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ONE
Gloucester Street, London
8 December 1818
I’m late. Again.
Without waiting for the aging driver to climb down, lower the step, and wrench open the outdated coach’s door, Aubriella Penford agilely hopped from the conveyance just as it rolled to a stop before the Danforths’ unobtrusive townhome in the quasi-fashionable London neighborhood.
The hot coals inside the foot warmer had done little to alleviate the vehicle’s chill, yet the frigid air slapping her cheeks upon her descent onto the pavement caused her to inhale sharply. Huddled into her new raspberry-red and black redingote—how Aubriella adored the vibrant shade—she shivered as she waved Mosely back to his seat.
“No need to come down, Mosely.”
The sooner she was inside, the sooner he could find himself a cozy table in Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese pub and enjoy a pint or two while flirting with Widow Waddell.
Aubriella darted a swift glance toward the house, unsurprised to see a yellowed lace curtain pushed aside and Roxina Danforth peering at the lane. A wry smile curving her mouth, she fluttered her fingers at Aubriella before permitting the panel to fall into place once more. Likely so that she could tell the others that Aubriella had finally arrived.
Against her will, her attention slid to the equally unremarkable but tidy brick townhouse next door before she jerked it away. The Matherfield brothers lived there. Jackson Matherfield, the eldest and a close friend of her brother’s, had been a sharp, irritating pebble in her shoe for the better part of fifteen years.
Aubriella tightened her jaw, vexed at her lack of self-control as much as her continual lack of punctuality.
She loathed making her friends wait, but escaping the house wasn’t easy. Mama must be informed and approve of Aubriella’s use of the coach. Jessamine, her seventeen-year-old sister, often begged to come along, which simply would not do for the weekly meetings with the Ladies of Opportunity, as they jokingly referred to themselves.
The group, a secret society, kept a betting book much like White’s, but which was reserved exclusively for female patrons. That criteria prevented women from becoming indebted to male creditors, which might risk their virtue.
Imagine the haut ton’s shock should the client list or the nature of the numerous wagers ever be revealed. That must never happen. Women who supplemented their income via secret gambling stakes could expect tarnished reputations or ruin should they be found out.
Believable excuses must be contrived to dissuade Aubriella’s social butterfly of a sister from accompanying her, and one could not easily deter Minnie. In all fairness to her mother and sister, Aubriella often lost track of time while researching and studying, which, more than anything, accounted for her perpetual tardiness.
Shutting the door, she cast a pensive glance at the ominous pewter sky as she approached the coach’s front.
It looks like it may snow.
She gave a joyous internal whoop.
Please. Please. Please snow.
Winter had finally arrived, bringing bitter cold and the possibility of a much-desired snowstorm.
None too soon, either.
Now, if only a foot or two of freezing white fluff would fall and remain on the ground, preventing her family from attending the Templetons’ annual Christmastide house party in Westerham. A fortnight of holiday revelry, tedious parlor games, gambling, impromptu recitals, awful skits, and dancing, of course.
All of which Aubriella was wholly inept at, except the wagering.
Thatparticular vice she had become very adept at, indeed.
Her sisters had inherited Mama’s fair coloring, curves, beauty, gracefulness, and adoration of all things social. Aubriella took after their father: dark, freckled, thin, and, as Papa was wont to say, “amiably awkward.”
Kind but clumsy.
Genial but gauche.
His good-natured maladroitness was endearing.
Hers?
Nothing short of humiliating.
