CHAPTER ONE

May 1816

The Salisbury Ball

“…And then there is Lord Wetherby,” Lady Prudence Sommers explained, holding up a third finger as she compiled her list thusly. “He may be somewhat lacking in height, but his shoulders are admirably broad, and from the looks of things, his stomach—and this is coming from my cousin’s mouth mind you, one could scrub their washing on it! Can you imagine?”

“Is that so…?”

“And let us not forget Lord Tarrow,” Prudence continued, holding up a fourth finger. “Only a baron, yes. And word is that he is close with his mother… too close that it borders on obsession in fact, so marrying him would undoubtedly be marrying her as well. And no one wishes for a mother-in-law who is perpetually present, prying into one’s affairs and dispensing unsolicited advice on how to please one’s husband—look no further than Lady Susan.” She cast a glance across the busy hall and licked her lips. “He is quite handsome though… so perhaps it would not be entirely intolerable.”

“Yes, very handsome…” Lady Virtue Hartleigh said absently, her mind wandering as her friend chattered on. Prudence, enjoying the sound of her own voice as ever, scarcely noticed.

“Of course, we mustn’t overlook Lord Hightower either. Father says he is one of the wealthiest men in London, and already a marquess at only one and twenty. But…” she bit into her lip and sighed. “Men that age are hardly willing to settle down for things as marriage, are they? Typical.” She clicked her tongue. “We are expected to be wed as soon as we turn eighteen, yet they are allowed to gallop all about town like stallions on heat! Perhaps it is best if we leave him off the list for now. Why waste our time?”

“A wise idea…”

“Oh!” Prudence clapped her hands with sudden excitement. “I almost forgot. Lord Wexley!” She glanced around eagerly, searching for a familiar face. “Annabelle was speaking of him earlier. Down from the north, she says, here this Season specifically to find a bride. An earl, terribly wealthy, and the way Annabelle described him, you would think that you died and went to heaven—he is that easy on the eyes. But I have not seen him…” She continued to scan the ballroom cautiously. “I do hope he has decided to attend tonight. He has no reason not to.”

“Oh yes, he sounds delightful…”

“Virtue!” Prudence snapped her head around, looking at her friend for the first real time since the two had started speaking well over ten minutes ago. “Are you listening to me?”

“He sounds wonderful…” Virtue muttered, very evidently not paying attention.

Prudence pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. “They also say he is extremely well endowed.”

“That’s nice.”

“And that is not to mention the goiter on his neck. But apparently, one can scarcely notice it.”

“I am sure one cannot.”

“Virtue!” Prudence slapped her on the arm. “Will you pay attention!”

“Pardon?” For the first time, Virtue returned to the present moment—the conversation, that is. She focused on her friend, took note of the scowl that she wore, and offered an apologetic smile. “I apologize. My mind was elsewhere for a moment.”

“You don’t suppose.”

“It is not personal,” Virtue tried. “I’m just not… I am nervous, Pru. This is my first public outing since…” She trailed off, not wishing to voice it, knowing there was no need, for certainly everyone already knew. “And I feel as though everyone is looking at me.”

“Don’t be so vain, my dear.”

“I assure you, I am not!”

“Indeed you are.” Prudence took Virtue by the arm, and with a decisive tug, pulled her shoulder to shoulder, aligning them both to overlook the crowded hall. “But shall I tell you a hard truth?”

“Pray, do.”

“Not one soul here has concerns for anyone else but themselves, Virtue. You may fancy yourself the subject of every whisper, but truly, you are not the cynosure you imagine. And I should know, for I have been trying to speak with you for the last ten minutes, and where it might shock you to hear, I have found more amusement in discourse with the stone walls of Sommerton.”

“Oh, what a delight to hear,” Virtue said flatly.

“You are most welcome, my dear. Now, stop with this nonsense, and let us enjoy ourselves.”

Lady Virtue Hartleigh, only daughter to Lord Holmfield, wanted to believe her friend. Oh, how she wished that her words held a semblance of truth. It might have been nice to have gone unnoticed. Even Prudence’s comparisons to a brick wall weren’t nearly as cutting as she meant them to be. To be able to pass on by without knowing that she was the subject of whispers and titters from her contemporaries was a dream that Virtue doted like a bee might a freshly bloomed flower. And yet, reality painted a far different picture.

She had nearly forgone the invitation to tonight’s affair entirely—the inaugural ball of the Season, a spectacle she had not missed since blossoming into society at the tender age of eighteen. It was the most anticipated event of the year, a pivotal night for all young debutantes seeking the admiration of potential suitors, with hopes of romantic courtships and perhaps even fortuitous marriages. Where fates intermingled like the gentle swirls of mist over a moonlit mere.

Yet, as things stood, Lady Virtue Hartleigh was as unspoken for as they came.

But that was also the point.

The evening was designed specifically for young women of Virtue’s ilk.  And indeed, as she stood, her arm gracefully linked with Prudence’s, her eyes swept across the hall, noting the scores of young women dressed in their very best as they filtered from group to group, suitor to suitor; some on their own, some led by their fathers, and a fortunate few lucky enough to have found a gentleman to occupy themselves with tonight. A rainbow of reds and yellows and greens and oranges and purples and every color imaginable washed over Virtue, an intense feast for the senses that was as overwhelming as it was breathtaking.

To be among them, Virtue would have loved nothing more. She was, after all, dressed in a similar fashion. Her gown was emerald green, wreathed with a darker green floral pattern, hemmed with golden stitching, flowing from the waist like a cascading waterfall while cinching about her hips and hooping low across her neckline. She was petite in stature but curvy in frame, hair as red as a roaring hearth in a cold winter, skin as white as freshly poured milk. A true beauty – according to many. Yet, none of these attributes were the crux of her plight.

Again, she wanted desperately to spread her wings and walk through the crowds that gathered in the hall. Sip some wine, maybe share a dance, or partake in a few lively conversations. Perhaps even ask her father if he had identified any suitable suitors. Yet, such aspirations seemed just beyond her reach—or so she believed.

“Come on then.” Prudence straightened up her posture and fixed a smile on her face. “Let’s go.”

“Wait!” Virtue’s hand shot out, grasping her friend’s arm as her face grew paler still. “What in heavens do you mean by let’s go? Where? Who are we—”

Prudence rolled her eyes, her patience waning thin. “If only you would listen, V. I just listed six – six eligible gentlemen for us, Virtue. All of whom are likely present tonight. All of whom we should be introducing ourselves to, instead of skulking in the corner like petty thieves.”

“And we just… approach them?” She could feel her face begin to flush red with embarrassment.

“Why ever not?” Prudence countered with a nonchalant shrug. “Times are not what they used to be. Men appreciate a woman who asserts herself. Takes initiative…” She pumped her eyebrows.

That wasn’t true at all, but Prudence seemed set on this little task of hers, willing to say whatever she needed to, to force some action in Virtue.

“Wait… perhaps I should consult my father first.” Virtue feigned a scan of the room, seeking her father among the clusters of gentlemen. She knew all too well that he would disapprove of her making such bold overtures unbidden.

“And squander precious time? I’d wager his list contains Lord Ambrose, and our neighbor, old baron Grimsby.” She took a firmer grip of Virtue’s arm. “No. We ought to take fate into our own hands, lest we end up like Lady Phillipa. Now, come.”

“But Lady Phillipa is wealthy and rather happy, don’t you think?” Virtue tried for a final time.

“Pah! She detests that Rochester Lordling. He ought to have been her half-brother with how he followed around her father like a lost puppy before the marriage. The Rochesters…” she shuddered, “an odd family.” With that, she pulled Virtue forward and, with little real choice, Virtue followed.

Beside her, Prudence beamed as she swept through the crowd. Oh, she was confident, as she had every right to be. Dark hair. Darker features. Undeniably pretty. And the daughter of a marquess! Men’s heads turned as they passed, and a few smirked in her direction, no doubt already planning their approach.

There had been a time—not so long ago, at the dawn of the previous Season—when Virtue herself had embodied that same boldness. She had been the one to lead, eyes keenly searching for a promising suitor. That was, after all, how she had first encountered Lord Prescott…

“There!” Prudence’s sudden halt drew Virtue’s attention. “Do you see?”

“See what?” Virtue swallowed and dared to follow her friend’s gaze.

“Lord Tarrow!” she whispered excitedly. “Leaving Annabelle’s side right now. See!” Her eyes flashed. “Oh, isn’t he just handsome! And I don’t see his mother about either.”

Virtue saw immediately who Prudence was speaking of. A dashingly handsome lord with golden blonde hair and a cleft chin which he held high as he stalked. A smirk on his lips, which spoke to his confidence. A way of walking that had his chest puffed out, an air to his gait that told the world he knew what tonight entailed to the t. Virtue eyed him with a sense of desire she didn’t know she was capable of feeling anymore, wanting desperately to cross the room to him, but not able to force herself to make the move.

And then, as she stared, Lord Tarrow looked up suddenly and met her eyes. Time seemed to stand still as they gazed at one another, that feeling as if they were the only two in the room and nothing else mattered. Virtue licked her lips, daring to dream for the first time in months…

“Somebody is interested,” Prudence giggled. “Now, you better do something about it.”

“Wh – what?” Virtue felt her stomach lurch. “I am not so sure I can.”

“Of course you can. Go to him.” She stepped back and pushed Virtue forward.

Virtue stumbled. “And say what?”

“I don’t know,” Prudence groaned. “Anything! Honestly, Virtue, how you were engaged before is beyond me. Have you ever spoken with a man before?”

“Of course!”

“Then prove it!”

She thought to argue, the only thing stopping her being a keen awareness that Lord Tarrow was still watching. He, and several others who were in the vicinity and seemed to understand what Virtue was doing, deciding to stop and watch. Oh, maybe she was imagining the last part, but she didn’t think so. She had been the talk of the ton for months now, so why should tonight be any different?

A deep breath had Virtue steadying. Then she forced a smile, focused on Lord Tarrow – who was observing her with a sense of want she found wholly appealing – and started toward him. She was doing it. She was taking action. She was leaving the past where it belonged and carving herself a new path. Soon, what had happened to her would be forgotten. Soon, she would be a new woman with a new name.

And that was about the moment everything went wrong.

Just behind Lord Tarrow, with a drink in his hand, a curious smile on his face as he watched her approach the eager young lord, was a man whom Virtue had been hoping to avoid tonight, one whom she presumed wasn’t attending, one whom she knew that if she saw—well, it had the potential to ruin her entire evening and then some.

His name was Lord Prescott, and until three months ago, he had been Virtue’s betrothed.

Indeed, no sooner did Virtue see Lord Prescott, their eyes connecting across the room, did she forget all about Lord Tarrow and what she was doing as that sudden desire to escape and remain hidden took hold. Her chest tightened. Her body grew red hot. The room spun about her. Eyes widening as if from fear, she turned on the spot suddenly, meaning to run, only to find herself face to face with Prudence.

“What are you – oh!” Prudence cried as Virtue ran headlong into her.

Their bodies collided with a tremendous crash. Prudence stumbled backward, arms flailing. She caught the edge of a footman’s wine tray, sending the glasses of wine flying into the air as their reddish-purple contents emptied all over her dress.

Virtue tried to help, but as the glasses of wine smashed around her feet, she slipped and stumbled, again falling into Prudence, grabbing a hold of the woman around the shoulders, losing her balance entirely, and falling to the floor in a heap. Oh, and of course, with another loud crash—enough to alert the entirety of London.

The music that played throughout the hall silenced in an instant. The gossip and chatter and banter that filled the cheeks of the guests stopped dead as if it had never been. All eyes, what had to be hundreds of them, turned as one and looked upon Prudence and Virtue lying on the floor, covered in wine, dresses torn, embarrassment piqued. A beat, the silence, and shock so heavy that Virtue could feel it, broken when someone began to snicker.

Laughter erupted from the mouths of a few of the immature young Lords. Raucous and bawdy.  Fingers pointed. Bodies doubled over as sides were held to keep them from splitting.

“You…. how could you!” Prudence cried. “What have you done!”

“I… I didn’t… I did not mean…” Virtue stammered, unable to form a cohesive thought as the laughter and jesting and mockery crashed upon her like relentless waves.

Just three months ago, Virtue had been subjected to a kind of embarrassment that she was certain would be the worst of her entire life. Yet tonight, this very moment might well have surpassed that.

Drenched in wine. Bottom bruised. The center of attention in the worst possible way. Forget seeking a new suitor, Virtue thought as she covered her face and tried to stand – only to slip and fall once more. After tonight, she might never go out again. And who could blame her?

CHAPTER TWO

2 days later

Hartleigh House

“Pray, tell me you intend to at least promenade today,” Lucy Reid sighed as she swept into the library. “At the very least, might you step onto the patio or wander through the garden, so that your skin might see some sunlight?”

“To utter falsehoods is a sin,” Virtue responded without diverting her gaze from the volume in her lap. “And I shall not partake in such deceit.”

“Is this the grand design then?” Lucy came to a stop right by where Virtue was sitting; curled up on a plush settee, the drapes pulled shut to cast the room in a shadow, and using the light from a small candle to illuminate the pages. “To sequester yourself within these walls for eternity? Truly?”

“I don’t see whyever not.” Virtue turned the page, purposefully ignoring the young maid. If it had been anyone other than Lucy making such remarks, Virtue might have taken offense, but she and Lucy were as close as sisters since her father had taken Lucy under his wing upon the death of old Jonathan Reid, Lucy’s father and the Hartleigh family butler for nearly thirty years. When they were alone, Virtue would not have Lucy speaking to her in any other way.

“And what of the future? When age has stolen your vitality and left you old and withered—do you then plan to grace the rest of London with your presence again? Hope that by then, everyone might have forgotten what happened and you shall be free to spend your final years an old crone whose memory is so soured that she scarcely remembers the reason she locked herself up in the first place?”

“It could be worse.” She turned a page.

“Oh, you’re being ridiculous, V! Utterly and totally absurd, is what you are.”

“I must remind you…” she replied, nonchalantly flipping another page of her book, her eyes steadfastly avoiding Lucy’s gaze, “with whom you are speaking with, Miss Reid. And if you keep at it, perhaps a harsher reminder will be necessary,” she added with a smirk.

Lucy snorted and folded her arms. “What will you do, then? Whip me, my Lady?”

“If I must,” Virtue giggled, the sound light and teasing.

Another snort. “It will change nothing. You will remain ensconced here, and I shall still be at your side, tirelessly working to coax you outdoors. Moreover, I suspect your father might agree with me this time.”

Virtue scrunched her nose as she tried her best to ignore Lucy’s provocations. If it was anyone else, it might have been a simple task. Despite the unconventional nature of their relationship, Lucy was her closest confidante—now more than ever, given her dwindling circle of friends following the recent scandal. Prudence, for one, would likely not be responding to her letters any time soon.

But she couldn’t ignore the maid’s heartfelt pleas either. Even the book she was reading, one of her favorite romance novels that she always turned to when she was feeling blue, couldn’t hold her interest. If anything, the romantic epic that once upon a time had her heart soaring whenever she read its pages, now only had it souring at what could no longer be hers.  

She tried to stare at the page. She tried to forget why it was that her mood was this morose. But there would be no forgetting. And not because of Lucy, but because it seemed that fate had decided as such.

“You were not there,” Virtue broke, dropping the book in her lap and looking pleadingly at Lucy. “You did not see the whole… debacle!”

“Oh, surely it wasn’t all that dreadful.” Lucy fell in beside Virtue and wrapped an arm around her in comfort. She was a touch taller than Virtue and made a perfect shoulder to weep on.

“It was far worse.” Virtue curled up in her best friend’s arm. “Everyone saw it. And those who might have been unlucky to miss it, certainly heard it. I have never been so embarrassed.”

“They will forget. If I have learned anything living here this past decade, it is that London’s collective memory is as fleeting as a spring shower,” Lucy reassured her.

“I am not convinced of that anymore,” she murmured.  

“A stroll would do you the world of good,” Lucy suggested gently.

“I cannot even bear to show my face.”

“Just through the garden then. A bit of fresh air might lift your spirits.”

“I doubt that very much.”

“Perhaps just some natural light, at least?” Lucy moved as if to draw back the drapes.

“Don’t!” Virtue shot up, blocking the maid’s path to the windows. “Please, Lucy. Can you not just let me wallow? If anyone has earned that right, surely it is I?”

Lucy could not have looked more worried. The way her round face scrunched together. The way her lips pouted. Like a mother besotted with the ailing sickness of her daughter, it was clear that all she wanted was to help. “You deserve the world, V,” she whispered as she wrapped her thick arms back around Virtue. “Not this. Never this.”

“It is funny,” Virtue chuckled bitterly. She picked up the book she was reading, only to regard its cover with disdain before tossing it across the room. “I once fancied my life to be akin to the tales I cherish—imagined meeting my Prince Charming, falling in love, and our story being celebrated through the ages. Now, I see these tales for what they truly are—mere tales. At best, I am the wicked witch, doomed to watch others fall in love around her while she spends her days alone and miserable. Perhaps the wicked witch was never the villain, after all, only misunderstood.”

To that, Lucy did not say a word, simply because there was not much she could say. For three months now, it had been much the same as this, and where finally it looked as if Virtue was on the mend and turning a leaf toward a new tomorrow, the ball two nights ago had dashed those plans thoroughly and irrevocably.

And it hadn’t always been so.

Just three months prior, Virtue’s life had seemed poised for a fairy tale culmination, the kind she had whimsically envisioned as a child but scarcely dared to believe might actually unfold for herself. She was in love with a viscount. He was in love with her. They were engaged to be married. Children would follow. A life spent in one another’s arms because their love was such that she couldn’t fathom any other outcome but that. A touch idealistic, perhaps. But that just spoke to how perfect everything was…

But then, without warning, her idyllic world shattered around her. Lord Prescott, her betrothed, a man whom she had surrendered her heart to fully after a year of courting, tore it from her chest, crushed it in the palm of his hand, and callously announced an end to their betrothal. With a mere letter, he terminated their engagement, offering no explanation, denying her any appeal, and leaving her without a semblance of closure.

To say it caught Virtue by surprise would be an understatement. Yet her astonishment paled in comparison to the collective gasp of the ton. And with no reason given for why he had acted so rashly, it was only natural that rumor and conjecture would follow. Those whom Virtue had once considered friends now gossiped in shadowed corners, theorizing why the viscount had ended things so suddenly. What grievous misstep could Virtue have possibly committed to warrant such a harsh rejection?

She didn’t do anything. She was the perfect lady. But to ask anyone’s opinion of the matter today, it was agreed that she had slighted him in some way, likely by seducing another or being caught in a heinous act of amorous desire. She was a destined spinster, it was claimed. She was a woman of loose morals! The rumors swirled and gathered like a raging storm, and although her family vehemently denied them, Virtue soon learned there was little more she could do to placate the torrents but hide and wait for them to go away.

Which was precisely what she had done until the fateful ball two nights prior. Finally, sensing her moment, convinced that the ton might have moved past the scandal, she braved the outside world in a way that seemed unimaginably impossible mere months earlier.

As to the result? The less said, the better—though Prudence could furnish the most lurid of details.

“Here is what we are going to do,” Lucy murmured, her soft voice breaking the silence.

“What?” Virtue sniffed, feeling herself come undone.  

“We shall do precisely… nothing.”

“Pardon?” Virtue pulled back. “Pray, what sort of counsel is that?”

“The wisest,” Lucy declared with quiet confidence. “You are correct, last evening was a travesty.”

“Most kind of you to note,” she replied drily.

“Yet, it was not the end of all things,” Lucy spoke over Virtue. “Do you remember where you were three months ago? For I remember it well. Very well. We were here, having this precise conversation.”

“And I am still here!”

“Yes, indeed you are,” Lucy agreed. “But two days ago, you were not. Two days ago, I seemed to remember how aglow with anticipation you were at the prospect of attending a ball once more—despite your efforts to hide it. And the way you looked in that dress…” She sighed wistfully. “Stunning and elegant, as I’ve ever seen.”

“And look to what end it brought me,” Virtue fell back on her settee with a thump and a sigh.

“One misstep,” Lucy said. “That’s all it was. You were convinced before that you’d never leave the house again. That you wouldn’t want to. But time heals all wounds, makes people forget. You are still young, Virtue. You still have so much time.”

“They won’t forget,” Virtue mumbled bitterly.

Lucy tittered. “We will see about that. Why, I bet that before you tripped and fell, there was more than one lordling whose eye you caught. Your Prince Charming is out there, you just need to be patient.”

As was her mood lately, Virtue opened her mouth to argue, only she caught her tongue when she remembered what had happened just before she had embarrassed herself. Lord Tarrow… the handsome marquess whose attention she had captured from across the room. He had stared at her in a way she hadn’t expected possible, a manner which suggested he either didn’t know what had happened to her, or he didn’t care. Was it possible that the ton might forget about her constant shortcomings? Was it possible that come time, she might find someone?

Since she had been a little girl, all Virtue had wanted was to fall in love. The idea that it might never happen was enough to break her, but the thought that there was still a chance… it gave her a sense of hope that she so desperately needed to cling to, lest she truly become the crude old witch from her novels, bickering at all the young couples passing her way.

“Maybe you are right, Lucy,” she conceded softly.

“I almost always am.”

“Careful now, Lucy,” Virtue snickered. “Someone is becoming a little too pleased with themself.”

Lucy moved to respond, but then shifted and sat up suddenly. It took Virtue a moment to realize why, until she looked back from the room and caught the housekeeper lingering by the door.

“Yes?” Virtue asked of her. “What is it?”

The housekeeper’s name was Miss White, an elderly woman whose honeycakes held a special place in her father’s heart, as did her inclination to gossip about anything and everything that occurred within the walls of Holmfield. So much so that she scarcely left his side, lest it be for emergencies. That had Virtue panicking a little.

“It is Lord Holmfield,” Miss White said carefully. “Your father, he wishes to speak with you… Now.”

Virtue felt her stomach churn. As well as avoiding the outside world, she had also been avoiding her father and done a great job of it. No doubt he was furious with her for the way she behaved at the ball, and no doubt he wanted to reprimand her for it. His aspirations for her marriage were even greater than her own after all. Given the disastrous events of late, his displeasure was all but guaranteed.

“Alright…” Virtue sighed deeply before pulling herself from Lucy’s arms. “Let him know I am on my way.”

“I shall make some tea,” Lucy offered hastily. “In case you need it.”

“If you intend on mixing in some laudanum,” Virtue murmured as she skulked across the room, preparing herself for the tongue-lashing of a lifetime. The last two days had been a travesty, and she sensed it was only going to get worse.

CHAPTER THREE

Virtue approached her father’s study with her heart thudding. As a little girl, the room had terrified her, as she had often associated its musty interiors with her father’s stern demeanor and brisk temper. The few times she’d dared to enter it, she would always leave with her tail between her legs and tears welling in her eyes. He was a stern man, her father. He was a serious man, also. Not overtly cruel or ‘evil’ as the characters in her storybooks, just not the sort of man who was used to not getting his way. And he hated being interrupted when he was at work.

On this day, however, she had been summoned, which at least mitigated the risk of aggravating him by an untimely interruption. Nevertheless, she anticipated that his reasons for calling her were likely to be no less severe.

She tapped gently at the heavy, oak door of the study and waited. And waited. Several minutes must have passed before he finally called back. 

“Come in!” His voice, a harsh bark from within, shattered the tense silence.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Virtue opened the door and stepped inside. Even as a grown woman, the study was an intimidating room. Not overtly large by any sense, yet it somehow always made her feel small inside it; dark and devoid of any natural light, a high ceiling, stacked bookshelves that seemed to tower over her, a work desk that only came up to her waist but felt as if it reached her shoulders. And then there was the man seated behind it.

Like Virtue, Lord Holmfield—as he commanded to be referred to, even by his daughter—was short, especially for a man. Stocky also, what was once a robust frame had since turned soft with age. His hair, a faded strawberry blonde, had receded significantly, and his skin bore the ruddy hue of blotches, his cheeks ample and his jowls wobbly. But it was his eyes that Virtue always watched, for they told of the mood he was in. Was he angry with her? Was he venomous? Or was he… she met his eyes, tried to read them, but found it impossible to do in the moment.

This, of course, only added to her nerves.

“You asked to see me, my lord?” she spoke softly as she lingered in the doorway.

“Yes.” He gestured to the chair opposite his desk, lifting his gaze for a moment. “Sit.”

She nodded and crossed the room, taking the seat, trying to get as comfortable as she could, all the while feeling her father study her with a sense of contempt. When her mother had been alive, her father had been far kinder and more compassionate. When she had died, over ten years ago now, he had turned cold and withdrawn. He had come to view Virtue less as a daughter and more as a chess piece, to be strategically positioned for familial advantage. His overarching ambition was to see her well-married.

And indeed, when he had successfully orchestrated her betrothal, she had noticed a change in her father that she could never have predicted. For a time there, he had treated her with something akin to pride and satisfaction, elated that she was finally living up to her purpose. Elated for what it meant for him, also.

Since the wedding had been canceled, however, Virtue could count on her hands the number of times she and her father had spoken.

“The… events, that transpired the previous evening,” her father began with austere firmness, “shall never be spoken on inside the walls of Holmfield. Understand?”

Virtue’s brow furrowed slightly as she lifted her eyes to meet his. Could that be compassion flickering in his eyes? Surely not. “What do you…. what do you mean?”

“I do not believe I was speaking in riddles,” he muttered with a tone of vexation. “It was foolish of you, girl. I can scarcely believe you would even…” He bit his tongue and shook his head. “No matter. It is done now, and for that reason, we shall work to erase it from the grand history of the Hartleighs. You are well aware of how swiftly gossip travels in this town. The sole method to arrest its spread is to disregard it utterly. Now, is that understood?”

“Yes, my lord.” She nodded once but could not suppress the faint smile that played on her lips. “And thank you.”

“For what?” he grumbled.

Her smile widened a touch. “Nothing.”

He studied her for a moment, as if deciding something. “Very well. And on that note, it is important to remember who you are. My daughter. You are no fool. No embarrassment. You are certainly not the subject of idle chatter. The disgrace lies not with you but with those whose tongues are too freely wagged. This, I will no longer tolerate.”

Virtue eyed her father intently, unable to fathom what he was saying or why he was saying it. She had thought he’d brought her here to shout and scream, but it was the opposite of that. He had a point he was trying to make, that was clear, but she could not begin to reason what it might be.

“What Lord Prescott did to you was a disgrace,” he growled, anger now lacing his tone. “But not for you. For him! He made a fool of his own name, not yours, certainly not mine, and it is time that we reminded the people of that. Don’t you think?”

 “Y-yes, my lord,” she stammered, sensing that was all he wished to hear.

“He thinks to tarnish you.” He chuckled bitterly. “He thinks to ruin me? Pah! Well, we shall see what he thinks next. I dare say, he will rue the day he ever dared to cross me and mine.”

Still, Virtue regarded her father. She knew now that his hostilities were not for her, so that was a good thing to be sure. Rather, he seemed awfully proud of something, excited even. He was building toward a point, and where she might have guessed what it was… no, she would not dare.

“It is for that reason,” he began, his voice tinged with an uncharacteristic buoyancy as he stood from his chair, “that I bring you tidings which I believe will also be a source of excitement for you.” He raised an eyebrow, a sly smirk playing across his features.

“You do?” Her heart began to flutter. Surely not? Surely, this wasn’t going where she thought…

“I have been tirelessly occupied these past two weeks. However, diligent efforts often yield fruitful outcomes, and it pleases me immensely to inform you that in one week’s time, Virtue, you are to be married to—”

“What?!” The word escaped her lips before she could temper her reaction, and she saw her father’s jaw clench in response. “Sorry…” she murmured hastily, mind whirling as she looked at him to continue.

“As I was saying, I have arranged for you to be wed.” He paused and cocked an eyebrow at her, making sure she did not interrupt this time. “Securing a suitor willing to marry so precipitously was no trifling matter. Yet, considering recent events, I deemed it prudent to forego a traditional betrothal. This way, we circumvent any… unforeseen complications,” he added sharply, his intent unmistakable. “And, as fortune would have it, I have found an exemplary gentleman.” He halted, allowing the gravity of his announcement to settle as he fixed his gaze upon her.

“Who would—” she whispered, holding her tongue at that for she had so many questions but knew better than to ask them.

He nodded solemnly. “You should be aware, this was no trifling task. Given the… aftermath of recent events,” he said, his tone sharpening with frustration as he clicked his tongue. “Our options were regrettably limited. Threadbare, one might say. The fact that I managed to secure a suitor at all, and one of considerable standing, is nothing short of miraculous. Perhaps, in a roundabout way, you are owed some adulations yourself,” he chuckled lightly. “You did look quite graceful the other evening, my dear, so perhaps word of your charm reached him.”

 “Thank you, my lord—”

“Now, now! We will have none of that! I am your father and will be referred to as such. As to the facts, he has agreed to the dowry, he is as eager to wed as I could hope, and come next week, we shall throw a wedding at my local parish. A small ceremony, he insisted, but considering the circumstances, I think it is best. Weddings of this… nature, tend to invite gossip — something we will do well to avoid. So, a quick, private ceremony, free from whispers and other nuisances, and the two of you will then be free to remind the ton who you are and where you come from.”

She could barely stand it any further. Was this some kind of jest? Or was he really more concerned with discussing the details surrounding the marriage than the marriage itself and her supposed betrothed? As he spoke, her mind wandered, her heart raced, and her excitement rose to levels previously thought unattainable. Her father had found her a husband. She was going to be married. Could it be perhaps… Lord Tarrow? The details aligned, and she did feel there had been some connection between them when they had locked gazes at the ball. Or perhaps, it was another of the lords on Prudence’s list? Yes, there was the fact that she had never met this mysterious man, and had no idea who he was, but she knew her father well enough to know that he must have been someone of renown. He would rather her die alone than marry beneath her station.

But who was it? Who might he have found? Excitement mixed with fear mixed with nerves, and all the while her father watched her squirm, finally waiting for her to ask the obvious question.

“Who is he, father?”

He smiled at that, a hint of triumph in his expression. “His Grace, the Duke of Greystone.”

“His Grace?!” Virtue’s eyes widened, a mix of shock and awe coloring her voice. A Duke! The idea seemed almost fantastical. Given her recent social blunders, how could a Duke possibly deem her a suitable bride? Especially under such hastily arranged circumstances—it defied understanding. It made no sense! That was until her father continued to speak.

“He is a good man, Virtue.” He nodded firmly as if to affirm it. “A war hero. Fabulously wealthy. Young too, considering. And given that his estate lies several hundred miles away, I believe you’ll find the change of scenery quite to your liking. Yes…” His smile took on a proud curve. “And whatever rumors you might hear about him, well, you of all people know the weight—or lack thereof—of gossip. I would just ignore them.”

“Rumors…?” Virtue leaned back in her chair, her initial excitement morphing into worry. “What… what do they say?”

“His Grace, Duke Greystone, Virtue.” Her father repeated the title, eyeing her with a puzzled look as if the name alone should trigger recognition. “Surely, you have heard of his, ah… of what happened?”

Virtue felt a stir of unease. The way her father mentioned the Duke’s history implied there was more to this man than his titles and accolades. What had happened with the Duke of Greystone that made him consider her a suitable bride, of all people, despite all her recent shortcomings? Worse, what might it mean for her future? “I have not. What happened?”

As her father divulged the details, Virtue’s initial spark of excitement rapidly extinguished, replaced by a creeping dread. She did indeed recognize the name—the Duke of Greystone. And with recognition came the flood of chilling rumors that accompanied it, each more unsettling than the last.

Fear was what replaced her excitement. Fear and bitter remorse.

Ever since she was a little girl, Virtue had wished for nothing more than to marry. Well, to fall in love and marry, but at this point, she was willing to settle with the latter. Now that her fate had been set before her, however, she wondered if the prize she sought was worth the cost. Love and happiness were things she associated with marriage, but if the rumors about His Grace were true — and she had no reason to believe otherwise — love and happiness were likely the last things she would ever feel again.

A murderer? A madman? A monster ripped straight from her storybooks? These rumors swirled menacingly through her mind, her anxiety mounting with each passing moment. As her father prattled on, his enthusiasm starkly contrasting her growing unease, Virtue couldn’t help but wonder: What in good heavens was he thinking?

It appeared he wasn’t, at least not with any regard to her well-being.

Look out for the full release on the 2nd of June!