Prologue
Late summer 1792
With one more gentle tug, the butterfly pulled its blue wings free from the translucent brown chrysalis. Javenia’s short, chubby fingers wiggled, the urge to touch the beautiful insect nearly overwhelming her. But Papa had said to not to, or the butterfly wouldn’t be able to use its wings, so she restrained herself.
Instead, she raised the magnifying glass her papa had gifted to her for her seventh birthday and peered through the lens as the butterfly gradually unfurled its damp wings. This one had taken longer than all the others, but it was definitely worth the wait.
“Beautiful,” she murmured as the little creature moved its spindly black legs to stand on the side of its former home.
Javenia shimmied closer on her belly, delightedly kicking her legs back and forth when the butterfly gave its wings a slow flap. A tiny breeze bent the green stem to which the chrysalis was attached, but the Common Blue clung tightly to its perch.Javenia’s hair wasn’t as stable. One toffee colored curl whipped across her face and tickled her nose. She swiped at it in frustration. Long hair was such a nuisance.
“Hey, stop it,” someone yelled.
Javenia lowered her magnifying glass and glanced around the clearing. No one was within view, but she could hear scuffling feet and angry voices—boys’ voices by the sound of it.
She shook her head in disappointment and went back to her observation.
Last year, when her father bought Hazelwood, she’d been so excited to move closer to the large family of girls that lived on the bordering estate to the southwest. They had always intrigued her when she visited her grandparents in Maidstone, probably because every few years they got a new mama. She’d hoped to find a friend among them, but had had no such luck, especially after the owner yelled at her papa for something. He was kind of mean like that.
It didn’t matter. The girls were closer to the ages of her little sisters, and none of them liked bugs. At least she assumed they didn’t, since they had all screamed and ran away the last time she tried to show them a beetle.
“Go home, Duncan. You are not supposed to be here anyway.”
She frowned. The owner of the voice sounded familiar.
“I can be wherever I want to be.”
She knew the second voice. Duncan Boleyn’s family sat in the pew right in front of hers at church. He and his brother, sons of Lord Penwick, were both much older than her. Probably ten at least, maybe eleven. They seemed nice enough, but by the way the boys in the nearby grove were yelling, apparently they didn’t think so.
More scuffling ensued and then someone cried out. It wasn’t Duncan. The voice was too high.
Javenia scrambled to her feet and slipped the magnifying glass into her apron pocket. The grittiness of the cloth drew her attention when her hand rubbed over something rough. Grass and dirt clung to her front, a testament to her earlier activities.
She brushed away the bits as she trotted toward the trees to see what all the fuss was about. A thorough inspection of her clothes would be needed before she returned to the house—no need to add to the scolding she was already going to receive from her nursemaid for sneaking out again. Putting herself to rights would have to wait, though.
When she reached the small stream that led through the trees, she followed it until she could see the owners of the voices. It only took a moment to deduce what had happened.
Johnathan Newhurst, the blond boy from church who constantly stuttered, sat on the ground, holding his knee. He was about a year older than her, maybe two. Javenia wasn’t certain. At seven, she stood as tall as him and even taller than the friend who knelt in the dirt next to him.
Both Johnathan and his friend Nathaniel Stanford lived on the other side of Maidstone, but she saw them often enough on Sundays. Nathaniel was almost a head shorter than her. His tousled brown hair and cheeks streaked with mud didn’t look much better than Johnathan’s dust-covered clothes.
Duncan must have pushed them.
Carefully, she moved into the area where the trees opened to admit the stream. Duncan loomed over the third boy. Javenia’s lips pinched, and her hands fisted.
She didn’t have much to do with Algenon Roberts, the oldest son of her nearest neighbor and brother of the large family of girls, but she also didn’t like the way Duncan smirked at him. There was a meanness in his eyes that she’d never seen before.
“Why don’t you be a good little boy and go cry with your addle-brained friend?” Duncan laughed at his own comment even though it was not at all funny.
Algenon tried to push him away, but Duncan just grabbed his hair and flung him. He stumbled backward, tripping over something and landing on his backside in a small hazel bush.
“Hey!” Javenia yelled before she could think.
Duncan turned to face her. His eyes widened with surprise. It was all the encouragement she needed. Ducking her head, she charged right into his middle, ramming him with her shoulder. A satisfying oof filled her ears as the boy stumbled backward.
Before he could straighten, Javenia balled her fist and punched him right in the nose. Duncan cried out, hands desperately clutching his face. She didn’t let up. With one boot-covered foot, she stomped on his toes.
The bigger boy hopped several times before he scrambled away from her, his eyes watering as he held his bloody nose.
