Prologue
February 1816
Trees, lake, sky—foreground, midground, background. Tessa King could see the composition of the vista stretched before her perfectly sketched onto an imaginary canvas. But she could not see her future quite so clearly. Her past was a rectory, this forest, and a friend, laughter and summer ease. Her present was a frosty morning ripping through her thin pelisse, hard stone cold beneath her, and the winter wind rippling across the lake.
Her future? That less clear the farther out she looked.
In five or so minutes it was the coach waiting in the drive of Crossvale Court, a trip to London, a voyage to the Continent, then… everything blurry and none of it within her control.
Tessa drew her legs up to her chest beneath her skirts and rested her forehead on her knees. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced each breath in and out because it would not happen on its own. Not right now. If she left breathing up to fate or habit, she’d suffocate.
“Tess.” The warm, deep voice felt like a hand on her shoulder, a palm rubbing up and down her spine. “Where’s your bonnet?”
She rested her cheek on her knees in time to seeRemington Ives rounding the rock. He swiped up the bonnet and fit it on her head, letting the ribbons dangle.
“Your ears are violently red,” he said.
She felt violently red inside.
“Everyone’s looking for you.” He sat beside her, legs dangling off the large boulder, hands clasped between them. “Try not to be anxious.” Remmy sucked his cheeks in and looked at the sky. His jaw was working side to side the way it always did when some big emotion was gnawing him. “You’ll have fun. You always wanted to travel.”
Yes. But not like this. “I don’t know her,” Tessa whispered, fighting back tears.
“Mother does.” His voice was clipped, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “She wouldn’t send you away with someone she didn’t trust.”
“I know. I know.”
“Don’t cry, Tessa.”
“Iknow. Iknow.”
No response. She peeked up at him, though it was sure to make the tears come more quickly. Tall and lean, his dark hair fashionably cut. He’d been her friend since birth it seemed, all twenty years of their lives. They’d never been separated more than a handful of months during his schooling or for the London social Season. Now… who knew when they’d next see each other.
She didn’t want her last sight of him to be the tight-lipped strain of holding back tears.
She tugged the cuff of his sleeve. “It’s not your fault.”
“It is. I have horrid timing. I didn’t mean to r-ruin Mr. Grimes’s p-pro?—”
“I wasn’t going to accept him anyway.” Her huff of laughter hid a sob. She wiped the corner of her eye.
“Your parents think you would have. And that myuntimely arrival screaming about your victory was the only thing to stop you.”
“I was on the verge of a ‘thank you, Mr. Grimes, but I would prefer not to marry you’ when you burst through the door. They know that.” They only blamed Remmy because they disapproved of him. They did not think the rector’s daughter should be so close to the local earl’s wild younger son. They did not care that he made her feel alive. They did not want her to feel alive. They wanted her to marry the curate and were pleased to disown her if she didn’t.
“I was excited,” Remmy said. “You won, Tess.” He tore his gaze away from the sky and settled it on her. His eyes glittering, his mouth softened now. “Your paintingwon.”
That, too, had upset her parents. They did not want their eldest daughter flaunting her talent in public, even if it was under a different name. And Remmy had helped her enter the contest. An unforgivable sin.
“I knew you’d win,” he said. The wind whistled through the trees and ripped at her skirts. “I’ll miss you.” Remmy’s voice was hoarse.
“I’ll miss you too.” Her voice was so, so quiet.
“Tess…” He covered her hand with his, and the winter-white sky brightened. “I… I-I”—he squeezed his eyes closed—“love you.”
“Oh, Remmy.” She threw herself into his arms, hugged him tightly. “Thank you.” Pulling back, she pecked his cheek.
His skin was mottled red and white. His jaw ticked.
