London 1836

Miss Lucy Donoghue sighed happily to herself and settled back a little more against the cushions of the window seat in the library. Looking out of the window at the beautiful gardens below for a brief moment, she let her mind drift to thoughts about life and love, picturing herself as the heroine in the book she held in her hands.

Her parents would be horrified if they knew she was reading such a book, considering these novels to be both unorthodox and entirely unhelpful to a young woman of quality.

Lucy could not agree.

The books opened up a world far beyond the trappings of society, where one could find someone of worth who sought love over expectation. They told her that matrimony could happen between two individuals who held a deep and long-lasting love for each other.

It was certainly not what she saw in her own parents’ marriage. There might be affection of sorts, but nothing akin to love existed between them. Her father, the Earl of Withington, held a great deal of power within society. For whatever reason, he had a shrewd mind and could accomplish wonders within his business dealings, which garnered him a great deal of respect from the gentlemen within his acquaintance. His wife—Lucy’s mother—had the ability to look down her nose at almost anyone, even those above her own title, to the point that a great many ladies sought her favor. Lucy had heard it said on more than one occasion that to have Lady Withington’s favor meant that you were accepted within society.

Lucy, for herself, had very little interest in the subject. She attended balls and other events with her parents with good grace, but much preferred to spend her time in quiet pursuits, such as reading or discussing what she had read with anyone willing to engage with her. She had heard her mother exclaim that she had never wished for a bluestocking for a daughter, yet Lucy had not found herself caring one whit.

She was the second child, with the first, her brother Jonathan, already married and settled. Of course, he was the apple of her parents’ eyes, especially because he had done as he was expected and married well. Their father had sent him to the country with his wife, giving them one of his many holdings as a wedding present. In due course, Jonathan would inherit the earl’s title and take on all of his responsibilities.

Lucy had never been close to him. He had always been willing to do what he was asked, whereas she wished for more. She still remembered the day their mother had pressed a certain young lady’s suit onto Jonathan. On that day, she had known in her heart that her brother would marry within the year—and so it had come to pass. Jonathan had married Lady Victoria Bentson within a few months, and now, after a year, had already produced the heir to the earl’s title.

Jonathan was everything she was not: proper, compliant, and entirely respectable. She was not particularly good at the pianoforte, she shunned needlework, and she attempted to further her own knowledge through reading and discussion.

No one wants a bluestocking for a wife, she thought to herself, recalling her mother’s words and ignoring the sharp twist in her heart at the memory.

Sighing to herself, Lucy picked up her book from her lap and snuggled back against the cushions, propping the novel up on her knees. Here, hidden away in the window seat, she was able to enjoy her love of prose without anyone interrupting her. Her parents had, on many occasions, sought her out, though they had never been able to find her hidden amongst the curtains in the library. Thankfully the housekeeper had something of a soft spot for Lucy, and so never once told her parents where she might be, even if she was fully aware of it.

“This cannot go on much longer, Charles!”

Her mother’s shrill voice reached Lucy’s ears, making her jump with surprise. Slowly closing the book, she wondered whether to pull open the curtains and announce her presence, but then her parents would know one of her favorite hiding places and all would be undone.

Instead, Lucy remained entirely still, thinking that she might stop up her ears with her fingers. She did not want to eavesdrop, did not want to hear her parents’ private business, which was not hers to know.

“Whatever shall we do with her, Charles? Did you see her at the ball last evening?”

Lucy swallowed, nerves beginning to flurry through her stomach. They were discussing her. Her cheeks warmed at the thought of the last ball she had attended with her parents. Her mother had caught her deep in discussion with two other gentlemen, talking about the merits of the Scottish Poor Law in relation to the English law. What had made it worse was that both gentlemen, while titled, had been of a lower standing than her father, and Lucy knew she was expected to marry either within a similar rank or, preferably, higher.

“She is becoming wild!” her mother screeched as Lucy heard her father slam the door with his usual lack of consideration. “Discussing the Poor Law, discussing poverty, and the workhouse! That is not the kind of subject a young lady needs to talk about. She should be fluttering her fan and seeking to ensure her dance card is full.”

“Did she not dance at all?” her father asked, his voice grave. “I can scarcely believe that. Lucy is one of the most beautiful and most eligible young women at such events.”

“She did dance some,” her mother replied slowly. “But her beauty and eligibility mean nothing, Charles, not when she is so lacking in other ways.”

Lucy’s grip tightened on her book, her fingers growing white as she forced her anger back under control. She had no need to simper and smile, since none of the young men her parents favored was of any interest to her. In fact, she considered them all quite dull! They looked at her as though she were simply some kind of adornment, one they could wear on their arm, but care very little about.

No, she did not want that kind of man for a husband. Instead, she sought someone who actually had some semblance of character, someone who appreciated her desire for knowledge and wish to better herself. She needed a husband with whom she could talk, a husband who enjoyed spending time in her company instead of simply expecting her to turn up to societal events with him.

Love? She smiled softly, her parents’ voices fading into the background. Perhaps love, and if not love, then certainly affection, for she was sure that affection could, and would, grow to love.

Lucy was determined not to ever allow herself to marry someone who had utterly no regard for her, nor she for him. That kind of marriage would only turn out to be similar to the bond her parents had, a bond that was brittle and liable to snap at any moment. Her lip curled with distaste.

She was more than aware that her father had a few mistresses throughout their marriage, for he often shouted it at her mother when he drank too much whiskey. No, her parent’s marriage was a decidedly unhappy one, and certainly not one Lucy sought for herself.

“I do have a friend that would be a fine match for Lucy,” her father said slowly, his voice suddenly capturing her attention again. “I know he is keen to wed once more, but no one has caught his eye as yet.”

Her mother snorted. “And you really think Lucy might be the one to do so?”

“As it happens, the gentleman is interested in some kind of partnership with me.”

Lucy gripped her book tighter and tighter as the seconds ticked on. Surely he was not about to suggest that she be pushed into another man’s arms as some kind of business agreement.

“Then you think Lucy might wed him, and secure your partnership?” her mother asked quietly. “Who is this man? That does not make sense, Charles.”

“Of course it does,” her father blustered, sounding both irritated and angry that his wife had questioned him. “Have you not just finished telling me that Lucy is struggling to find a suitor? Lord Hutton is quite desperate to be in partnership with me, I believe, and will do exactly as I ask, I am sure of it. He will take Lucy off our hands, make her more than respectable, and my holdings will be more than secure with his additional funding. What issues can you foresee, my dear?”

There was silence as Lucy held back her shriek of refusal and despair. She clenched her fists and pressed one to her mouth; tears began to roll unchecked down her cheeks.

“And if she does not agree?” her mother asked, a worried ring to her voice. “What then?”

Her father chuckled. “She will have no choice but to agree. Our stubborn, rebellious daughter is about to realize that she will do as she is told, or she will be out in the cold. She will lose all respectability and, without funds, what exactly is she to do?”

Clapping her hands together, her mother let out a squeal of glee. “Wonderful! It is about time that girl learns her place.”

“I shall speak to Hutton as soon as possible,” her father finished, his footsteps carrying him across the floor. “Shall we, my dear?”

Lucy kept silent until the sounds of their footsteps died away, leaving her entirely alone once more. Putting her head in her hands, she allowed the pain and hurt she felt bubble to the surface as fresh tears began to fall. Her parents had, unwittingly, alerted her to their intentions, but she had never expected them to be so cruel. Was she really so much of a burden that they would push her onto Lord Hutton, a man almost the same age as her father?

No.

Lucy dried her eyes and lifted her chin, staring out of the window. She would not allow this to happen. She could not. Now that she knew exactly what her parents intended, she would have time to try and find a way out.

Unfortunately, her mind was so cluttered and her emotions so fraught that she could do nothing more than stare out into the gardens, the book slowly falling from her fingers and landing with a bump on the floor.