Chapter 1
London, England
One, two, three, four…Lady Daphne Rosamond counted her steps as she paced the length of the lady's retiring room at the Hawthorn ball. She should be in the ballroom. Gentlemen should be paying her attention. She should be dancing and flirting. Three seasons, for three long tedious seasons Daphne had sat on the sidelines hoping and praying that some worthy gentleman would take notice.
“There you are. I’ve been searching for you.” Daphne’s cousin, Lady Natalie St. Vela strolled into the room with Miss Lulia Vasile at her side. Natalie paused, drawing her brows together as she studied Daphne. “Is something the matter?”
“No…yes…I don’t know,” Daphne stuttered, attempting to collect her thoughts.
Natalie narrowed her gaze.
Daphne’s cheeks warmed under her cousin’s scrutiny. “I’ve grown weary of sitting on the sidelines. Perhaps it is time I accept my fate and give in to being an old maid.”
Lulia drew closer, her violet eyes skeptical. “How do you know such a fate awaits you?”
Daphne waved her hands over her body. “Look at me. I’m plump and shy; not at all the type of woman that gentlemen take notice of. In my three seasons, I’ve only danced a handful of times. No-one has ever come to call, let alone court me.”
“Oh Daphne,” Natalie rested a hand on her shoulder, “you are lovely. Any gentleman would be lucky to have you. Do not be so hard on yourself.”
Daphne closed her eyes fighting back tears. How she wished Natalie’s words were true, but they unequivocally were not. Daphne possessed and a kind and reserved nature, but she lacked all of the other qualities a man looked for in a wife. She’d never be an English beauty, nor would she ever be comfortable in a crowded room. She shook her head. “You’re wrong.”
"Take off your glove." Lulia notched her chin. "Let me have a look at your palm."
Daphne swallowed as she stared at the woman, confusion muddling her thoughts. “My glove?”
Lulia nodded, her raven curls bouncing. “Yes, your glove.”
Natalie reached for Daphne’s hand then began unbuttoning the white satin glove that covered it. “Lulia reads palms. Let her have a look and she will tell you what your future holds.”
Daphne jerked back her hand, her gaze flittering from one woman to the next. She did not believe in such nonsense. Fortunetellers were nothing more than frauds—that’s what mama had always told her.
“What have you got to lose?” Natalie reached for her hand again.
Daphne interlocked her finger’s stopping the assault. “Mama says—”
“Blah, blah,” Natalie interrupted. “Stop stalling and remove your glove.”
Lulia smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Your mama says that fortune tellers are frauds. She’s right you know.”
Daphne stared at her in shock. How could she admit to such at the very same time she was attempting to read Daphne’s future?
"Most of them are, but a well-trained gypsy hones her craft. I spent years working on mine." Lulia flipped her hand over and began tracing the lines of her palm. "This one is my lifeline. This is my love line. Our hands reveal much about our fates."
A spark of hope swelled in Daphne's chest. Perhaps Lulia did possess a true talent. Maybe she really could tell Daphne's fortune. If so, wouldn't she wish to hear it? Daphne fumbled with her glove, pulling her Han d free of the satin confines.
Lulia took Daphne's hand in hers and began studying the lines. She trailed her fingertip across one, down another. Daphne tried to relax, but her heart beat fiercely as she watched. What if Lulia only told her what she wished to hear? What if she confirmed her fears? Either way, Daphne feared what would be said. She pulled her hand free. "This is a mistake. I don't want to know."
“Nonsense.” Natalie shook her head. “You’re just afraid of what Lulia will find. Get your head out of the sand and take control of your life.”
Daphne’s blood warmed, anger sweeping through her at Natalie’s harsh words. “You have no idea what you speak of. I beg you to keep your opinions to yourself.” Daphne snatched her glove from Natalie and tugged it back on.
How unlike her to act is such a brash manner. She never raised her voice. Never grew so angry that she could not cancel the emotion.
“Are you sure you do not wish to hear what I have to convey?” Lulia asked.
Daphne hesitated, her mind swirling with uncertainty. Part of her desperately wished to hear what Lulia saw; the rest of her feared the outcome. Natalie had been correct; Daphne was a coward.
“Of course she wants to know,” Natalie said.
