At the advanced age of eight, Lady Amarantha Vale announced to her elder sister, who was her closest companion, that she would not marry for wealth, title, or land.

“For what will you marry, then?” Emily replied.

“Love, of course,” Amarantha declared, adding, “Silly.” But she did not blame her sister for obtuseness. Emily had been betrothed since birth and had no choice in the matter. Obviously she hadn’t given it any thought.

Amarantha had. She had given it lots and lots of thought. Moreover, from the stories her father read to them about the great heroes of yore, she knew precisely which sort of man would steal her heart.

“He will be frightfully strong and fearsomely brave,” she said. “He will have blue eyes that sparkle like the sea, golden curls that shine like the sun, and shoulders so broad that he could carry a mountain upon them.”

“To support all of that magnificence he must also have legs like tree trunks,” Emily said, turning the page of the book their father had lent her that morning.

“Oh, yes,” Amarantha said, knowing her sister teased. But she never minded teasing when it was done lovingly. “He will be gentle and kind, too, especially to small children and animals, and always chivalrous with ladies. And he will be generous. He will give away his riches to anybody who needs them.”

“That will be impractical. How will your family acquire food and shelter?”

“With my dowry, of course. And when that is spent I will take in sewing projects, like Fanny Butterworth in the village does.”

“Sewing?” her sister said skeptically. “You don’t even like to embroider.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Amarantha said, blithely waving away the obstacle. “I will do whatever necessary so that we will be happy. Anyway, I will have some time to do those sorts of things when he is off leading his men to victories against the enemy.”

“The French, presumably.”

“And any other villain that crosses him. He will ride a magnificent white steed, which will gallop valiantly into battle. And he will enjoy making snowmen.”

“A horse making snowmen will be a sight to see, for sure.”

Amarantha laughed, flopped onto her back, and stared at the crisscrossing branches above, which were dotted with new green leaves unfurling from their winter’s repose. It was springtime and even the air sang of expectation. “He will travel all over the world and get into all sorts of wonderful scrapes and adventures.”

“Won’t you accompany him on these adventures?”

“When I’m able, for I will have infants to care for. We will have six children. But he will definitely accompany me on my adventures.”

“I think I am beginning to like this paragon.”

“Good. Because we will always prefer staying at home, so you must visit often, and our sisters too. And he will love his mother and father as much as I love mine.”

“It sounds like a fine plan, Amy.” Emily looked up from her book. “But you know that Papa will choose a husband for you, as he will for our sisters as well.”

“I will ask him not to.” Amarantha jumped up, scattering the grass braids she had fashioned with fingers full of energy. She stepped out from beneath the shading branches. Mama always said direct sunlight made her freckles even more numerous. But the warmth of the spring day felt so good and she was simply bubbling over with anticipation. Her bridegroom wouldn’t dislike a few freckles, after all; he would love her too much to care about that sort of thing. “I will choose him myself, and I will know him the moment I see him.”

“How?”

“By his smile and kind words and good deeds.”

“He sounds like a veritable Prince Charming.”

“He will not be a prince,” Amarantha said, stretching her arms out at her sides. The sun in her hair was like a wild dancing of flames. “He will be an angel. My angel. And I will love him and no other with all of my heart until the day that I die.” She twirled, faster and faster on bare feet, until the trees and grass and sunshine blurred.