Chapter 1

It was almost impossible to breathe with the amount of people in the room, pressed in from wall to wall. At present, I did my best to ignore it. I was being introduced to Reginald Horne, the son of Lord Archibald Horne, who my mother had told me—repeatedly—was a most worthy marriage match. However, all I could think of, as I stood across from him, was that he was twenty-eight years old and already losing his hair.

That was perhaps unworthy of me. However, I couldn’t help myself from thinking it. The large, shiny patch atop his head distracted me. It shimmered beneath the gas lamps as he spoke, seemingly made all the more lustrous with his red cheeks from exertion as he danced throughout the night.

“What do you think, Miss Smythe?”

“O-oh.” I pulled my attention away from Reginald Horne’s distracting bald patch and attempted to remember exactly what he and the other members of the group around me had been speaking of. Something concerning the latest court gossip? I had never kept up with that sort of thing, not since I entered London society when I was eighteen years old, and not in the three years since. “I think you’re right, Mr. Horne,” I said, hedging my bets on this being an appropriate answer. He grinned in response—an overbearing gesture that made my skin crawl, though I managed to hide my response well, as I always did—and turned back to one of the other men present to continue with whatever they had been speaking of before stopping to ask my opinion.

Whenever I attended a ball, a huge crowd always huddled around me, and that crowd usually consisted of a fair number of young gentlemen. However, I had made few friends in society, even over the course of three years. That meant that I had grown accustomed to speaking very little, even if I was the center of attention in these social gatherings.

My mother had impressed upon me the importance of having a beautiful appearance and speaking very little from an early age. I had spent hours dressing up for this particular occasion. The gown was among the best in my wardrobe—a powder-blue affair trimmed in lace, with a neckline that my maid had told me cheekily showed off my décolletage to its best advantage before I left this evening. Not that I cared too much about showing off anything. I found the men that surrounded me boring—Reginald Horne especially, and he was the one who hounded me the most.

“Would you care for a dance?” he asked as the rest of the gentleman in our gathering dispersed at the first signs of a lilting waltz, off to find young ladies to accompany them on the already-crowded dance floor.

I smiled politely. Every ounce of my being wanted to say no, but I knew what my mother would say—more importantly, what she would do—if I rejected Reginald right now. So, I nodded and let him take me by the hand and pull me out to the edge of the floor, slipping his hand around my trim waist.

“You’re always so quiet, Clara,” he said, using my given name. Again, my skin crawled. I hated how he had become so familiar with me lately, as if we were already calling on one another—or worse, betrothed.

“Am I?” I replied, forcing myself to respond this time, even though more than anything I wanted to walk away. I tried to imagine how he would look if I did so—crestfallen and confused as he stood alone on the dance floor. Or maybe he wouldn’t care at all. He would just go on and find the next young girl to target.

“Yes,” he said, giving my hand a gentle squeeze as we spun together through a line of other dancers. “So quiet. So timid. It’s one of the reasons I’m so drawn to you, you know. I always wonder what’s going through that head of yours.”

Oh, wouldn’t you like to know? I fixed a smile on my face and hoped that it came off as mysterious. His eyes bore into mine, and it made me more uncomfortable by the moment. Already I ran through every excuse that I could think of to get out of that ballroom and make my escape once the dance was over. Perhaps I could tell him that the crowd made me feel dizzy, or that I had come down with a sudden headache. Surely, he would believe that a woman of my “delicacy” would need a little room to breathe after being stuck in such a huge throng of people for so long a period of time.

“If you’ll excuse me… I feel just a little faint…” I stumbled over the words as the swells of the waltz came to a close and the people around us broke into polite applause, not accustomed much to lying but desperately needing to get away from Reginald. I thought that he would simply nod and let me go, or hoped that he would at least. However, the moment I spoke he got a concerned look on his face.

“Feeling faint? Are you quite all right, my dear Clara?”

“Oh, yes,” I said quickly. “Just a bit aroused from—you know—the ballroom, and all the people, and the dancing.”

“Perhaps a bit of fresh air will do you good?” Still not having released my hand after the dance, he now slipped it underneath his arm and proceeded to tug me after him as if I was some sort of stray pup. I almost cried out in surprise and only just barely managed to contain myself as he walked me back off the dance floor and to the edge of the gathered pack.

“Oh, there’s really no need…”

“Nonsense, my dear,” he said. “I’m worried about you. Let me make sure you’re all right.” Then he gave me a bland smile, to which I wanted to roll my eyes in proper abhorrence—a reaction I hadn’t felt before but which I was certain Reginald inspired within me.

The backdoor of the ballroom opened up to a wide garden. A few other couples it seemed had come out this way for air as well, so we weren’t alone— at least I could worry that we weren’t being improper in this outing. With Reginald still holding tight onto my arm, we made our way out onto a pathway that led through tall shrubberies. Lanterns hung from overhead lit our way, illuminating us with a pale-yellow glow. If I were here with anyone else, it would have been a magical scene. As it was, it all felt fake, like a bad theatrical production in which I was an unwilling participant.

Reginald led me along the path, and I kept my head down, hoping against hope that we would only spend a short time outside before he got bored and wanted to go inside and speak to his friends again. But something was different about the way he treated me tonight compared to all the other nights that we had been together. Loath though I was to admit it, he was more attentive to me somehow. All his attention was fixed on me, as if I was the only person at the ball. Had I been any other girl, or he any other bachelor, there probably would have been something romantic about the moment that we shared together. But the more time I spent in Reginald’s company, the more I knew that I didn’t enjoy the interest that he bestowed on me.

“A lovely night, isn’t it?” he said after a few minutes of silence had passed.

“Hmm,” I responded, for lack of anything better.

He tugged at my arm again, to stop me now, and came around so that he stood in front of me. I froze, acutely aware of the look on his face. It was eager anticipation now—more than just a bachelor enjoying a moment alone with a lady. Suddenly, a million thoughts rushed through my head, and none of them happy.

“Mister Horne…”

“Clara,” he said quickly, before I could finish what I was going to say. Then he kneeled on the ground before me, looking up, eyes glimmering in the lantern light. “I have spoken to your father and your mother, and now I am speaking to you. There is no girl more beautiful in London—no girl with a sweeter disposition. And so, I must ask… I am inclined to take you as my bride, if you will have me.”

Oh. And there it was. I looked down for a long moment. Then, before I knew what happened, I pulled my hands from his and I ran. I ran far, and fast, as quickly as I could, away from Reginald, and away from the ball. It was unlike anything I had ever done before in all my twenty-one years—I had always been one to follow my mother’s rules, society’s rules—but now, facing down the prospect of marrying Reginald Horne had struck such displeasure into me that I had simply begun sprinting, as quickly as I could, doing the best I couldn’t to trip over the flowing skirts of my ballgown.

“Clara!” Reginald called out from somewhere behind me, but I didn’t stop. There must have been others too who turned and looked as I continued on down the path, but I didn’t even look to see them. The only thing on my mind was getting away from there—finding some sort of freedom. I knew, beyond a doubt, that I wouldn’t find the life that I wanted being trapped with a man like Reginald Horne, forced to be his silent partner for the rest of my days.

I don’t know how long I had been running when I first saw the lights. They sparkled up in the sky above me, like shimmering stars, but they were bigger than stars. Then I realized that they were coming closer and closer, until they were at the edge of the garden, enormous lights pulsing bright blue.

Freezing where I stood, I stared at the lights for a long moment, transfixed. I didn’t notice the footsteps behind me, not until a hand touched down on my shoulder. Then, when I turned, a beautiful woman with dark skin smiled at me.

“Clara,” she said. “I have been watching you.”

Shrieking, I almost started to run again, but my legs failed me. Instead, I sank down into my skirts, and the woman leaned over me, taking hold of my chin and tilting it up so she could look down into my eyes.

“Yes, I have been watching you,” she said. “And I can tell that you don’t want this life. It isn’t the life for you. Don’t you want something better? A life where you can be surrounded by strength and beauty?”

Staring up at the woman, I felt my head go funny, as if I were being put under some sort of spell. All I could do was look into her eyes as she continued to speak to me.

“I know a place like that, Clara. A place where you can find a strong mate, unlike the weak men of this world. Men like Reginald. Wouldn’t you rather be in a world like that?”

The words surrounded me. They transfixed me. Yes, it seemed so wonderful, I thought. I had been running away from Reginald, but to find someone who could provide me with the strength that I wanted… the beauty that I wanted… Slowly, I nodded, my eyes sliding shut. The woman’s face was the last thing that I saw for the next eighty years.