CHAPTER 1
The Past
OakleyHall,TheDukeof Aycliffe Estate
September, 1853
Her parents had betrayed her.
It said something about her relationship with them that she wasn’t shocked by this. What angered her was she had not realized their intentions until this moment, when her mother, in her most smug tone, had announced that they had promised her to Lord Montfort, the Duke of Aycliffe’s heir.
“Well? Aren’t you happy, you ungrateful girl? What do you have to say about this, Josephine?”
Her mother’s voice, shrill and petulant, pierced through her shock.
Happy? No, she couldn’t say she was happy to be promised to a man she had never met, had seen only once from afar, and knew only by his reputation as a rake. The match may seemadvantageous—a rich, young, and reportedly good-looking heir to a dukedom. But it was not what she was looking for.
Hot and cold raced through her as she sank into the lovely settee embroidered with flowers. The sumptuous room she had been assigned at the Duke of Aycliffe’s estate disappeared along with her dreams of marrying for love. Of finding someone to love her. All she saw was a gilded cage. She had walked into a trap, and the door had slammed shut behind her.
The house party she had been glad to attend, as she thought it would give her a reprieve from the London season and a chance to visit one of England’s most famed gardens, now took on a sinister note. The entire reason for the party was to announce the engagement.
But why now? Her parents had promised her three seasons in which to find a suitable husband. This was just the second. And she was trying. She had cultivated every feminine grace that was required of a debutante. She attended every ball. Conversed and danced with every eligible gentleman. She had even been courted by a few…none that had turned her head or won her heart, but at least a couple of them she thought she could come to care about with time. Her father had refused to even entertain their suit.
Even as she pondered the question, the answer came to her. Of course her parents never had any intention of honoring their promise. They had just made it to ensure her cooperation—nay, her enthusiastic participation in the season. To make it easier to parade her through the ton until they could find someone to foist her upon. Someone to their liking, not hers. Someone they considered suitable and well connected. Without her knowledge, they had been auctioning her to the highest bidder. That’s all she was worth to them. A daughter was not as valuable as a son. A daughter could not inherit. Her only value to them was as a pawn for advantageous alliances.
And their criteria for what constituted an advantageous match differed greatly from hers. She didn’t care so much about titles as she did about character. Didn’t focus so much on money as she did on kindness.
She could never be happy with a rakehell of a husband. He would ignore her and shame her. How could she respect or love such a man? And if, by some pathetic flaw in her character, she was stupid enough to succumb to any tender feelings for such a man, he would only break her heart.
Either way, she would be unhappy. Forever. Marriage was until death. She had never known love in the twenty-one years of her life, but she believed it existed and had hoped to achieve the happy state of loving and being loved. Marriage was her only chance of having a loving home. But she wouldn’t get that if she married the wrong man. She had to try to untangle herself from this.
“I thought we had an agreement that you would give me three seasons in which to find a suitable husband.” She was proud her voice came out even and suitably composed.
“Bah,” her mother swatted the air with her hand, dismissing her concern as if it were an annoying fly. “As if you could ever do better. He’s the heir to a duke and a fine young man at that. You should be thanking us for arranging such a brilliant match for you. Lord Montfort is the catch of the season. Every debutante will be jealous of you.”
Josephine didn’t give a fig what other debutantes thought. But she saw the futility of arguing with her parents. They had achieved the biggest coup possible. Had secured the pinnacle of a grand alliance. Nothing short of a miracle would make them desist from this course.
She could always defy them, of course. No one could force her to walk down the aisle or say her vows.
Not in theory at least. There were other ways to force people against their wishes. What would her parents do if she took such a rebellious stance?
She shivered. At best, they would banish her to the most remote of their estates. If they felt sufficiently vengeful—and she feared were she to reject a future duke may provoke exactly that—they could go so far as to have her committed. It was so easy to have someone declared insane or hysterical.
She needed to tread carefully. Outright defiance was not an option. She had to be subtle and think. What if her intended canceled the engagement? Maybe he didn’t want this any more than she did. If she could convince him of their unsuitability, surely she would be held blameless, would she not?
“Of course, Mother,” she belatedly replied to her mother’s last comment. “Now, could I rest for a bit before dinner? I’m exhausted from traveling and want to look my best tonight when I meet my intended.”
This reply, uttered in a respectful and demure manner, seemed to satisfy her mother.
“You do that. I myself might rest for a bit. Just make sure your maid wakes you in time to get ready for dinner.”
With that, her mother turned and swept from the room, leaving behind the lingering ghost of her overpowering and utterly unsuitable perfume. The cloying scent was a perfect reflection of the unwelcome news—intrusive, oppressive, and impossible to ignore.
The walls were closing in on her. Contrary to what she told her mother, she had no intention of napping. She was too agitated for that. What she needed was fresh air and green vegetation. Flowers and nature. She always thought better outside.
Grabbing a shawl, she sneaked out of the room and into the freedom of the outdoors.
The late afternoon sunshine gilded the magnificent gardens of Oakleigh Hall, the ancestral estate of the Dukes of Aycliffe, highlighting their beauty and giving them an almost otherworldly appearance. They were empty at this hour, which suited her. She longed to enjoy them in solitude. To escape her problems by getting lost among the manicured hedges, cascading fountains and riotous flowerbeds. They welcomed her like a warm, perfumed embrace.
