PROLOGUE
December 24, 1811 - Thistlewayte Hall
“Mother!”Lady Henrietta Gale hissed, tugging the Countess of Middlebrook away from the refreshment table. “Who is that girl Lord Seabury is dancing with?”
Lady Middlebrook squinted at the crush of bodies out on the dance floor until she spotted their long-time neighbour from the country, Lord Seabury, dancing with a pale young woman with dark hair and a strikingly beautiful face.
“I believe that is Miss Wingfield. She is the Marquess of Billington’s sister-in-law. Why, dear?”
Lady Henrietta rolled her eyes. Her mother must be rather deep in her cups already if she had to explain herself.
“You heard father before we left the house, Mama. He said that if I have not received an offer of marriage from an acceptable gentleman by the time this season is half over, he is going to arrange a marriage with the Earl of Stratham.” Lady Henrietta repressed a shudder.
“I would not be so quick to turn my nose up at Lord Stratham, dear one. He is wealthier than your father, and I have never heard anyone speak ill of him. He is a good man, by all reports, though he has had terrible luck where his wives have been concerned. They’ve all died quite young, most of them in childbirth. The poor man has yet to produce a living heir.”
“Honestly, Mama!” Lady Henrietta gripped her mother’s arm hard and gave it a pleading shake. “You know that I would much rather marry someone young and handsome, like Lord Seabury! He is as wealthy as Papa, if not moreso, his country estate neighbours ours, and he is neither old nor ugly, which most certainly cannot be said of Lord Stratham.”
Lady Middlebrook snapped her fan open and fanned her plump, rosy cheeks, artfully obscuring the lower half of her face as she leaned close to her daughter’s ear.
“You are a creative, intelligent girl, Henrietta. I trust that you are capable of doing what is necessary to secure the husband you would prefer to have before your father has the opportunity to choose for you.”
Lady Henrietta blinked at her mother, too shocked to speak for a moment. When she did, it was through the clenched teeth of a forced smile.
“But it would seem that Miss Wingfield has caught Lord Seabury’s eye and captured his interest quite neatly, too. Just look at her, mother. She will undoubtedly be declared the incomparable of the season. I certainly cannot match her for beauty.”
“Then you must find some other way to outmatch Miss Wingfield, dearest.”
“And how might I manage that, Mama?”
“You are a bright girl with an agile mind, Henrietta. Surely you can conceive of a satisfactory solution for yourself.”
With that, Lady Middlebrook floated back over to the refreshment table and took up a glass, leaving Lady Henrietta to her own devices.
* * *
Early January 1812 - A small, relatively quiet tavern near the docks in London.
In a quiet,shadowed, secluded corner of the Bell and Anchor Inn’s common room, two cloaked and hooded figures sit facing each other across a small table, conversing in low tones so none of the other patrons, few though they are, may hear their discussion.
The scents of beer and cooked fish have permeated every surface in the Inn, and the air is thick with it. Both figures keep their hoods pulled low, obscuring their faces. Neither one wants to be recognised, and they certainly don’t want to be seen speaking with one another. That much is obvious by their stiff postures and the way each monitors the other patrons in the Inn, careful never to speak when anyone passes close by them.
When, at last, they are alone, one clears her throat and speaks in a husky, gravelly voice meant to disguise her identity.
“I heard an interesting rumour at the Duke of Thistlewayte’s Yuletide Ball that may well intrigue you.”
The other person at the table snorted.
“I sincerely doubt that anything to do with London society would intrigue me, but pray tell, what have you heard?”
“As I was leaving, I overheard a discussion that quite surprised me. Apparently, a young Englishwoman who was in attendance at the Ball has been promised to you since birth.”
The man let out a deep, rumbling laugh which made his shoulders shake beneath the cloak he wore to disguise his identity.
“Well, that would certainly be news to me. What do you know of this girl?”
“Very little, save what I’ve been able to uncover since the Yuletide Ball.” The woman shrugged, clutching her cloak a little more tightly around her. “I know she is the second daughter of a Viscount who passed away a little more than a year ago. From what I’ve heard among the ton, she has wealthy and well-connected relatives, and her family has a good source of income, as well.”
“Well, for once, I am willing to admit that I was quite happily mistaken. Your bit of news has managed to intrigue me deeply. Thank you for getting word to me so quickly.”