Prologue
Glittering lights from the rooftop domes of the magnificent mansion illuminated the skyline, and sparkled against the darkening sky. It was one of the most prominent jewels of Arcvale, where the bells chimed by wire, and early winter snow fell delicately through sky-lit gears, mounding on rooftops, spires, and streets alike.
In this particular mansion, however, one young woman was struggling to maintain her composure, as she clenched her teeth and fought, once more, to keep her temper, as yet another lecture from her brother, Lord Randolph Renslow, blistered her ears.
Lady Dorothea Langley was sick and tired of the constant barrage. Never a day passed without yet another sly reminder of her status as the unwed daughter of a Duke. She’d been introduced to almost every eligible gentleman in London, no matter their age or inclinations.
She’d been mauled, manhandled, slobbered over, and even ignored by these erstwhile suitors, all the while clinging fast to her dream of meeting a man worthy of her time, her mind—and perhaps, one day, her heart.
So far, not one candidate had measured up. Especially not the latest, a simpering idiot who thought everyone and everything was his to do with as he wished.
Including her.
Which had led to this loud confrontation in Lord Randolph’s study.
“Do I have to repeat myself, Dorothea?”
She took a breath, knowing that losing her temper was not the way to handle her brother. “Of course not. I’ve heard the same words over and over again, Randolph. Usually after you have presented me with another idiot barely capable of putting on his own boots. And then having the audacity to suggest I accept him as a husband.” She walked up to him and stared him in the face. “Just what kind of woman do you think I am? Do I appearthatstupid to you?”
She poked him in the chest with her finger. “You yourself know my tutors. You agreed with the educational plans Mama made for me. Even Papa, when he was here, said it was a good idea that I be more than just a—a simpering giggler.” She sighed. “And yet you persist in pushing these empty-headed buffoons at me. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Randolph looked down his nose at her, his expression revealing nothing. “Dorothea, do not poke me. This is a new waistcoat, and I don’t want it ruined the first time I wear it.”
“Oh, Idobeg your pardon, my Lord,” she swept him a graceful curtsey that was inches from being insulting. “How presumptuous of me to touch your exalted person.”
“Dorothea...”
“Children. Stop this immediately.” Lady Renslow, who had been trying to read the latest copy of The Imperial Bulletin, folded the paper and sighed. “I thought I had raised you both to behave better than this...”
“But she...”
“But he...”
“Enough.” Their mother held up her hand to stop the dual outbursts in their tracks. “Dorothea, your protests have merit, but you must learn to present them in a less antagonistic way if you expect them to yield results.” She turned to her son. “Randolph? You’d best learn how to handle yoursister appropriately before you take over the reins of Renslow Industries from your father. It will be good practice for the many arguments you’ll be facing with employees who will have matters of much greater import to discuss with you.”
“Mama,” frowned Dorothea. “Do you not consider this absurdity about my marriage a matter of great import?”
“No, I do not.”
“Hah,” snorted Randolph.
“If you say ‘I told you so’, I will kick you in the shins, I swear.”
Dorothea snarled the threat at her brother, then turned to her Mama. “You of all people, Mama, should be sympathetic to my problem. Marriage, as you have pointed out many a time, is a matter to be taken seriously, since it is for life. But Randolph here would condemn me to an existence filled with nothing but tea parties, balloon journeys, firework displays, and the occasional carefully curated exhibition of the latest inventions. And only those that are permitted in Arcvale, of course.” She swallowed. “I would wither away and die, which, I might add, would be an early and welcome death.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” answered her mother coolly. “Arranged marriages are an excellent way to ensure both husband and wife have similar goals, and that the children will be raised according to those goals.”
“Children?” She scoffed at that. “You presuppose that I would allow any of these nitwitted nincompoops to lay a hand on me. Well, Mama, I hate to shatter your illusions, but I’d shoot them before allowing any of them into my bed.” She bared her teeth in a humourless grin. “And trust me, I know how to dispose of the bodies.”
Randolph rolled his eyes. “Mother,” he said formally. “We need a decision here. If Papa returns from Scotland to findDorothea still single, he will not be pleased. We all know that. What were his last words before he left?” He stared at his sister. “Oh yes, I remember. He said, ‘get that girl a husband. Anyone will do, as long as he brings a solid bank account and an acceptable lineage with him.’ And that was a direct quote, Dorothea. You heard it too.”
She raised her chin. “Yes, I heard it. And it was no more nor less than I’d expected.”
“Dorothea,” remonstrated her mother.
“I won’t apologise, Mama. It is no secret that Papa had hoped for a family of sons. It is also no secret that he believes women are mostly useless unless they’re either breeding more males or ensuring the quality of the food served at dinner.”
She crossed the room and laid her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “You have the strength of a twelve-cog lifter, and the patience of St Calibria the Precise. Something I have always admired, and have come to envy as well. I don’t have either, Mama. I am not as strong as you, and I have little to no patience at all.” She shot a furious glance at Randolph. “Especially for mindless simpletons.”
