Prologue
London, 1806
Marcus Balfour, Marquess of Althorn and heir to the Duke of Elsingham, stared at his father in growing horror. His betrothal had always been a sore subject between them. The duke was from a different generation, a time when arranged marriages for the sake of furthering finances or social gain were the norm. He had never been able to understand Marcus’ reticence when it came to marrying the young woman he’d been affianced to while still too young to understand the meaning of the word marriage, much less the reasons for which it should be undertaken. Marcus hardly considered himself to be a romantic, yet the notion of marrying solely for the benefit of the family coffers left him cold and uneasy. That was bad enough, but what his father was asking now was beyond even that.
“I refuse,” Marcus stated firmly. His tone was emphatic. For once, when it came to the subject of Miss Jane Barrett, he intended to stand up for himself entirely. In this instance, it wasn’t only for himself but for her as well. At one and twenty, he was still far too young to be married. She was just shy of fourteen if he remembered correctly, and still looked very much like a child. The last time he’d seen her, only the summer before, she’d been playing with dolls. The very idea of marrying a girl so young turned his stomach. While there were men who would not balk at such a thing and who were, in fact, more attracted to younger girls and the younger the better, he was not one of them.
“You cannot refuse. Mr. Barrett and I have discussed it at length in letters! We both feel it has been delayed too long already!”
“How can it be delayed too long when the girl is not even out of the school room? She is too young to be married. For that matter, I am too young to be married!” Marcus demanded of his father. “You are wrong. Both of you are wrong. This is archaic and I will not be a part of it!”
His father waved his hand dismissively. “Girls are fine to be married so young! They don’t have the same sort of needs that men do that require living a bit before settling into marriage! The younger you marry, the more likely you are to have many healthy children to carry on the family line.”
“Sons,” Marcus corrected. “You could not care less whether or not we have healthy children… only healthy sons to carry on the name. Your morals may permit it, but mine will not! I will not force myself on a child for the sake of conception and the continuation of our apparently corrupt line!”
The older man ran his hands through his hair in frustration and spoke from between clenched teeth, his anger evident in every gesture. “I’m not happy about it either, really. This girl has no rank and only the most limited of connections socially. She’s barely considered gentry! But needs must, my son! Financially, we had no other choice but to agree to the match. It is to our benefit to keep Barrett happy!”
“You had no other choice, Father!” Marcus had rarely openly defied his father. He’d certainly never raised his voice at the man. Yet they were shouting, the both of them. “I have choices and I will not be forced to wed a child!”
The duke sighed heavily and settled into his chair. “It’s Barrett who is pushing for the marriage. He wants the girl out of his home so that he can wed again. Apparently, his bride-to-be is less than pleased at the notion of having a nearly grown stepdaughter in the house. She feels that the servants will be divided in their loyalty to her if they are still pandering—her words, mind you! I have it in a direct quote from Barrett himself—to her predecessor. If you don’t wish to consummate the marriage until she is older, fine. Wed her, set her up in a house in the country and continue sewing your wild oats in the city. Discreetly, of course,” the duke suggested. “There’s no reason marriage should interfere with your living your life just as you please. In truth, we’d have more readily available funds and you could, if you chose, live it up quite right!”
Marcus couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had no particular affection for Jane Barrett. In truth, they hardly knew one another beyond exchanging greetings when both families were gathered in the same location, but that didn’t mean he lacked a certain degree of sympathy for her. A more unpleasant, cold-hearted and tight-fisted man than William Barrett he’d never encountered. It was evident in the way he treated the girl that he harbored no great affection for his daughter. As for their impending marriage, she was locked into the same contract he was by their managing parents, and by virtue of being female, had even fewer options available to her. “Lock her away to rusticate in the country? Marry her and abandon her immediately? Is no one else capable of seeing just how grossly unfair this is to Miss Barrett?”
The duke made a pshawing sound. “Since when did you care so much for her feelings? Normally, you can’t even be bothered with her!”
“Because she’s a child!” Marcus protested. “I know nothing about children, much less one that I find myself betrothed to! I will not do it. I will not be some monster who weds a child bride and then locks her away somewhere while I rut my way through society.”
“This isn’t some ridiculous novel by that Radcliffe woman!” the duke snapped. “This is about our lands, Marcus, our tenants and all those who depend upon us for their livelihoods. Can you imagine the shame if we were to begin selling off parcels of it? All of society would know that we are in dun territory!”
“Where we’ve landed precisely because you and your own father chose to marry unwisely and then philander your way through the ton!” Marcus retorted hotly. It was a well-known fact that his grandfather had married a penniless woman for love. That love had faded quickly in the face of his infidelity and gambling, but the pennilessness had remained a constant thorn in his grandparents’ tumultuous marriage. She’d left him eventually, and her children as well, and fled to Spain with her lover. As far as scandals went, even fifty years on, it was still whispered about. His own father was no better, having married a woman with a small annuity and then living in excess of it as if he’d filled the family coffers to overflowing. With his mother gone, then his stepmother having sought an early grave via laudanum, ostensibly by accident, and now a new stepmother on the horizon, one with apparently very outlandish taste, their financial ruin was a forgone conclusion.
“I tell you, we’ve no choice!” his father snapped. “Barrett is threatening to have the contract dissolved if we do not come up to snuff, Marcus. He feels the girl is of a marriageable age and as he is her father, we’ve no right to gainsay him. Do I need to remind you what the financial situation of this family was before we made the agreement with him? If we have to pay back what has already been given much less forfeit the windfall that is due us upon the marriage and again with the birth of an heir, then we’ll all be in the Fleet together!”
Marcus rose to his feet. “I will not force some terrified child to the altar. I’ve consented to wed her, committed myself to it, and I shall do so when she is of an appropriate age. Not before!”
“You will do as you are told!” the old man shouted, a vein protruding in his forehead as his face purpled with rage.
Marcus’ own anger had reached the boiling point, as well. The unfairness of it all, of having his life mapped out for him by a man who couldn’t have cared less for him, to essentially be bartered off—a title with a pulse for a pot of money—sickened him. That was bad enough, but to expect him to force a girl still in the schoolroom to marry was beyond villainy.
“This entire debacle is repulsive! I will not marry her. The thought of it is positively repugnant and I will not be a part of it!” Marcus’ voice had risen with indignation and fury at the injustice of at all. He turned on his heel and strode toward the door of the old man’s study, ready to march out of the house in a storm of righteousness. But when he opened the study door and stepped into the hall, he found himself staring into the round, youthful face of his betrothed. She appeared stricken—pale and wide-eyed with trembling lips.
One awful thought circled in his brain as he looked at her. What had she heard?
“Miss Barrett—” Marcus stopped short. There was little he could say to mitigate the damage already wrought.
“Lord Althorn,” she said quietly, “My apologies for arriving earlier than anticipated. The roads were far better than anyone could have imagined. How terribly inconvenient it must be for you.”
It was obvious from her expression and from the chilled tone of her voice that she’d heard what he’d said, or at least some small and very damning portion of it. Any attempt to rectify the matter would likely only make it worse. What could he say to her after all? “Forgive me, but I must go. I cannot stay.”
“To do so would no doubt be utterly repugnant, would it not?” Her reply was uttered softly, her voice presenting as far more womanly than the rest of her. With her round face and pudgy figure, she looked exactly as a young girl should, except for her eyes. They were not only wise beyond her years, but also haunted. The pale blue held a wealth of sadness and quiet resolve. Whatever her life was at home, it was not easy. Her father was a difficult man in the best of circumstances and Marcus doubted very seriously that he offered Miss Barrett anything resembling affection. “I release you of the only duties I have the authority to bid you freedom from. Any social obligation to tend to me as your guest, Althorn, may be considered discharged. You should carry on as if I weren’t even here.”
Marcus flinched. She was wise, insightful and had a pointed wit that struck with surgical precision. “What you heard—it is not what you think, Miss Barrett. Trust me when I say that my refusal to meet my father’s wishes today is in both our best interests.”
She dropped her gaze to the floor, but her tone when she spoke did not match the subservience of her pose. It was cool and sharp. “I have never labored under the assumption, Lord Althorn, that what I wanted or what was in my best interests was pertinent to the situation. It is a hallmark of your elevated station by virtue or your sex and title that you are permitted to question authority and challenge the status quo. I cannot.”
Those were the most words she’d ever spoken to him, he realized. He’d had to insult her, albeit unintentionally, and strike her to her very soul with humiliation before she’d ever been bothered to acknowledge him.
Marcus stepped forward until they were standing only a few feet apart. “I am not attempting to renege on the arrangement between our families. But I will not wed you when you are still a child. I would never forgive myself for it.”
She looked up at him then and her gaze pierced him, seeming to see right through to the heart of him. It was as if she could see every flaw inside him. It was not the first time she had looked at him thusly, and if they were ever to wed as their families had long since agreed, it would likely not be the last. “I understand that my appearance is not pleasing to you. I understand why you think me a child, Lord Althorn. Yet, you are the one standing in your father’s study, stamping your feet and demanding to have your own way in things. I agree that the existing arrangement demands we marry when I am still too young in years to be a bride. I would also posit that you will still be too lacking in maturity at that time to be a husband.”
There was no argument against that as it was both true and not. Still, he’d managed to wound not only her feelings but also her pride. She’d earned a bit of indulgence if she wanted a pound of flesh from him. “I have some things that require my immediate attendance, Miss Barrett. Excuse me. Whatever you heard here today, I promise it is not what you think. And whatever comes, it has to do with doing what is right, and not avoiding our shared destiny.”
With that, he turned on his heel and left, knowing that he would not be returning any time soon.
*
Jane watched her betrothed hasten from his father’s home. He left so quickly that the door didn’t even latch properly behind him. The wind caught it, whipping it open again. The butler immediately set it right, but the damage was done. The wake of Lord Althorn’s departure and the subsequent rush of cool air that had entered had ruffled the vase of flowers on the hall table, sending petals and leaves cascading down onto the inlaid tabletop. Jane watched them fall and felt a strange kinship to those poor flowers. She felt as if many of her own petals had been sacrificed in their bloodless but still damaging exchange.
There had never been any false hope for her that theirs would be a love match. In fact, she had never anticipated that her betrothed would have any wish to marry her. It had been drilled into her almost since birth that her father had used his money to procure a match for her that would result in position and social cache for him. She was the sacrificial goat that would bring him into the highest reaches of society where he longed to be. What it might do for her or to her was entirely incidental. Of course, it was one thing to accept that her betrothed might be less than eager. It was another entirely to face the knowledge that he not only wasn’t eager, but was, in fact, completely unwilling. It scalded her already singed pride, adding greater insult upon pre-existing injury.
Repugnant, he’d said. That word wounded her to the quick. Her looks had never been remarkable. At best, she’d been called pretty by those who were feeling charitable, but never beautiful. Her figure remained stubbornly trapped in childhood. Round faced, flat chested, with no waistline in sight, she looked closer to girlhood than womanhood though the opposite should have been true. At nearly fourteen, other girls her age were beginning to wear their hair up and dress in lovely gowns. She still had braids and looked like a child. Was it any wonder he was so repulsed by the idea of marrying her?
It was of no consequence that she’d harbored the most tender of feelings for him, even if she hadn’t expected them to be returned. She couldn’t allow it to be. Handsome as he was, as charming as she’d seen him be with other people while always being stiff and formal with her, she’d only ever felt shy and embarrassed in his presence. Now, only the embarrassment remained. Humiliation, she corrected. He loathed her and the idea of being wed to her left him utterly repulsed. What on earth was she to do with herself in such a circumstance? She could not wed him, not knowing that.
At least hearing his awful admission had freed her from the painful worship she’d harbored of him. He hadn’t simply fallen from the pedestal she’d had him upon, but leapt from it with abandon. The shyness that had always kept her frozen in his presence had vanished in the face of that and she’d finally managed to speak coherently, if rather scathingly, to him.
Her father entered then, the butler closing the door softly behind him. He frowned when he saw her, but that was his typical response whenever she was in his line of sight. Immediately averting his gaze and addressing the butler as if she were not even present, he demanded, “Was that Althorn leaving?”
Riggs, the duke’s staunch and loyal butler nodded. “Yes, Mr. Barrett, sir. Lord Althorn had to depart somewhat hastily.”
Her father turned his cold, sharp gaze on her. “Did you speak to him?”
“We spoke, Father,” she answered evenly, not revealing the unpleasant nature of the exchange.
“About what?” he snapped. “Answer me, girl! I’m tired of this nonsense!”
“I believe,” she offered hesitantly, “that the Marquess of Althorn is not pleased at the prospect of our coming marriage. It is my understanding that he and the duke have disagreed quite vehemently about it. Perhaps the duke will be able to provide more insight.”
Her father looked at her with disdain. “Can’t say I blame the boy. You’ve done little enough to make yourself even remotely palatable to the opposite sex.”
“What should I have done then? Painted myself like a harlot?” she asked. Normally, she would never have spoken disrespectfully to him. But it was a rare day to have her heart broken and her lingering pride crushed in one fell swoop.
Her father said nothing, just turned and walked away. It was not an uncommon occurrence. He despised her and always had. Jane glanced over to the butler whose normally stern expression had softened into something akin to pity.
Holding her tears of humiliation at bay, Jane kept her voice calm and composed as she said, “I believe I will sit in the garden for a while, Riggs, if anyone should ask for me.” If anyone could be bothered to care.
“Certainly, Miss Barrett,” he said. “I will see to it they are informed if anyone should ask.”
Jane turned then and headed toward the doors at the back of the corridor that would lead outside into the small garden that butted against the mews. No bigger than her own bedchamber, the tall hedges still offered more privacy than she typically found inside the house. Her father would badger her at the behest of her soon-to-be stepmother. The duke would be all that was polite, but he was so stiff it was never pleasant to be in his company.
Instead, she utilized the only escape that was available to her. Despite the cold, despite the burning pain that had blossomed in her chest and the withering of her paltry confidence in the face of Marcus Balfour’s clear displeasure at their match, she retreated into a world where it didn’t matter that she was plain. It didn’t matter in the least that she was still as flat chested as a boy. She lost herself within the pages of a novel.