Chapter One
"Icannot do it, Veronica. I simply cannot!"
Anthea heard her stepsister Poppy's anguished cry before she reached the morning room. She quickened her pace, her heart sinking with each step. When she pushed open the door, she found Poppy, face blotchy and wet with tears, collapsed in the arms of her eldest stepsister, Veronica.
"Whatever is the matter?" Anthea demanded, crossing the room swiftly to kneel beside them both.
Poppy lifted her tear-stained face. "Mama has declared she will no longer wait for us to secure matches of our own choosing. She intends to arrange marriages for both Veronica and me before season's end."
The words struck Anthea like a physical blow. "She what?"
"She made the announcement not a quarter hour ago," Veronica said quietly, though her hand trembled where it stroked Poppy's hair. "She has apparently been in correspondence with several gentlemen of her acquaintance."
"Gentlemen of her acquaintance," Anthea repeated, her voice flat. She knew precisely what sort of men those would be: wealthy enough to overlook a mediocre dowry, old enough to desire a young bride, and cruel enough to appeal to Beatrice's particular sensibilities. "Did she mention any names?"
Poppy shook her head miserably. "She said only that she would not allow us to end up like–" she stopped abruptly, her eyes darting to Anthea with horror. "Oh, Anthea, I did not mean..."
"Like me," Anthea finished calmly, though fury was beginning to simmer in her veins. "Six and twenty years old and unwed. A cautionary tale for young ladies everywhere."
And whose fault is that, precisely?she thought with bitter clarity.Not mine, certainly, though the ton seems to believe otherwise.
"You chose not to marry," Veronica said firmly, her loyalty as steadfast as ever. "That is entirely different from being unable to secure a match."
"Is it?" Anthea rose to her feet, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She had indeed chosen to remain unwed, but only after...No.
She would not think of that night, of a cruel man’s lies and false promises. "It matters not what I chose or did not choose. What matters is that Beatrice has no right to dispose of you both as though you were inconvenient parcels to be shipped off at her earliest convenience."
"She is our mother," Poppy whispered, though the word sounded hollow. "Surely she wishes for our happiness?"
Anthea nearly laughed at the naïveté of it. "Your mother wishes for her own comfort and consequence. She always has."
"Anthea," Veronica cautioned gently.
But Anthea was beyond caution. Poppy wanted to marry for love, romantic, foolish girl that she was. And Veronica, sweet Veronica who had comforted Anthea through her own heartbreak, who deserved nothing but kindness from the world, would never survive being shackled to whatever monster Beatrice selected.
"Where is she now?" Anthea demanded.
"The drawing room," Veronica said, her eyes widening. "Anthea, perhaps you should wait. "
"I have waited quite long enough."
Anthea swept from the morning room with purpose, already composing the blistering speech she would deliver.
She understood why Beatrice despised her; she was a living reminder of her stepmother's descent in the world, of marrying a mere baron when she had once dreamed of earls and dukes. But Poppy and Veronica were her own daughters. Her own blood.
Though blood has never meant much to that woman,Anthea thought viciously as she approached the drawing room doors.Cruelty is her only true relation.
She did not bother knocking. The doors swung open with perhaps more force than was strictly ladylike, revealing Beatrice sprawled upon the settee in her dressing gown, one hand pressed dramatically to her forehead.
"Good morning, stepmother," Anthea said with exaggerated politeness. "I trust you are recovering well from last evening's ball?"
Beatrice cracked open one eye. "Lower your voice, girl. Some of us are suffering the aftereffects of Society's demands."
"How terribly taxing it must be," Anthea said, her tone dripping false sympathy, "to consume three glasses of champagne whilst gossiping about your betters."
Both of Beatrice's eyes opened now, narrowing dangerously. "Mind your tongue."
"I shall mind my tongue when you mind your duty as a mother." Anthea crossed her arms. "Poppy tells me you intend to arrange marriages for her and Veronica."
