Part I
“There is only one happiness in life; to love and be loved."~French Novelist George Sand
When Lady Annalise Buttercream awoke that morning she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that today was the day she was going to fall in love.
“I can feel it,” she exclaimed, throwing her arms out wide as she swung in a circle in the middle of her sun filled bed chamber. “Can’t youfeelit, Becca?”
Her maid, a sturdily built woman who had been looking after the Earl of Sandwich’s only child since the day she was born, grunted as she ducked under a flying fist. “What is it I’m meant to feel, my lady?”
“Love.” Bringing her arms in, Annalise gave herself a giant hug as she went to the large window overlooking the busy Mayfair Street below and sighed. “Love, Becca. It’s in the air. I cansmellit.”
“Can you?” said the maid mildly. “Here I thought Cook burned the bacon again.”
“Maybe it’s love and burnt bacon,” Annalise allowed. Grinning, she turned to face her oldest companion and most trusted confidant. After losing her mother in childbirth, she had relied mostly on Becca to raise her. While her father had done his best, his easily flustered nature had often led him to pass her over to the maid whenever she had cried, sneezed, wrinkled her nose, or breathed.
In addition to fits of panic, Lord Sandwich was also highly protective of his daughter, as she was the only living memory of the beloved wife that he’d lost. As a result, he’d kept her largely secluded from an outside world that would, in his eyes, attempt to harm her.
While other young girls had attended tea parties, Annalise had explored the woods of their sprawling countryside manor with Becca trailing faithfully behind. While other parents had hired a deluge of tutors and governesses, Annalise had learned to dance under Becca’s watchful eye. And when other young ladies had been presented to the queen before their debut into High Society as the Season’s newest crop of debutantes, Annalise had stayed home playing whist with, yes, Becca.
But that was all about to change today.
Becausetodayshe was going to fall in love.
Today, her life would truly begin.
Today she was going to meet her future husband.
She just had to find him first.
“What do you think he’ll look like?” she asked, hardly able to contain her excitement as Becca nudged her into a chair and began to arrange her blonde hair into glossy tendrils pinned at the crown of her head with a papillote iron and curling papers.
“Who?” Becca asked, speaking around a pile of pins pinched between her lips.
“Myhusband. I think he’ll have blue eyes, like mine, and a charming smile. A princely smile. He’ll be kind, and gentle, and poetic. You know how I love poetry. He’ll also love animals, as I do. He’ll be an adept equestrian. A wonderful dancer. He’ll be…” She smiled dreamily. “He’ll be perfect.”
Becca met Annalise’s gaze in the gilt-framed mirror above her dressing table and lifted a weathered brow. “And where are you planning to meet this blue-eyed poetic prince?”
“I thought we’d start with Hyde Park. All the best romances begin in Hyde Park.”
“We?” Becca’s second brow rose to join the first. “I wasn’t aware I’d be joining you on this little husband-seeking search.”
“Well, I cannot go by myself. And since Father is out of town until later today…”
“Speaking of your Father, has he approved of your pending nuptials?”
Annalise, always a terrible liar, looked down at her lap and fidgeted with a piece of silk ribbon on her violet morning dress. “Notexactly,” she hedged. “But next month I turn twenty, Becca. Twenty! If I don’t find a husband now, then when? No, it has to be today.” Steely resolve glinted in her soft doe eyes as she lifted her chin and stared at herself in the mirror’s silvery reflection.
What she saw staring back at her was a woman full grown. A woman that had spent most of her life locked away like a precious porcelain vase. But she wasn’t a vase, and she wasn’t made of porcelain. She wouldn’t break. The world wouldn’t shatter her. If solitude had given her anything, it was strength. Perhaps not the steel and iron wit that other ladies of her age possessed. Ladies who had fought ruthlessly for fortunes in ballrooms and at house parties that Annalise had observed wistfully from afar. But there was strength to be found in goodness. In kindness. In an optimistic heart.
The man of her dreams was out there.
How much longer could she expect him to wait?
“Twenty isn’t as old as all that,” said Becca, squeezing Annalise’s shoulder. “You’ve time yet, my lady. But it is a rather bright sunny day, isn’t it? The warmest it’s been all week. Perhaps a stroll through Hyde Park would help pass the hours until your Father’s return.”
Annalise blinked back a sudden sting of tears. “Thank you, Becca,” she said softly.
“For what, my lady? It’s just a walk.” The maid shrugged. “If we happen to come across a handsome suitor that gets down on bended knee and begins to recite Mr. Keats, well then maybe you’re right. Maybe loveisin the air. And we can hardly be faulted for that, can we?”
