PROLOGUE
Three years ago…
Margaret was seventeen years old the night her life ended.
Not literally, of course. She continued breathing. Continued eating, sleeping, and performing all the mundane functions that constitute living.
But the girl she’d been—hopeful, naive, stupidly trusting—died on a balcony at Lord Pembrook’s ball.
And she would never come back.
It started innocently enough.
In the stifling ballroom, too many bodies generated too much heat. Margaret’s stays felt too tight. Her head ached from the press of perfume and candlelight and endless, meaningless conversation.
“Would you care to step outside for some air, Lady Margaret?” Lord William stood before her. Tall. Distinguished.A son of her father’s friend. A decorated soldier who’d served with honor in the Peninsula.
Safe.
Or so she thought.
“That would be lovely, thank you.”
She followed him through the crush of dancers. Out the terrace doors. Onto a small balcony that overlooked the garden.
Cool air hit her face. Lovely relief from the pressing atmosphere in the ballroom.
She breathed deeply and let her shoulders drop.
“Better?” Lord William asked.
“Much.” She smiled at him gratefully. Innocently naïve, some might say. “Thank you. I thought I might faint in there.”
“These events can be rather overwhelming.” He leaned against the railing. Gazed out at the moonlit garden. “Particularly for young ladies in their first season.”
“Is it terribly obvious?” She laughed self-consciously. “That I’m new to all this?”
“Not at all. You carry yourself with remarkable poise.” She knew he meant yes, yet the compliment warmed her cheeks. She was unused to praise from men his age. From men who’d seen the world. Who’d done important things.
“How long before you deploy again?” she asked, making polite safe conversation, the way young ladies should.
“Two weeks. The regiment ships out for the continent.”
“You must be eager to return.”
“Eager?” He considered. “I’m not sure that’s the word. Dutiful, perhaps. Ready to do my part.”
They talked for perhaps three minutes. About his service. About the weather and nothing of consequence.
Margaret didn’t notice Mrs. Winthrop, the gossip, materialize in the doorway behind them. Didn’t see the woman’s eyes narrow, her mouth pursed with disapproval.
Margaret certainly didn’t know that moment would impact her entire future.
“I should return,” she said finally. “My mother will worry.”
“Of course.” Lord William offered his arm. “Allow me to escort you back.”
They turned toward the ballroom.
