Anna Hoskins had the kind of face that one looks at and thinks, “lovely girl,” and then immediately dismisses. Not because she is not beautiful, but because it is the kind of quiet beauty that is enhanced by a vibrant personality. With Anna, her fires were banked and smoldered deeply—not prone to flashes of flames. But when she was excited, her face radiated fire and light that was unmatched by anyone who was not her equal in intelligence, humor, and goodwill.

Dorothy, Anna’s younger sister, however, was considered the great beauty of the family with her blonde curls, round pixy face, and large expressive eyes. Anna was darker, taller, and her features were strong and almost masculine. But she was every inch a fine woman.

Anna and Dorothy were the daughters of Frederick Hoskins, the Viscount Repington—their mother was deceased. The Viscount was one of the current directors of the East India Company and was abroad in India at least six months out of the year, so the two sisters relied almost exclusively upon each other.

Anna was at her desk in the library where she often spent her time with her beloved books on architecture—both classical and modern. And, when she was not reading, she was drawing, drafting plans and elevations, or creating elaborate structural details in ink sketches.

Dorothy burst into the room wearing a yellow summer dress, carrying an armful of flowers “Just look,” she exclaimed, “Are they not lovely? I really do believe this has been the best summer of all for my flower garden. Where shall I put these? Would you like some for your room? Or in here? I have so very many.”

Anna laughed. “They are, indeed, lovely. But keep them for the dining room and perhaps the drawing room where we can see them together to brighten our evenings. Too bad Papa is not here to enjoy them with us.”

“Any letters from him today?” Dorothy asked.

“I am afraid not, dear. He writes so seldom. And India is so very far away. The mail is so slow Papa sometimes arrives home even before his letters do.”

“Well, I shall take your suggestion,” Dorothy said, “and have Warrick distribute these flowers between the dining and drawing rooms. They shall be so lovely and will brighten both rooms.”

She turned to leave but stopped and asked, “Have you seen Percy recently?”

Anna blushed, and said, “No, he has not stopped by in quite some time. I think he only stops by when he is riding this way and wants some tea.”

“Surely not. He comes to see you, is that not so?”

Anna shook her head. “I believe he has his heart set on our dear friend, Maria—although she denies it.”

“Nonsense, I feel certain it is you he delights in.”

“Now that is what is nonsense,” Anna insisted.

Dorothy dashed over to where Anna was working. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I am copying out a Greek temple,” Anna replied.

“Why do you do these things? Whatever for? You are never going to build anything. It is quite useless. Women are not architects or builders. You should be studying the pianoforte or drawing. Something useful that will attract Percy more than your endless drawings of buildings, old temples, and floor plans.”

“My dear, I do not know how you can berate me with you, on your hands and knees, digging around in your garden? Who is that going to attract? You know Papa has high hopes for an advantageous marriage for you.”

Dorothy danced around the room, playing at throwing flowers at suitors. “Yes, he wants to take me to London for the season when he returns from Inja. Thinks it is so-o-o easy to find a suitable husband. He sees it like shopping. One store sells brides and another store sells grooms.”

Anna laughed. “Ah, that it were so easy. But I have to say, I am not in that great of a rush to be married. I like my freedom.”

Dorothy danced back to Anna and bent over her. “Unless Mr. Percy Garvey was to dance your way.”

Now Anna blushed, as that was what she secretly desired. “Oh, Dorothy, there is never an opportunity for us to dance. No one has given a ball or even an evening dance for ages. Has there even been one this year? I think not.”

“Then perhaps we should give one,” Dorothy suggested.

Anna took charge, as the eldest sister, and said, “Not without father present. You know we cannot.”

“But when he comes home then?” Dorothy asked hopefully.

“We will ask him then.”

“But when will he return? It seems he has been gone forever!”

Anna sighed as she stood and placed her watercolor brush in a glass of water to soak. “One never knows with Father. He comes and goes as he must for the good of the company.”

Dorothy went to one of the large library windows and gazed wistfully over the rolling hills outside and mused, “I do miss Mother. She would have been so good at directing us to find suitable young men to court us.”

“I miss her too.”

Dorothy wheeled around and said, “I must get these flowers in water or they will wilt away like I feel I am doing these lazy summer afternoons.”

“And which young gentleman would you wish to court you?” Anna asked.

“Why, His Lordship the Earl of Creassey, of course.”

Anna laughed, “But he is like our brother. We have known him and Maria forever.”

“Nonetheless, it is he who I should choose for my first dance partner—and perhaps my last,” she said and then danced out of the room.

Arnold Garvey, the Duke of Crauford paced his study as his property manager, Dirk Cooper, stood before him. The Duke waved a sheaf of papers in his hand. “This is totally unacceptable. Each month the total amount of collected rents continues to fall. Why is this? Are we losing tenants or are they not paying?”

“I am sorry to say, Your Grace, that these be hard times for the folks in Marlborough. A lot of the men be out of work due to the work on the canal being completed. Most workers laid off. There be no new jobs at present, and the womenfolk try to take up the slack by taking in gentlefolk’s washing, but there just not be enough to go around.”

“Then throw those who do not pay out! I will not have slackers in my buildings. The income to run this estate comes from rents. No rents—no income and we all suffer.”

“But Your Grace, these folks…”

“I do not care. I have my own troubles. I have mortgaged the estate up to the hilt and I have no wiggle room. I have a lazy, no good son and heir who thinks the world owes him a living and all he does is spend, spend, and spend. Damn the lazy lout.”

Arnold Garvey was as unlike his handsome son, Percy, as possible. Even though Arnold was not that old—not much more than fifty-years-of age—he had hard cold eyes, a roughly lined face, and walked with a limp from a fall off his horse while hunting in his youth. It seemed to sour him for the rest of his life, and he only became meaner and meaner with time.

“Then what would you have me do?” Dirk asked.

“Toss everyone who cannot pay onto the street. I have been thinking of tearing down those slums in any case. There are so many new opportunities these days I might, for example, partner with an industrialist to build a cotton mill on that prime land. Put the land to better use. Cotton is becoming king and it might solve all of my problems.”

“But the workers will need places to live, Your Grace, might you not consider that as well?”

“Hmm. Not a bad point.” Arnold threw the papers on his desk and stared at his manager. “But there will need to be a mill before there can be workers. I am up to Marlborough next week to see what I can arrange. Damn debt is driving me crazy. For now, do as I say. They pay up or out they go.”

“Your Grace,” Dirk said, touching his forehead in a salute. “Until next month then.” He turned and left the study, passing Percy, who was entering, as he left.

“There you are. Where have you been?” the Duke asked.

“Fishing with Harry,” Percy said. He leisurely strolled around his father’s study examining the family portraits.

“What am I to do with you? You do nothing of value for this family. Your mother despairs, I am aghast at your laziness. You are either going to have to get a job or find a wife with money. I cannot continue to support your idle lifestyle.”

Percy turned to his father leisurely and asked, “But what about the estate? Do we not have income from it? Certainly, with all this land and as the Duke of Crauford you must be at the top of the heap, no?”

Arnold threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “How many times do I have to tell you we are in debt? Our income is faltering and we must find new sources of income to survive.”

“But you have all that property in Marlborough. Certainly that must bring us a nice living.”

“If you ever paid any attention to what I told you, you would know that is no longer sufficient. Damn, boy, you must do something for this family or, I swear, I shall toss you out without a penny, and you can go and grub for yourself and see how the real world operates.”

“Oh, father dear, how you do exaggerate.”

“Just try me,” Arnold said slapping his hand on his desk.

“Very well then, perhaps I shall travel to London and scout around for a bride. There must be any number of available young ladies with substantial livings who would jump at the chance to marry the heir apparent to a Dukedom.”

“Land. You must find one with money but also land. That is what counts the most. Knowing you, you would run through a dowry in short order, but land can bring a steady income if properly handled.”

“Then why is our land not doing that?” Percy insisted.

Arnold was embarrassed and turned away. “Because your grandfather gambled and either sold or mortgaged much of our land. All we have that brings in any income are our properties in Marlborough. Unless you want to work what little land we have left and make something of that?”

“Like what?”

“Sheep. Cattle like Harry does. Grains, produce, any damn thing.”

“Me? Work the land? Are you crazy? I am to be a duke. I do not work.”

“Then you must marry money and soon. Am I understood?”

“Oh, Father… really.”