Trepidation tiptoed across Lady Arabella Winslett’s spine. Chatham House was never quiet. Well, perhaps it was quiet in the dead of night when no one was awake to appreciate the novelty. But it was never quiet during the day, and certainly not whenever her grandfather was at home. The boisterous and gruff Duke of Chatham made ultimatums, issued commands, and expressed his wishes in no uncertain terms. Day in and day out.

But not at the moment.

And though Bella had often wished for peace whenever her grandfather was about, she found the deafening silence in this moment more than a little terrifying. Standing at the far end of the corridor, she pulled her attention from the silent, ducal study to exchange a glance with her sister, Priscilla, at her side.

“You’re certain he’s still in there?” she whispered and gestured to the large mahogany door.

Prissa nodded quickly, her silvery eyes round with fear, the exact same way Bella’s eyes must look to her little sister. “And Papa,” Prissa muttered quietly.

Grandfather and Papa in the same eerily, silent study? Bella wasn’t certain what that was about, but she couldn’t imagine it boded well for anyone. “Did he look angry?”

There was no need to specify which he Bella meant. Their father, the Marquess of Aylesford, was never angry. Happy, sometimes. Charming, on occasion. But mostly, he was thoughtful and quiet. The exact opposite of his father in almost every way.

Prissa shook her head. “Worried,” she mouthed the word.

Worried couldn’t be good.

“Sign your damn name, Aylesford!” Grandfather’s voice suddenly boomed from the study.

Bella and Prissa exchanged another look.

Their father mumbled something, but his voice was too low for Bella to hear his words. What in the world did Grandfather want him to sign?

Bella started toward the door, but Prissa grabbed her arm to stop her. She glanced over her shoulder to find her sister shaking her head most vehemently. They’d both be in a heap of trouble if they were caught eavesdropping. Still, Bella couldn’t help her curiosity. Whatever was going on in their grandfather’s study required more investigation.

She pulled out of Prissa’s hold, left her sister in her spot, and quickly scrambled down the corridor toward the study. Bella pressed her ear to the keyhole just in time to hear her grandfather say, “She didn’t take last season, and there’s no reason to think she’ll do better this year.”

Bella managed to keep from gasping. Were they were talking about her? They had to be. While Grandfather might say something similar about Sophie or Charlotte, he’d most likely do so with Uncle George instead of Papa.

“She’s shy, Father. That’s all,” Papa’s soft voice finally reached Bella’s ears.

“The truth of the matter is she’s too much like Harriet,” her Grandfather complained.

Too much like her mother. She’d only heard that objection to her person nearly all of her life.

“And if she follows the same path your errant wife did, she’ll blacken our name worse than your son has done and make certain Priscilla’s chances next season are nonexistent.”

“I hardly think Bella would do something untoward, Father. She’s simply shy.”

“Shy? She’s odd. In the same way Harriet was, and you know what that led to,” he grumbled. “And she walks around with her head in the clouds, unaware of the world around her.”

“She’s thoughtful.”

“She’s an embarrassment, just like Gillingham, just like her mother. Mark my words, Aylesford,” Grandfather growled, “that girl will ruin herself and Priscilla right along with her if you don’t sign these papers. Is that what you want?”

Papers? What papers was he talking about?

The rapid pounding of Bella’s heart echoed in her ears. She’d always known Grandfather didn’t care for her. He’d made that abundantly clear over the years, but hearing him call her odd, an embarrassment, hurt more than she would have expected. She wasn’t…odd, was she? She just liked to keep to herself. She didn’t do anything to stand out in a crowd or cause any sort of notice to herself in any way. She wasn’t an embarrassment, was she?

“Sign them!” Grandfather ordered.

Good heavens! What was he trying to get Papa to agree to? Installing her at Bedlam because of her oddness? To put her somewhere she couldn’t be an embarrassment to the family?

“Father,” Papa began, a placating tone lacing his words. “Prissa isn’t even out yet. Let’s please give Bella one more season to see if she’ll take.”

Her grandfather snorted. Loudly. “I won’t indulge your delusions, Aylesford. Doing so is a waste of time, and I have very little of that as is it.”

“She’s a pretty girl. She could find someone who wouldn’t take her so far away.”

So far away? Where was she going? Did he mean to send her somewhere across the ocean? Or to Scotland, perhaps? She’d always wanted to see the world. To stand on the same stones as art’s great masters, to paint cities and landscapes from every corner of the world, but she had a feeling her grandfather had nothing so grand in mind for her.

Even through the door, Grandfather’s sigh sounded beleaguered. “Johann will be here in a fortnight. She can have until then.”

Johann? Her cousin, Johann? Her awful, angry cousin? Bella’s heart lodged in her throat. Surely she’d misheard him. What could Johann von Guttstadt possibly have to do with any of this?

“A fortnight, then.” Papa sighed as well. “If she hasn’t found a husband within the next fortnight, I’ll sign the papers.”

“I’ll hold you to your word, Aylesford.”

“I—Well, I just hate for her to go so far away from home.” Papa sounded weary as though he’d given all he had to the discussion at hand.

“Home.” Grandfather scoffed. “Why you even want her nearby is a mystery, but your coddling of her is exactly why she’s so strange. You make it sound as though I’m sending her to Australia. Prussia isn’t on the far side of the world, I assure you. Besides, Arabella can do worse than Johann, much worse. But with him, she’ll find the strong hand she’s been lacking all these years. Someone to yank her head out of the damned clouds.”

Goodness! Grandfather wanted Papa to sign a marriage contract, didn’t he? As soon as the thought entered Bella’s mind, she knew she was correct. The duke meant to send her to the horrid Prussian countryside. To marry her off to her unkind cousin. That was most definitely what he was saying, she didn’t have a doubt.

Panic seized Bella’s heart, and she slowly backed away from the study door as though it was an asp poised to strike. Her world started to spin, and a loud ringing echoed in her ears.

Johann.

Johann von Guttstadt, the Count of Hellsburg? He couldn’t be her destiny, could he? She couldn’t be expected to marry him. She just couldn’t. There had to be something that could be done because Bella couldn’t think of a fate worse than spending the rest of her days with her unbearable cousin in the middle of nowhere. She wanted to see blue Caribbean waters, the white sands of the Sahara, and every color under the sun in the Amazon.

A hand landed on Bella’s arm, and she nearly leapt from her skin. She gasped and spun on her heel to find Prissa wide-eyed, staring right at her.

“Heavens, Bella!” her sister whispered. “Are you all right?”

Bella wasn’t certain if she’d ever be right again. She shook her head, but she couldn’t speak. If she did, her voice would most likely crack, and then she’d cry and…well, Bella didn’t want to admit to Prissa or anyone else what she’d just overheard. She didn’t even want to admit it to herself.

She blinked back a traitorous tear, bolted away from her sister, and then up the staircase toward her chambers.

* * *

Bella had poured herself into painting all afternoon, or rather she’d attempted to. Until today, mixing colors and bringing a canvas to life with images that only existed in her mind had always been the quickest way to push unhappiness from her thoughts. But even her beloved paints and brushes failed at transporting her from the troubles swirling about her mind. For the first time in her life, she wondered if this was what her mother had felt before she’d abandoned them all those years ago.

Of course, she’d hate for Papa to discover her painting. Being drawn to colors and paintbrushes was just one of the many ways she was like her mother, at least according to her older brother’s recollections. And while Papa never said as much, she suspected her love of paints reminded her father of earlier, unhappier times.

She knew, of course, that at any given moment, Papa would knock on her door and inform her of the unfortunate circumstances surrounding her dreaded cousin. She steeled herself for the visit. She tried to prepare to hear the words he’d have to say. And she told herself over and over not to cry when Papa arrived. Crying wouldn’t change her circumstances, and they’d only prove to make Papa feel worse. But all the waiting and preparing had been for naught.

Papa hadn’t come.

He hadn’t sought her out, not all afternoon, not all evening. Which made no sense at all. At least nothing that leapt mind. Why wouldn’t he tell her? Had he devised some sort of plan, a scheme that would prevent such an unfortunate outcome for her? That didn’t sound like Papa, as he wasn’t really the scheming sort, but perhaps he had come up with something. There wouldn’t be any reason to frighten her with the details if he’d already set a plan in motion, would there?

She glanced down the dinner table toward her father, but he appeared engrossed in the roasted duck on his plate and didn’t seem to notice the intensity of her gaze in the least. Across the table from Bella, her brother Elliott, Baron Gillingham, whom she hadn’t spotted in nearly a month, caught her attention, frowning most deeply at her.

She blinked at her brother in surprise. Elliott very rarely noticed anything about anyone around him…unless one was an actress. But since Bella was no such thing, she couldn’t imagine why he was looking at her, much less frowning. “Is something wrong?” she asked quietly.

Elliott shrugged, just barely enough for her to notice, then he turned his silvery eyes back to his plate, letting his dark hair fall across his brow.

Good heavens, what was a shrug supposed to mean? Before she had time to contemplate the situation, her grandfather entered the dining room and cast his dark eyes across the room. “Gillingham,” he said, his voice laced with disdain, “what are you doing here?”

A feigned smile settled on her brother’s face as he met the duke’s gaze. “Just thought it might be nice to spend dinner with my family tonight.”

Grandfather snorted as he assumed his spot at the head of the table. “Don’t mistake me for one of those fools you cavort about Town with. I know when your allowance dries up. Your creditors start sending your bills here, in case you haven’t figured that out by now.”

Elliott ignored the comment, lifted his wine goblet to his lips, and downed a healthy portion. The second footman approached from his left and refilled his drink.

So he was here because he was out of funds again? That would certainly explain her brother’s presence, his shrug and his frown. No matter that Elliott would be the Duke of Chatham at some point, Grandfather did like to keep him on a tight leash. And that leash did not bode well for her brother’s temperament.

“I’m not getting any younger,” Grandfather snapped at the footman. “I may be late to dinner, but I do want to eat.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” the servant mumbled before rushing from the room to retrieve the duke’s plate.

Everyone sat in silence. And for the second time that day, Chatham House was as quiet as a vicarage at midnight. The clinking of silverware against the porcelain plates was the only sound reverberating about the room. Bella, and Prissa beside her, exchanged a look that said better than words could how much they both wished they were nearly anywhere else just then.

After a moment, Papa looked up from his roasted duck, cleared his throat, and smiled in Bella’s direction. An obvious attempt to break the sudden tension in the room, but Bella didn’t mind. She’d welcome just about anything that would make dinner more bearable. “Your cousin Johann is coming for a visit in a few weeks.”

Bella’s throat constricted. Now he wanted to discuss her predicament? And in front of Grandfather?

“Isn’t that nice?” Papa continued, conversationally.

“Nice?” she echoed numbly. Nice certainly wasn’t the word that sprung to Bella’s mind. Did Papa really find it nice? Was that the grand scheme she’d hoped he would come up with? That he hoped she would simply go along with Grandfather’s plans? Did Papa think Bella, with all of her strangeness and lack of suitors, would believe herself fortunate to have her cousin’s attention?

“Mmm.” Her father nodded. “I expect you and Prissa will do your best to make him feel welcome.”

Make him feel welcome? Welcome enough to offer for her? Bella’s stomach twisted at the thought. But of course, Johann wasn’t going to offer for her. There was no need for such formalities. Grandfather had already made up his mind about the situation. It might as well be etched in stone.

Across the table, Elliott caught her eye, and he frowned once more. He looked as happy about the prospect of Johann coming to visit as Bella felt. At least they had that in common. There was no need to glance down the table at the duke. She knew her grandfather’s eyes were on her, she could feel it in her bones. He was most likely looking for some sort of a reaction from her. But she wouldn’t give him that. Not now, not ever. Showing weakness to the Duke of Chatham was tantamount to surrender. And she wasn’t quite ready to do that. At least not yet.

The footman returned to the dining room and placed the duke’s plate before him. Then the man quietly returned to his post against the far wall.

At least with Grandfather eating his dinner, his dark eyes weren’t trained on Bella any longer.

But what was she to do? Papa seemed resigned to the idea of letting her return to Prussia with her cousin, more resigned than he had been that afternoon. Grandfather must have worn him down. She couldn’t expect any help from her father, that much was perfectly clear.

She glanced back at Elliott, across the table. He wasn’t the best of allies as far as power or influence went, but he hadn’t ever had any love for Johann either. Besides a mediocre ally was better than no ally, wasn’t it?

* * *

As soon as dinner came to an end, Bella and Prissa started for the drawing room. She was relieved when her brother entered the room less than a minute later. If he was to be an ally, there was no time to waste.

“You’re not having port with Grandpapa?” Prissa asked, her silver eyes wide.

Elliott’s gaze shifted from Bella to Prissa and back. “I was uninvited. Apparently, I’m too foxed as it is.”

Prissa nodded understandingly, just like she did at everything. “He has been in a temper today.”

Elliott snorted. “Not sure how you can tell the difference from one day to the next, love.”

“He’s not that bad. You just have to know how to deal with him,” Prissa said as she spun away from her siblings.

Bella and Elliott exchanged a glance. It wasn’t that Prissa knew how to deal with Grandfather and they didn’t. No. Prissa just had the ability to get along with anyone and always had. Her sweetness nearly exuded from her, almost like an angel. Even Grandfather liked her.

“Why is Hellsburg coming to Town?” Elliott asked, ignoring Prissa’s comment as there was nothing to say to it.

Bella shook her head. “I’m not sure why he’s coming to Town, but…” The next set of words lodged in her throat. Goodness, if she said them aloud they’d be real.

“But?” Elliott prompted.

Bella glanced over at Prissa, who had turned around once more and was staring at her quite pointedly. She didn’t want to admit this awfulness in front of their little sister. Doing so seemed the most degrading thing she could do.

“But…?” Prissa echoed, stepping closer to her siblings. Her innocent silvery eyes filled with concern as she reached a comforting hand to Bella. “What’s wrong? You don’t look well.”

She didn’t feel well, not in the least. Bella would have turned away from her sister if Prissa hadn’t held onto her arm with a strength that didn’t seem remotely like the girl.

“Bella?” Elliott prompted.

She did need allies. She could tell them, couldn’t she? Well, perhaps not all of it. No one needed to know the awful things Grandfather had said about her in his study. But if she couldn’t find a way out of her predicament, she’d find herself married to Johann von Guttstadt and there wouldn’t be any point in trying to hide that fact from her siblings. “Grandfather means to secure a match between us,” she said, barely recognizing her own voice as the awfulness of the words circled about her heart.

Elliott’s mouth dropped open, and Prissa’s hand fluttered to her lips in surprise.

“He’s going to marry you off to that vulgar boor?” Elliott snapped.

“You don’t want to marry him, do you?” Prissa asked, the breathless quality of her voice shaking just a bit.

Bella shook her head. “Papa said if I haven’t found a husband in the next fortnight, he’d sign the marriage contract. So…”

“So you need a husband,” Prissa said, grabbing on to the one bit of hope there was to be had in the situation. Then she turned her full attention on Elliott. “You don’t have any friends who…”

Their brother scoffed. “You don’t seriously think the old cur would agree to let her marry one of my friends, do you?”

Prissa’s head dropped, right along with Bella’s spirits.

“I didn’t take last season. A fortnight…” wasn’t enough to time to find some fellow and bring him up to scratch. She couldn’t bring herself to mutter that last bit.

“A fortnight is nothing,” Elliott said, warmth exuding from his tone, which was unlike him. Bella must look more than distraught. “Miss Lucinda Potts ran off to Gretna Green with Brookfield not long ago. She’d only known the blackguard a few days.”

“I don’t think Papa would agree to let her marry some blackguard, do you?”

Before Elliott could answer, Bella shook her head. “I don’t want to marry some blackguard. I just want…”

“What do you want?” Prissa asked softly.

That was the question she’d spent the last few years pondering, wasn’t it? Bella had always hoped to see a bit of the world. There was so much to see, so much to experience, and now that the war was quite over, she’d hoped to tour a bit of the continent. Not like Mama had done, of course. She didn’t want to abandon her family all in the name of art; but she dreamed of experiencing the energy of Paris, walking in the same steps where the Renaissance masters had walked in Florence, and touring the ancient structures of the Ottoman Empire. Finding a husband had just never been something she’d cared overly much about. Though, she was certainly in a predicament now because she hadn’t, wasn’t she?

A husband, a husband. What would she possibly want in a husband? Honestly, she had no idea. Someone kind, like Papa; but with a bit more fortitude, she supposed. Someone who saw the world as she did. Someone who loved art and saw the beauty in all things. And that man was not Johann von Guttstadt. Beggars could not be choosers, however. And her time was very limited. “Just an honorable man,” she finally said. “One who’ll treat me well, and if he has any love for art, all the better.”

“Your friend,” Elliott began.

“Which friend?”

“The St. Claire chit.”

Lissy hadn’t been the St. Claire chit in quite some time. “You mean Lady Felicity Pierce?”

Her brother nodded. “She’s always surrounded by a throng of men. Maybe she’ll give you one of hers.”

Prissa gasped. “I can’t imagine it works that way, Elliott.”

Bella didn’t imagine it did either. But Lissy was a good idea, nonetheless. She was a trustworthy friend and beyond loyal. Perhaps she knew of a fellow who needed a wife as badly as Bella did a husband. “I’ll send her a note.”

“Bella!” Prissa’s hand flew to her heart. “You can’t be serious.”

A laugh escaped Bella, which was a good sign, actually. If she could manage to laugh, there had to be some hope. “Not so she can give me one of her suitors, but she may have some grand idea, something I haven’t come up with.”

“All right.” Elliott scratched his jaw. “You work that angle, and I’ll see if I can’t figure something out with some old schoolmates, someone Grandfather wouldn’t soundly object to.”

“You should head to the Astwick ball,” Prissa suggested.

But Bella shook her head. “I hardly feel in the mood for such a thing tonight.”

Her sister’s lips pursed. “Really, Bella! You have a fortnight to change your future. You can’t afford to let a little thing like your mood cost you precious time.”

“She’s right,” Elliott added. “I could always escort you. There’s no need to deal with Father or His Grace.”

Elliott truly was an ally. Bella would have never expected him to be so. “You’d do that for me?”

He shrugged a bit, and a charming smile – their mother’s smile – lit his lips. “By the time the old cur finally sticks his spoon in the wall, I’m likely to be an old man myself. It might be in my best interest to find a wealthy bride of my own. No man could live off my allowance.”

Prissa sucked in a breath. “Elliott Winslett! You will not be a fortune hunter!”

He chuckled slightly. “I make no promises, love.”