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CHAPTER 1
London
May, 1825
Miss Seraphina Dalton had never wanted to marry. Unfortunately, as a young lady from a wealthy family in London’s high society, she didn’t have much of a choice.
Her father had arranged a match, and so here she was, her heart racing and her palms sweating as she delayed dressing for as long as possible. Maybe if she took too long, her groom would have second thoughts and flee the country.
She glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was only half an hour until they had to depart for the church, and she was beginning to worry that she hadn’t done enough to drive her prospective husband away.
“Any news?” she asked Bessie, her maid.
She’d expected her foppish, self-important fiancé to call off the wedding before today. The fact that he hadn’t made her gut squirm and her chest feel tight. Perhaps, instead of launching a campaign to persuade her intended that she was the sort of woman he’d hate to be tied to, she ought to have been making an escape plan.
“No, miss.” Bessie grimaced. “Sorry, I know that’s not what you want to hear.”
It really, really wasn’t.
Seraphina didn’t hate her betrothed, but she didn’t like him, either, and she was absolutely certain that they would be miserable together. He enjoyed flirting and betting on the horse races, while she preferred reading about the latest medical and chemical innovations and spending time in her makeshift laboratory—a small private dressing room attached to her chambers that no one other than she or Bessie would ever have reason to enter.
Being with her would frustrate him, and marriage to him would crush her. There was no way he would allow her the freedom to experiment. They weren’t right for each other, but no one had listened to her concerns.
She paced the length of her bedchamber, wringing her hands while reminding herself to breathe. “You don’t think he’ll actually go through with it, do you?”
“I couldn’t say, miss. I hope not, for your sake.” Bessie finished arranging the brushes and hairpins in front of the mirror and then pulled out the chair, gesturing for Seraphina to sit. “I can botch your hair, if you like. That way it’ll take longer for you to get ready.”
“Yes, please.” Seraphina drew in a shuddering breath, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. She sat on the chair and stared down at her hands as Bessie dragged the brush through the strands.
She couldn’t marry the Honorable Phineas Beardsly.
She just couldn’t.
The future everyone expected of her—married, pregnant, hosting social events and charming peers to improve her odious husband’s connections—loomed over her like a specter. Every part of her rebelled against it.
As Bessie made a show of pinning her hair too loosely, the door behind them opened, and Seraphina watched in the mirror as her father came up behind them.
“Why aren’t you ready yet?” he demanded, folding his arms over his chest as he studied Bessie’s deft movements, one of his eyebrows hitching up.
“We had a slight mishap,” she lied, hoping he wouldn’t ask for details.
“Well, hurry up. We don’t want to be late to the church.”
Actually, that was exactly what she wanted, but her father had never been moved by emotion. In fact, since her mother’s death, he actively avoided it.
Hmm.
Perhaps she ought to feign a swoon just to see how he’d react.
“I’m sure Bessie is working as quickly as she can.”
Her father grumbled, but he turned and left, which was what she wanted.
Bessie sighed. “Sorry, miss, but I think I’d best get on with it.”
“I know. Just do it.” She didn’t want to cause any problems for the maid.
Bessie pulled out the pins and started over, this time more firmly and with purpose. Seraphina gazed at the reflection of the room in the mirror, all shades of pink and white, before looking again at herself. She’d been told she resembled her mother, and now she couldn’t help wondering how different her life might have been if her mother hadn’t died of malaria when Seraphina was just a little girl.
