Prologue

Prologue

London, England

Spring, 1812

Her trembling hands and fluttering heart were the only things she could focus on as she stepped into the ballroom of Almack's Assembly Rooms. The pleasant sound of harps and pianofortes drifted through the wide space, and a low hum of chatter filled the room. Emily hoped she'd be able to slip in unnoticed, despite the woman at her side wishing the exact opposite.

"Straighten your back," her mother whispered sharply. "And smile. How do you expect to make a pleasing entrance when you scowl like that?"

Instinctively, Emily did as she was told. She pulled her shoulders back, gripping her fan tightly in one hand as she tried to plaster on the demure smile her mother had spent hours teaching her. It wobbled off her face a second later.

"I hope you know how important tonight is, Emily," her mother continued, whipping her fan open with a snap. "You managed to make such a lackluster impression during your debut. Though I can't say I was very surprised. Now, smile!"

Emily forced the smile onto her face again, even as her heart winced with dismay. She didn't think she'd ever forget her debut, simply because her mother made it her job to remind her of it on an almost constant basis. By other people's standards, the kind of debut Emily had made, only three days previously, was a perfectly acceptable one.

She'd caught the eye of a few respectable gentlemen—one of which was the son of an earl, no less, and had danced for most of the night, and never once been left on the wall for more than a few moments. But she hadn't been a sensation, nor had she attracted the attentions of the "right people," and that was enough for her dear mother to consider her a failure.

Emily slid her gaze over her mother's striking figure, her dismay deepening. The Duchess of Willowcrest, Her Grace Frances Ashton, was still beautiful despite her matronly age, with such a dominating presence that not many could hope to stand out next to her.

Emily had never minded being in her mother's shadow, especially since she had not inherited her mother's golden hair and blue eyes. Instead, Emily had been graced with chestnut brown curls and a pair of boring brown eyes, windows to the dull girl beneath whom she'd always believed she was.

And, as she grew older, her mother never failed to let Emily know that her constant inability to dazzle made her the bane of her mother's existence. At least, right now, that was exactly how Emily felt, and the pressure on her grew heavier.

"Look over there," Frances said from behind her fan.

Her gaze was directed at a petite lady dancing in the arms of one of the most eligible bachelors in London. "Do you see what you have let happen? The Marquess of Georgeton will surely choose to court that lady over you. Didn't I tell you to make sure he likes you? Why did you not seek to make a better impression?"

"I'm not sure how to do that, Mother," Emily murmured. She tried to mimic her mother for a moment, to look as elegant as she did, waving the fan before her face in a vain attempt at appearing comfortable in the situation she now found herself, but she felt foolish, so she stopped.

"All you have to do is smile and compliment him. Be engaging! How many times should I tell you? It is surely not difficult, Emily."

Clearly, no amount of times was good enough to make Emily engaging. That was certainly not a word she would use to describe herself. Perhaps simple and quiet would be better ones.

Emily held her tongue, eyes scanning the room. As she expected, it was filled with beautiful ladies, so many of them already setting their eyes on a gentleman they wished to be courted by. Emily felt that pressure weigh heavier still, knowing that the marriage mart was competitive and she would stand no chance against such lovely women, who possessed such flair and character—qualities she could only dream of emulating.

I'm sure Victoria would have no issue standing out in a place like this. And I'm sure Mother would love having to not worry about my poor performance.

"Come." With another snap, her mother shut her fan, making Emily jolt. "I see Lady Pemblebury over there. Let us go and greet her."

Emily was forced to follow as her mother walked away without waiting for a response. She gripped the skirt of her ivory ball gown, hoping to suppress the trembling of her hands. She kept her eyes focused on Lady Pemblebury, who stood a short distance away from the refreshment table, laughing with a few other ladies.

She was not only the Countess of Pemblebury but one of the patronesses of Almack's Assembly Rooms and tonight's host, a lovely and kind lady Emily had met only once before. She didn't feel anxious about greeting her, but about passing so many people to reach her. She could feel eyes following her as she went by, and it took all her strength not to lower her head and avoid their eyes.

"Your Grace!" Lady Pemblebury greeted the moment Emily and her mother approached. Emily instantly felt warmed by the countess' presence. "It is a pleasure to see you! I'm so glad you could attend."

"It is lovely seeing you as well, my lady," Emily's mother said with a smile. She nodded her greetings to the ladies the countess had been talking to, but her attention remained on the hostess. "It has been some time since we last had a chance to speak with each other, has it not? We should take tea together soon."

"Yes, you're right. It has been a while. Perhaps you would care to take tea with me later this week?"

"I shall make sure to make time for it. And I shall bring my daughter with me too. She always enjoys such occasions."

Lies. Emily hated having tea with anyone but herself. But it came as no surprise that her mother had easily secured an invitation to tea with one of the patronesses of Almack's. Lately, she only acted with one thing in mind: making sure that Emily had a successful Season in order that she might find a husband, even though her methods were quite…demanding.

Lady Pemblebury nodded and shifted her glittering eyes to Emily. "Lady Emily, my dear, are you enjoying the ball thus far?"

Emily instantly felt pleased by the fact that Lady Pemblebury remembered her name. That didn't happen very often. "Yes, my lady," she responded, even though they'd only just entered a short while ago and she was yet to dance with anyone.

"Wonderful. I hope you will have no reason to change your mind. Have you danced with anyone yet?"

Emily's cheeks warmed at the question, blushing under Lady Pemblebury's gaze. She pursed her lips, her mind grappling for something to say in response.

Her mother, of course, stepped in. "We thought it might be best for her to observe the room for a short while before dancing—one does not wish to dance with just anyone."

"Ah, I see." And from the way Lady Pemblebury nodded, Emily thought she really might have seen right through the lie. The countess looked around for a moment and then turned her attention back to Emily. "If you feel ready, there is a wonderful gentleman I would like to introduce you to—if you are willing to spare me the time."

"She most certainly is." Emily's mother spoke up without hesitation, only the slightest edge of eagerness in her voice, though Emily knew her mother must be over the moon at the suggestion, for it was precisely the reason they had come to the ball that evening—not for music, nor company, only the furtherance of ambition—the ambition to see Emily married.

Lady Pemblebury smiled at the duchess, but her eyes were still on Emily, as if her response was the only one that mattered. Emily nodded slowly. "Yes, my lady. That would be lovely."

"Then pray, give me a moment while I seek him out. He arrived not half an hour previously." Lady Pemblebury turned on her heel and plunged into the crowd behind her, disappearing from sight.

Emily's mother's hand clamped onto Emily's arm, her fingers digging painfully into her skin despite the gloves she wore. "Do not embarrass yourself," she ordered, not looking at Emily, even as she gazed around the room for a sign of the gentleman Lady Pemblebury had spoken of.

"I won't," Emily said, trying to pry her arm from her mother's grip, succeeding after a moment. "I promise."

Her mother glanced at her skeptically, but Lady Pemblebury was already returning through the throng, accompanied by a tall, handsome gentleman—the same one they had observed dancing earlier.

"Lord Georgeton, may I introduce you to Lady Emily of Willowcrest and her mother, the Duchess of Willowcrest." Lady Pemblebury said, looking pleased, excited even, as she turned to Emily and her mother. "Lady Emily, Your Grace, allow me to introduce you to the Marquess of Georgeton."

"We have already had the pleasure of being introduced, my lady," the marquess stated with a slight smile.

He had direct eyes and a gentle demeanor, which both worried and drew Emily in equal measure. He had been kind to her when they first met, when they first danced. But she got the feeling he was kind to every lady.

"Is that so?" Lady Pemblebury gasped in surprise. "Then, if that is the case, I'm sure you will already have much to talk about when you are dancing during the next set. Oh, I think it is beginning right now."

Emily's warm cheeks grew even hotter. Lady Pemblebury was bolder than her mother! She glanced cautiously at Lord Georgeton, but he was smiling, already holding out his hand. "May I have this dance, my lady?" he asked.

"Certainly, my lord." Emily slid her hand into his and silently praised herself for keeping her voice steady. Her heart was racing as he led her out into the center of the ballroom, and as he pulled her closer into his embrace, she gasped.

"Goodness!" she exclaimed.

"How long has it been, my lady?" Lord Georgeton asked. "Two days since I saw you last?"

"Quite close, my lord. It has been one week."

"One week?" He sounded surprised, even pulled his head back and looked at her with brows raised. "How is that close in any way?"

She flushed again, hiding her face from his gaze. Having a man stand so close to her, able to see every imperfection, every flaw, only made her anxious. "Well, the past few days have been somewhat of a blur, my lord, so I would not fault you if you thought it had been two days instead of seven."

"Either way, I have been longing to see you again."

Then why didn't you call on me? Emily bit her lip, not daring to ask the question. She racked her brain for something to say in response, but came up short. So, the silence following his words dragged on, deepening the discomfort in the air.

Lord Georgeton cleared his throat and tried again. "Have you been well, my lady? I hope the ballroom is not too hot for you?"

"Not at all, my lord. And you?" She squeezed her eyes shut at her stutter, her embarrassment taking over.

"I wouldn't mind stepping out into the gardens for a spell." He chuckled. "Perhaps you would be willing to join me?"

Emily looked up at him in surprise. "Alone?"

Lord Georgeton met her eyes with a gleam that made her chest sink with unease. "Wouldn't that be lovely? I'm sure the night air would revitalize us both."

"I'm sure a glass of punch could do the same," she said without thinking.

Lord Georgeton blinked, taken aback by her words. Emily did what she did best—she hid her face from view and prayed that she hadn't made an unladylike social faux pas . Lord Georgeton said nothing in response and let the silence drag on until the end of the dance.

For the remainder of it all, Emily couldn't help but berate herself for saying something foolish and hoped that it would not reach the ears of her mother, who had no patience for her shortcomings.

Once the waltz was over, Lord Georgeton brought her to the edge of the ballroom and bowed respectfully. "It was lovely, my lady."

"Yes, my lord," Emily responded. "I—"

But he was already walking away, leaving her sentence hanging in the air. Emily's shoulders sagged as dismay came over her once more. That could not have gone any worse. She stared at Lord Georgeton's retreating figure, not knowing what to do for a moment. And then she remembered where she was—and that someone might have witnessed that embarrassing exchange.

I can't go back to Mother yet. She will ask how I fared, and I have never learned how to lie to her.

Trying to hold back her shame, Emily went in the opposite direction of where she knew her mother stood and made her way to the refreshment table instead. Hopefully, a glass of punch would calm her, just as she'd said to the marquess. Upon reaching the table, she picked up the ladle from the elegant punchbowl and helped herself to a glass. It was then she heard the snickering coming from behind her.

At first, Emily told herself to ignore it. She pushed her self-deprecating thoughts to the back of her mind, telling herself that the other women might not even have noticed her standing nearby, much less be laughing at her.

But her anxiousness only grew when the snickering melted into whispers, and she couldn't help but glance back. Two ladies of around her own age were standing at one end of the table, talking to each other. One of them glanced up at her, and Emily quickly looked away, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. The whispering resumed.

"Did you see the way he walked away?"

"How could I not? It looked like such an enormous mistake from the moment they began to dance."

More laughter. Emily's heart sank to the bottom of her chest. They were talking about her.

"I have heard she has a large dowry," one of the girls shamelessly continued. "It will surely need to be larger to snare her a husband given her terrible behavior—she is totally out of place."

"I was thinking the exact same thing." The other laughed. "No gentleman is willing to marry such a plain and dull lady, even if her dowry is sizeable—it is not that sizable."

Emily bit her lip, her hand trembling. Suddenly, it felt as if she couldn't breathe, and she tried her best not to let it show, not to let them know that she'd overheard them.

But they didn't stop. "I'm sure Lord Georgeton is already regretting ever wasting his time dancing with her. I truly pitied him the entire time."

She had to get away from here. She couldn't listen anymore. Her entire body seemed to tremble with horror and shame, and the only thing Emily could think to do was hide from everyone. She forgot she held the glass of punch in her hand, unable to focus on anything but escaping. And as she turned, she let go without thinking and the glass crashed to the floor.

She froze. Now, there was no escaping. Everyone close by was staring at her. She was certain her mother was among them. And the ladies who had been gossiping—they were laughing—clearly believing their point had been proven correct.

Emily didn't know what to do. She couldn't pick up the broken pieces and standing there with her hands hanging at her sides would quickly draw her mother's rebuke. Her only recourse was to run, to escape the eyes, the whispers, and the shame. She turned on her heel, knowing that one of the doors leading out into the gardens was to her left. She'd barely taken two steps before she felt her foot give out from underneath her.

No…

It seemed to happen in slow motion: sliding across the punch she'd spilled, feeling her body go horizontal, and knowing she would soon crash to the floor in a heap of skirts and flailing limbs. As she hit the marquetry wood flooring, horror flooded her like a wave, and the gasps that surrounded her made her body hot with shame.

She lay there, unable to bring herself to move. The gasps had turned into laughter, drowning out any voices raised in concern. Emily could feel the cool liquid seep into her clothing, but she didn't have the strength to get up. The weight of this embarrassing moment was far too heavy, bringing tears to her eyes.

No one will be able to forget about this, Emily thought, the tears streaming down the sides of her face. My Season is absolutely ruined.