Prologue
Hyde Park, London, 1833
“How are matters progressing,my dear Beatrice?” The Duchess of Hadleigh leaned over the side of the open carriage, the plume of her bonnet bobbing over her honey-gold curls. “Has Croydon spoken of his intentions?”
Perched on a bay mare next to the carriage, seventeen-year-old Lady Beatrice Wodehouse saw the excitement that lit her mama’s violet eyes. Considered an Incomparable in her youth, Mama remained a stunning beauty, and Bea thought of herself as a pale imitation: her own locks were a lighter shade of gold and her eyes clear lavender. Papa liked to say that Mama and Bea looked like sisters, which always made the former blush and the latter hide a grin.
It was common knowledge that the Duke of Hadleigh doted upon his beautiful wife. Although Bea’s younger brother Benedict was wont to roll his eyes whenever Their Graces expressed affection, Bea was inspired by her parents’ happiness. It fueled her dreams of finding everlasting love…dreams that might be coming true this very day.
Bea peeked over at Peter Mansfield, the Duke of Croydon. He sat astride a white stallion a few yards away. The Season’s premier catch, he had been detained by admirers the moment they arrived at Rotten Row. Her pulse quickened when he turned his dark head in her direction, his mouth curving in a heart-stopping smile.
Warmth rushed into Bea’s cheeks…and other unmentionable parts of her person. Last week, Croydon had stolen a kiss in the garden, awakening a strange need inside her. She couldn’t stop thinking about the warm brush of his lips against her own. At night, she tossed restlessly in bed, dreaming of the mysteries of the marital bower…
“Well, Beatrice? Has His Grace confessed the reason for today’s ride?”
“Confess, Mama?” Pushing aside her wanton curiosity, Bea managed a teasing tone. “You make him sound like a criminal.”
“Your future is no joking matter,” Mama chided. “Do remember to curb that wit of yours: no man wants a bold, overly clever wife. And fix your skirts, dear. You must display your assets to their fullest advantage.”
Used to her mama’s lectures, Bea bit her tongue; she knew better than to argue. She smoothed her plum velvet riding habit and adjusted the small hat perched atop her pale ringlets.
“All the marriageable misses have set their caps for Croydon, and who can blame them?” her mama went on. “A handsome duke worth twenty thousand a year is rarer than a unicorn, I daresay, and he’s singledyouout for his attentions.”
A fact that never ceased to amaze Bea. Although she was a duke’s daughter, she’d grown up in the country. Mama was not fond of Town life, and Papa had taken trips to London alone. For Bea’s debut, however, the duke had brought the entire family to the nation’s capital, leasing a grand townhouse for the Season. Bea had to admit that she still felt like a fish out of water in the sophisticated, glittering world of theton.
“When His Grace asked permission to ride with you today, he mentioned he had aspecificmatter he wished to discuss.” Mama looked at her expectantly. “Are you prepared to give him a reply?”
Would ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ qualify?
She opted for a demure response. “Yes, Mama. With your and Papa’s permission, of course.”
“You have it. Oh, how happy you’ll be! As a duchess, the world will be your oyster, and I know Croydon will cherish you as you deserve.” Mama’s face was wreathed in smiles. “Now when His Grace returns, be sure to suggest a ride away from this brouhaha. The section by the Serpentine will be perfect for atête-à-tête. I’ll follow at a discreet distance to give the two of you privacy…”
A tinkling, bell-like voice cut Mama off. “Lady Beatrice, fancy meeting you here!”
Bea glimpsed Miss Arabella Millbank weaving through the crowded path, shaded by a lacy parasol. The pretty, raven-haired heiress had debuted with Bea, and the two had become fast friends. Since Arabella had grown up in London, she was well versed in the ways of Town. She’d saved Bea a seat at every function, advised her on the latest fashions, and shared the juiciest tidbits of gossip. Bea was grateful for the other’s kindness.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace.” The flounces on Arabella’s skirts fluttered as she curtsied.
Mama arched her brows. “Have you lost your chaperone, Miss Millbank?”
Bea cringed at the frosty tone of the question. Mama did not conceal her dislike of Bea’s friend. Arabella had addressed the topic in her matter-of-fact way:It’s to be expected, dear Bea. Her Grace doesn’t favor me because my family’s fortune comes from import-export.
Bea didn’t like to think that her own mother would hold such pretensions. Gathering up her courage, she’d asked Mama about it point-blank.
Any prejudice I have against Miss Millbank is due to her character,Mama had retorted.Your trusting nature will be your downfall, Beatrice…but I suppose I am to blame. I kept you sheltered too long in the country. Heed my words: things are different in London.
Bea saw no reason to distrust Arabella, who had been nothing but kind.
“My chaperone is back there somewhere,” Arabella now said brightly. “When I saw Lady Beatrice standing here, I simply had to rush over to say hello.”
“What perfect timing you have,” Mama replied.
As Bea was puzzling over her mother’s dry tone, the Duke of Croydon rejoined them.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace.” Arabella’s green eyes sparkled as she twirled her parasol. “What a magnificent mount you have.”
“Thank you, Miss Millbank.” Croydon patted the Arabian’s neck before turning to Bea. “I apologize for the delay, my lady. I had not seen the Yardleys for some time, and there was much to catch up on.”
