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CHAPTER ONE
“Poor thing. As if she would ever stand a chance with the duke.”
The cold laughter that followed rattled in Marina Longman’s ears as she struggled for a full breath.
She worried the card in her hand, an invitation to audition for the position of Duchess of Knotgill. The same invitation, or so she assumed, that the rest of these young ladies had received.
“Goodness, do you think they sent it to the wrong person?” someone else quipped unkindly.
“I would not be surprised if she had to steal it,” the girl’s companion replied in a stage whisper that was clearly meant to wound. “Or forged it.”
A third young woman nodded her head sagely. “You would not believe the desperation of some ladies.”
Red heat burned in Marina’s cheeks, that humiliated smolder following the scars that ran from her left cheekbone and down her neck, disappearing beneath a high collar. It was a cool day, a chilly breeze sweeping across the entrance hall where the sizable crowd of hopefuls were gathered, but she was already sweating profusely.
The front door was no more than ten paces away. Ten paces and she could free herself from the stares and giggles.
And then what? Return to my carriage and my uncle with the news that I failed him?
She dropped her chin to her chest and weaved through the watching crowd to find a quiet corner where she could ignore them all. After so many years of people stepping out of her path, recoiling as if her burns were contagious, she should have been used to it, but it still stung as much as it had the first time.
“I know you, do I not?” a voice asked.
Marina lifted her head just enough to see the face of the young lady who had come to stand in front of her.
She shook her head. “I do not believe so.”
It was not as if Marina attended enough events to meet many of her peers. None at all, in fact.
“Really? I am sure that I saw you at Tippett’s Tea Rooms just last Friday,” the woman insisted.
She was beautiful, her skin like cream, her fair hair piled atop her head like spun gold. Not a single blemish. Not even a freckle.
“It could not have been me,” Marina replied, returning her chin to her chest.
Usually, that was enough to get someone to leave. This woman seemed to be more stubborn than that.
“Well, never mind,” she said blithely. “I shall just introduce myself now. I am Lady Yvette, only daughter to the Earl of Hartmoor.”
Marina swallowed, reluctant to remember her manners. “I am Miss Marina Longman, niece to the Viscount of Stadley.”
“Ah, yes, I knew you were familiar! You are the… surprise debutante of the Season, are you not?”
Marina noticed the hesitation before ‘surprise’. What Yvette really meant was ‘old’. Perhaps ‘mature’ if she was being kind. But at three-and-twenty, there was no denying that Marina was coming into society rather late.
Had she had her choice, she would not have been entering into society at all.
“Something like that,” Marina murmured.
“Why are you here?” Yvette asked.
Marina frowned and flashed the invitation.
“No… no, that is not what I meant,” Yvette said, laughing. “I merely meant that you are so new to the ton. Why would you be here? Surely, if this is where you hope to seek a husband, you could have dispensed with your debut altogether. A matchmaker might have been simpler.”
The words were spoken sweetly, but despite being not at all social, Marina was not oblivious to an insult wrapped in a sugary coating. She was not an idiot.
“My uncle gave me the invitation,” Marina said tightly. “I would not be too threatened, Lady Yvette; I doubt I shall prove to be much of a rival, unless the duke prefers a more… unique manner of bride.”
