.

She didn't like the fact that she was ruled, if not by her emotions, then by her inner world, a world which others didn't understand. But she was, and it took everything she had to keep it contained.

It was exhausting, really.

But perhaps now she could let it out. And there was one person who came to her mind who might be able to help her.

Someone whose family loved Shakespeare, someone whose family loved the theater, someone whose family was, well, notorious, and someone whose family loved a bit of adventure.

"Winnie," her brother ventured, "whatever are you thinking of?"

"I'm thinking of a who ," she returned mischievously.

He groaned. " Who are you thinking of?"

"I'm thinking of Lord Ajax Briarwood," she said.

His eyes all but bulged. "That sounds very dangerous indeed."

"Dangerous?" she returned. "He's not dangerous. He's sublime."

"No, he's not dangerous to the ladies," Alfred agreed carefully. Alfred was obsessed, as many were, with the Briarwoods. He'd spent hours discussing their various actions, ideas about the world, and general ability to choose their own paths. "His reputation is quite excellent in that respect, but the Briarwoods in general! They don't follow the rules."

"Good," she replied firmly.

Alfred blew out a rough breath. "And why would anybody sublime wish to help us?"

Winnie beamed. "I don't know, but I shall have to write a letter so intriguing, so fascinating, that he won't say no, and then I shall have to win him over to our cause."

"Winnie, he's one of the most popular men in the ton. Why ever would he help?"

"I don't know," she said truthfully. "But something inside me tells me that my plan is what I've always been meant to do, and I'm not about to go to the countryside without at least giving this a try."

And she thought of Shakespeare's great heroines who had seized their fates in their hands, who had defied all the odds, and who had done exactly as they wished. She would do the same.

Yes, Winnie would go against what she was told to do and do what she dreamed to do instead.