How wickedly audacious!
Émilie believed that women had just as much value as men and that true social exchange would only be a benefit to expand knowledge. But history had always been biased against women, especially intelligent, opinionated ones who did not fit the mold of what dutiful, quiet, demure ladies should be.
Just like me.
Émilie wasn’t the only one who defied convention. I’ve had a sneaking suspicion for years that our family physician—Dr. James Barker—was born a woman. I’d learned that he had received a degree in medicine at twenty-two from a medical school in Edinburgh and was exceptionally competent. He was small in stature, had enviably smooth skin, looked young and boyish, and had a high-pitched voice. Given his skill, however, his personal history was no one’s business.
Swallowing my scowl at the unjustness of it all, I gritted my teeth as my cousin finished the last turn of our requisite dance, nearly tripping over my own feet in my burst of irritation. Ansel deposited me back to my usual alcove and was on to his next dancing partner quicker than I could blink. Well, at least Mama would be happy that I’d danced.
With a sniff, I smoothed my glossy blue-black hair over my ear, though not a strand was out of place, and pasted on my best, most demure smile. I waved to Zia, my bosom friend Ela’s new sister-in-law, as she danced past. Zia had made her ownmatch last season to arguably the biggest rake of theton,Mr. Rafi Nasser.
Hearts had cracked galore when he’d been taken off the marriage mart. While Mr. Nasser was indeed handsome and clever and had progressive views of women, I didn’t want a rake, not even a reformed one. I wanted a gentleman scholar who wouldn’t be put off by a partner who was his intellectual equal. Surely, that wasn’t too much to ask for?
Sadly, in the aristocracy, most scholars were snubbed. Even the boys enrolled in university weren’t interested in finishing their study. Becoming a man was about social connections, not scholarship. It was infuriating that they had such opportunity at their fingertips and threw it away for trivial, frivolous diversions. In fact, all any eligible gentleman seemed to care about these days was going on their grand tour.
Case in point—my dear cousin Ansel, unbeknownst to his parents, was about to embark on a five-country revel, celebrating his journey to becoming a man.While a lady’s journey covers the hearth, home, and needlepoint,I thought sourly.
Notwithstanding that Ansel was in his third year of Cambridge and leaving the Easter term unfinished, everything seemed to be on a strange, mournful hiatus this year with the death of the king. All the social events thus far had been rather restrained out of respect to the crown. No wonder my cousin and most of his set wanted to escape to Europe. The air of decadence in Italy or Greece would hardly be diminished by the death of a ruling British monarch.
“Roz, you haven’t moved an inch from where I left you.”
As if my dour thoughts had summoned him, Ansel reappeared like the devil himself, flushed and tousled from a rousing quadrille, spectacles askew on his nose. Other than the glasses, which everyone knew were an affectation to make him appear more erudite, we could be siblings. Our fathers had been identical twins, with mine being older by nearly an hour.
Considering we were born barely a month apart, even our parents hadn’t been able to tell us apart as babies. As children, we’d switch places to play pranks on new servants, or even tutors, with me attending maths lessons while Ansel ran off with his friends.
I’dlovedthat!
As we got older, people often mistook us for brother and sister, instead of the first cousins we were. We had the same sleek black hair with its striking midnight-blue sheen that was parted in the middle—though his was a good twenty inches shorter than mine—oval faces with light brown complexions, round cheekbones, plump lips, and expressive dark-brown eyes. We also had a similar rectangular build, whereupon my waist had to be severely cinched to be visible, and to compound things, we were of a similar height—five feet and ten inches—which I knew irritated my cousin terribly.
I sucked in a shallow breath. “I’m biding my time,” I said with a toss of my chin.
“You won’t find a husband standing here.”
I glowered and rolled my eyes before I remembered that someone was always watching with the intent of spreading gossip, and that was the last thing I needed. “Go away, Ansel.”
“Would you like to dance again?” he asked, and I narrowed my gaze at him in suspicion.
“Why are you being so nice?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps because I will be gone for several months, and you will be alone without me all season long. Though it might not seem like it, I will miss you, Roz. I want you to make a match and be happy.”
“Don’t pretend like you actually care,” I told him sullenly. “And I’ve decided that the perfect gentleman is a mythical creature, as illusory as a unicorn.”
Ansel pouted and peered at me with a puppy-dog expression. “Come now. You’re my favorite girl cousin. Don’t give me the cut direct in front of everyone.”
“I’m your only girl cousin,” I replied grumpily, and then relented. Whowouldtake pity on me and ask me to dance when Ansel left? My waltzing options were dire…unless Ela and Zia forced Lord Ridley or Mr. Nasser to take pity on me. Pity dances were the worst. At least Ansel appeared to come on his own instead of being coerced. I might as well enjoy his company while I could.
“Fine, but don’t step on my toes,” I groused.
“I make no promises.” Ansel grinned, and once more, I envied the reason he was so joyful. Who wouldn’t want to go to France, Italy, Greece, Belgium, and Austria looking at art and architecture, and learning about history and culture? I would do anything to escape the parochial fate I’d been born into. Offer up an organ…sell my soul.
In reality, I wasn’tthatrebellious. I knew my place, so I could only hope to compromise.
Exhaling a breath, I concentrated on the three-beat count of the music and not flubbing the steps. This waltz had only just begun and already felt interminable. All I wanted to do was sulk in a quiet corner.
I’d researched every single eligible gentleman on the marriage mart with meticulous detail—preparation was the key to success—I knew the state of their finances, their family histories, their interests, their vices, their strengths, and their weaknesses. I was very well aware that my extensivegroundworkwas a touch extreme, but I knew what I wanted.
And marriage in thetonwas for forever.
