“You did what?” Scarlett’s shout was so loud it echoed throughout the entire downstairs. Ruth, her arms filled with clean linens, came rushing in. One glance between Scarlett and her mother and she just as quickly turned on her heel and hurried out.

“Well there is no need to be so dramatic,” Lady Edgecombe frowned. “A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice.”

Scarlett stared incredulously at her mother. Thank you? It would be a miracle if she didn’t leap across the table and strangle her! All of this time her mother had known about Owen… and she’d never spoken a word.

“What do you mean you kept me from marrying him? What did you do?”

“You needn’t look at me like that. I did you a favor, darling.”

“Mother…”

Lady Edgecombe toyed with the end of her veil. “Oh, very well, although I don’t know why you are making such a fuss. All I did was point Lord Sherwood in your direction. He did the rest. Really, darling. This is old news.”

It certainly explained why Rodger had taken such a sudden and swift interest in her right before the beginning of the Season. If he’d waited a few days, a week at the most, he could have had his choice of debutantes, but instead he’d focused entirely on her. Scarlett had not given it much thought at the time, but now she realized the timing was too perfect to have been a coincidence.

“You knew Owen and I were planning on running away together at the end of the summer to get married, didn’t you?”

“But of course I did.” Lady Edgecombe rolled her eyes. “Just as I knew that if I forbade it you would have run away with that boy just to spite me. You always were a stubborn child. So instead I found you a man who was suitable and your father offered to double your dowry if Lord Sherwood made certain you were engaged before we left for London.” She paused. “My only regret is that I couldn’t find someone of a higher rank, but then I was pressed for time.”

All of the poems Rodger had recited to her. All of the flowers and the pretty trinkets and the compliments designed to turn her head. They’d all been a lie. Every last one of them.

She knew there had been no love lost between her and Rodger in the end, but she’d at least thought they loved each other in the beginning.

How stupid she’d been. 

Closing her eyes, Scarlett remembered the very first time she’d met Rodger. It had been the day after she had dinner with Owen’s parents. When her young, naïve heart had been at its most vulnerable and she’d been ripe for the picking. Her own parents had unexpectedly returned from London three days early. Even more unexpectedly they had announced they were throwing an impromptu ball. ‘A belated birthday celebration for your dear father’ her mother had told her as she dashed about the house ordering servants this way and that. ‘Only forty or fifty of our closest friends. Think of it as practice, darling, for your Season debut’.

Scarlett should have known something was amiss when her mother asked her to wear the gown she’d been saving for her actual Season debut. A beautiful, floaty confection of white muslin with a thin overlay of pink taffeta, it had highlighted her ivory complexion and shimmering blonde hair to perfection. Her only accessories had been a pair of pearl earrings and a matching choker that Ms. Atwood had tied at the nape of her neck with a pretty velvet ribbon.

For the first half of the ball she was uncharacteristically quiet, acting more like a shy wallflower than a spoiled debutante with the world at her fingertips. Try as she might she could not stop thinking about Owen. More than anything she wished she could have sent him an invitation. How she would have loved to be swept across the floor in his strong arms for everyone to see! But as she looked around the crowded ballroom, she knew he would never fit in here. Amidst the men in their fancy tailcoats and the women in their beautiful gowns he would stick out like a sore thumb.

Scarlett bit her bottom lip. If she married Owen, she would never be able to attend another ball. If she married him, she would never get to make her debut. If she married him, she would never again be accepted by polite society.

When he’d asked for her to elope those things had seemed so inconsequential. Why, she’d hardly given them a passing thought. But now, surrounded by her peers, they seemed to be all she could think about.

On a heavy sigh she stood up from the chair she’d been occupying for the better part of an hour and started towards the refreshment table, intent on sneaking a glass of champagne while Ms. Atwood’s back was turned. Halfway there she suddenly stopped, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling.

Glancing back over her shoulder she found herself arrested by the greenest pair of eyes she had ever seen. The belonged to a young man who looked vaguely familiar, although if they had ever met she could not recall. He was dancing with a pretty brunette in a pale blue dress, but he was staring at Scarlett so intently she could not help but blush.

When the waltz ended he joined her by the refreshment table. Picking up a handful of purple grapes he offered her one, but she declined with a demure shake of her head.

“Suit yourself,” he said before he pulled a grape off and popped it into his mouth. Immediately he grimaced and shook his head, lips pursing. “Did you know these were so sour?”

“Yes,” Scarlett admitted, biting back a laugh at his expression.

“And you didn’t warn me?” His tone was stern but the grin lurking in the corners of his mouth revealed he wasn’t as serious as he was pretending to be. “That’s rather wicked of you. Lord Sherwood, my lady. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Absently picking up a glass of champagne from the half dozen sitting on a silver tray, she twirled the delicate stem between her fingers. “Lady Scarlett,” she said with a coquettish tilt of her head.  She had not come to the ball with the intention of flirting, but Lord Sherwood was so handsome with his flashing green eyes and wavy blond hair and charming grin that she couldn’t seem to help herself. He looked older by at least ten years, but instead of being a deterrent his age made him seem wise and worldly.

“Have we met before?” he asked, rubbing his chin. “You look very familiar.”

“I thought the same thing when I first saw you staring at me.” Tilting her flute of champagne back, she took a tiny sip. “But I do not believe so.”

His grin widened. “Was I staring?”

“Quite blatantly.” She waited for him to compare her hair to a yellow tulip, but instead he merely held out his arm.

“Then I must have had a good reason. Will you dance with me, Lady Scarlett?”

“I… Yes,” she said, surprising herself. “Yes, I will.”

Ignoring the uncomfortable tingling of guilt she felt as she lightly rested her hand on his forearm – after all, what was the harm in one little waltz? – she allowed him to lead her out into the middle of the ballroom floor…

 

When Scarlett finally opened her eyes, she saw everything with a renewed clarity, including her mother.

“I am going for a walk,” she said quietly. “When I return, I should like for you not to be here.”

“That’s perfectly fine.” Lady Edgecombe gave an airy shrug. “I was planning on going into the village anyways. I need a new hat.” 

“You misunderstand. I do not want you to leave for a little while, I want you to leave completely. Go back to London, Mother.”

“Go back – go back to London?” she sputtered. “But I have only just arrived!”

“And now it is time for you to go home.” Scarlett was surprised by how calm she was, especially given everything she had just learned. Surely she should have been throwing something or screaming at someone. Instead she felt more tranquil than she had in days. Perhaps even weeks.

Her mother may have had a hand in her past, but she refused to let her interfere with her future. What was done was done. She had made her choices, and she had lived with the consequences for long enough. Rodger was gone. He could not hurt her anymore. It was time to forgive him, to forgive her parents, and – most importantly – to forgive herself.

From this moment forward Scarlett was determined to do what she should have done when she was a young girl of sixteen: follow her heart, no matter where it led her. In order to do that she needed to let go of the things – and the people – who were holding her back.

“I know you only want what is best for me. You always have. But marrying someone because of their title or how many estates they own is not what is best. It never was. I wish I had known that before I married Rodger. But perhaps… perhaps I needed to marry him if only to realize what was truly important,” she said thoughtfully. 

Lady Edgecombe looked at her daughter as though she’d just told her the sky was green. “Do not be ridiculous. Why else would you marry someone if not for their title?”

“For love,” Scarlett said simply. “For nothing less than outrageous, inconvenient, ridiculous love.”

“Love,” her mother said with an uncharacteristic snort. “Love does not buy you jewelry. Love does not keep you clothed in expensive gowns. Love is nothing more than a fairytale the poor spin to make themselves feel better about their lives. You have been given another chance, Scarlett! Do not squander it.”

“I don’t intend to.” Walking around the end of the table, she leaned down and pressed a warm kiss to her mother’s brow. “I will come visit you once you’re settled in Southampton.”

Staring straight ahead Lady Edgecombe did not reply and with a small sigh Scarlett left the breakfast room.

Wind teased her hair as she wandered down to the pond. Slanting a hand across her brow to block the bright gleam of the sun, she fished a handful of breadcrumbs left over from last evening’s dinner out of her pocket and tossed them into the water. With an excited quack and a flap of their wings the ducks came swimming over, their heads bobbing as they dove after the stale crumbs.

“Hungry little buggers, aren’t you?” she said with a laugh. Distracted by the ducks she didn’t notice the person coming up behind her until it was too late. With a hard shove to the small of her back they sent her into the pond.

She hit the surface with a loud splash. The sheer coldness of it sucked the air from her lungs, the lack of oxygen disorienting her as she struggled to keep her head about the murky water. But the pond was deep and her clothes were heavy and she quickly found herself sinking.

The ducks scattered in alarm as she coughed and kicked and clawed. She tried to cry out for help but when she opened her mouth foul-tasting water rushed in, making her gag and choke as she slipped back beneath the surface.

Down, down, down she sank, helpless against the dragging weight of her skirts.

As she was pulled into the dark depths of oblivion Scarlett did not think about all of the ballrooms she had danced across. She did not think about the beautiful gowns she had worn. She did not think about all of the plays she had seen or the dinner parties she had attended.

Instead, as inky blackness descended upon her, she thought only of Owen.