Prologue

Norton Hall, Kansas – March 22nd 1885

At the sound of horse hooves clopping over gravel, Scarlett Hastings dashed to her bedroom window and threw the drapes over her shoulder.

No, not already! She wasn’t yet prepared for visitors. In fact, she didn’t want to visit with them at all.

Frozen with dismay, Scarlett watched a carriage full of guests arrive for her birthday ball. What was supposed to be a joyful day in celebration of her life, was instead an event she’d been dreading for several months.

It wasn’t fair that she had to endure yet another occasion amongst the snobbiest and snootiest of the upper crust in this half of Kansas. But since she still lived under her aunt and uncle’s thumb—and in their grand house—there was no way to avoid it.

Scarlett stared down at the entrance as a young woman descended her carriage on the arm of her beau. As soon as her dainty silk slipper touched the ground, she glanced up and met Scarlett’s eye with a knowing smile and an ingratiating wave of her gloved fingers.

Scarlett smiled weakly back, watching the woman whisper something to her companion, a tall dandy in a canary-yellow waistcoat. Both of them laughed and Scarlett slunk back behind the velvet drapes.

It was still early, and she expected the guests would arrive in dribs and drabs for a while. The real stars of the region’s social scene—the Misses Burnetts, the Dawsons, and the Montagues—would consider it unbearably gauche to arrive on time. Still, the trickling appearance of the well-to-do signified the start of the ball. Before long there would be a deluge.

To Scarlett, it was like watching sand in an hourglass measuring the time to her own execution. She plopped down heavily onto the cushions of the window seat with a desolate sigh. There was no escaping it now.

Reaching for the well-thumbed novel she had left splayed on the floor, she began to read where she’d left off. If she couldn’t run from this circus, she could at least lose herself in a dream of someplace else. Some other life, where she wasn’t Miss Scarlett Hastings, ward to Mr. George Hastings Esq, and beholden to his wishes. Some place where she could enjoy basic freedoms and make her own choices.

The world of the novel she’d secretly borrowed from one of the Burnett sisters was as large as her own was small and narrow. A world of romance and adventure, of good men and great loves. How she longed to vanish into this world!

It was some time before Scarlett looked up from her book again.

Outside the sky twinkled with the first stars of the evening. She hadn’t noticed how late it was getting.

Sighing, she slipped a hair ribbon into the book to mark her place and closed it. Her fingers stroked the cover longingly. What she wouldn’t give for an evening of more reading instead of socializing with the irritating upper-class folks now gathered downstairs.

In the novel, the hero was just confessing his love for his sweetheart, too. If only she didn’t have to leave right at the best part. But that was her sordid story.

Scarlett knew the excitement and passion found in her beloved books would never be her own fate. No matter how hard she wished on her birthday, she would never know a life of freedom and romantic love, only duty and constraint.

Her reverie was broken by the harsh rap of knuckles on her door. Before she could get to her feet to answer, a commanding woman swept into the room without waiting for an invitation.

“Aunt Edith,” Scarlett breathed. She couldn’t help but feel guilty, as if her aunt could possibly know her traitorous thoughts about living a different life.

Edith peered down her haughty nose at Scarlett, her sharp cheekbones and coiffed hair making her the very picture of propriety and decorum. She fairly stomped to the middle of the room, her severe gaze fixed on niece. Scarlett didn’t have to try hard to look as pitiful as she felt.

“What on earth are you doing frittering your time away with this nonsense?” Edith asked, pointing an accusing finger at Scarlett’s book. “I will never understand why you must insist on wasting your time reading novels.”

Scarlett looked down at her hands.

Edith tsked disdainfully. “Our guests are arriving. And you are not even dressed yet.”

Upon realizing she’d postponed the inevitable long enough, Scarlett’s heart sank. Her aunt had insisted on an extravagant ball to celebrate her twentieth birthday. Even though Scarlett had tried to persuade her that a family dinner was all she wanted, it didn’t matter. Nothing Scarlett wanted mattered.

“Of course, we must have a ball. It’s the proper thing to do,” Edith had repeated endlessly over the past few months. It became her own personal mantra. “You are an eligible young woman, Scarlett. Marriageable and wealthy. It is only proper for you to be visible in high society.”

Now, as Edith stood imperiously in the middle of the floor, she looked down at her niece as though she were an insignificant underling. For several long seconds, she was silent, scrunching up her nose as if she’d caught a whiff of an unpleasant smell.

Scarlett didn’t know what to say, or what she was expected to say. When she finally did speak, her voice faltered.

“I was just reading,” Scarlett said finally, standing up and setting her book down on the window seat.

Edith’s brow furrowed in disapproval. “This is no time for such frivolities. A young lady must look presentable at all times, but especially on an important night such as this. Surely you want to put your best face out there. Who knows what fine gentleman might be there.” Her eyes twinkled as she spoke, but they appeared ominous rather than excited.

Holding back an eyeroll, Scarlett thought there were no fine gentlemen within fifty miles who she wanted to look upon her face—whether it was her best one or not. But she also began to feel suspicious her aunt knew something she didn’t.

She bit her lip, stifling the urge to make a retort. By now, she knew better than to argue, for there was no winning against her aunt. Edith held all the cards, and had all the power.

Apparently losing patience, her aunt called down the corridor for the maids who were waiting just out of sight. Within moments, they bustled in laden with garments in opulent fabrics that shimmered expensively in the candlelight.

Scarlett stood motionless as they flurried around her, unbuttoning, adjusting, and arranging her birthday dress. Making her look proper for the part.

Though she bristled, she let it happen, feeling all the while like a doll being dressed in all manner of finery she would never choose for herself. The servants decorated her and posed her, turning her head from side to side. Scarlett just did as she was told with a blank expression on her face. It was faster that way.

Yet this performance was just another reminder that her life was not her own.

When the maids finished, they stepped back to admire their handiwork. In unison, they nodded in pride at their transformation of an ordinary girl into a vision of elegance to rival any debutante in Kansas.

Rich fabric whispered against Scarlett’s skin as she moved. Her hair was pinned in intricate swirls and knots and adorned with gleaming pearls.

She glanced at herself in the looking glass and for a moment, she thought her own reflection must be someone else entirely who had snuck into the room without her noticing.

As the final touches were made, Edith examined her up and down with a critical eye. “I suppose that will have to do. You look presentable enough. And well, we can’t expect to turn a pig’s ear into a silk purse.”

Scarlett tried to swallow the emotions that threatened to pour out from her. By this point, she wanted to get down to the ball, just to get away from her horrid aunt.

“At least your uncle will have no need to be ashamed of you this evening,” Edith continued. “I suppose that’s the most we can hope for.”

That was the greatest compliment Scarlett was ever likely to get from her aunt. She forced a smile, but her eyes gleamed with unshed tears.

“Scarlett, you are so fortunate that your Uncle George and I took you in when you were orphaned. We raised you as our own,” Edith reminded her for the thousandth time. “We gave you everything a young lady could ever want. And tonight is the night you will repay us.”

Scarlett stiffened. What on earth did that mean? She knew better than to ask, so she replied, “I know, Aunt Edith. And I am grateful for all you have done for me.”

“The best education, mingling with the crème de la crème of society, travel, gifts, the finest fashions,” Edith went on, counting Scarlett’s debts to them on her bony fingers.

This was a familiar interaction. Edith did this often, ever since Scarlett had come to live with them when she was only five years old. Her uncle, too, liked to keep her in her place by emphasizing what a burden she was to them.

“Thank you, Aunt Edith,” she murmured, once her relative was done. She was proud of the fact that she managed to keep the tremor from her voice.

When they finally went downstairs, the grand hall was ablaze with bustle and light. The chandeliers sparkled overhead and cast a warm glow across the polished floors. The air hummed with a hundred murmured conversations.

A string quartet struck up a lively waltz as Scarlett descended the staircase. Her heart pounded, and her cheeks flushed. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, and it was all she could do to keep from running back up to her room and locking the door. Instead, she steadied herself, clutched the banister, and took one slow, careful step at a time.

As her aunt led her through the crowd, Scarlett was met with a blur of polite smiles and formal introductions. Everyone spoke to her with the same practiced charm and insincere chatter.

Not one of these gruesome people truly saw her for who she really was, as an intelligent, educated young woman with hopes and dreams of her own. To most of them, she was just a trophy to be admired and envied. A symbol of her family’s wealth and status, or an ornament to be boasted over.

Scarlett wanted to scream out loud, “That’s not me, that’s not who I am!” But instead, she murmured politely and bowed daintily when she was supposed to. She played the part well, but after all, she’d had years of practice.

Dinner was a lavish affair. The long table groaned under the weight of sumptuous dishes and sparkled with opulent crystal and flickering candlelight. But Scarlett could only pick at her food, her appetite gone. It all tasted like ash in her mouth. She was so miserable, all joy eluded her.

Her uncle, George Hastings, sat at the head of the table. From where Scarlett was sitting, some way down between the other unmarried young women, she could see the shine of his pomade and the flash of crimson silk at his neckerchief.

Everything about her uncle screamed wealth. She didn’t like to criticize others, but this sort of display always seemed crass to her. She was glad not to be sitting with him and her aunt, so she could better sink into the background.

George’s booming laughter and imposing presence dominated the gathering. At least he took all the focus away from Scarlett who, in theory at least, was the hostess tonight. After getting to his feet, her uncle raised his glass to make a toast. The room fell silent immediately.

“Friends, family, honored guests,” George began with a broad smile and a genteel bow of the head. He stood tall and squared his broad shoulders. His moustache was neatly trimmed and waxed, his hair combed and pomaded.

Despite his polite manners, his voice resonated with authority.

“Tonight, we celebrate my niece Scarlett’s twentieth birthday. But that is not all we celebrate. Oh, no. We also gather here today to mark a new chapter in her life.” He paused and beamed broadly before continuing.

Scarlett began to breathe faster. What could he mean? A wave of panic caused goosepimples to break out all over her arms. She didn’t like this, not one bit.

“It is with great pleasure that I announce Scarlett’s engagement to my esteemed business partner, Mr. Jonathan Mercer.”

The dead silence following the announcement only made the pounding of Scarlett’s heart seem all the louder. She was certain everyone could hear it. But she wasn’t focused on that.

Engagement? To Mr. Mercer? Scarlett’s lungs deflated. She struggled to breathe evenly and show no reaction to the news. Yet she felt like she had been plunged into icy water. All she could do was stare at her uncle, struck speechless.

She’d met Mercer only once, some months ago at her uncle’s country club. He was more than twice her age, sported an unflattering paunch, and had thick hairs sprouting from his ears and nostrils. His teeth were browned from chewing tobacco and purple veins threaded all across his nose. This was a sign, Miss Eliza Burnett had once told her, that he might be a mite too fond of the old fire water.

Scarlett’s gaze swept the room, hoping and praying that this was some sort of joke. But all she saw were smiles and approving nods, as if everyone had been expecting this—as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to be paired with Mr. Jonathan Mercer.

The room swam before her eyes. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white.

Mercer sat to her uncle’s right. As the illustrious George Hastings continued with his speech, he seemed to address his business partner alone, completely ignoring Scarlett.

“Jonathan has been a trusted associate of mine for many years now. I can imagine no better match for our dear Scarlett. Their union will strengthen our family’s ties and ensure a prosperous future together.”

A wave of applause fluttered around the table. All eyes flickered Scarlett’s way at the mention of her name. Some looked envious, others seemed almost amused, but none of her birthday guests sent the faintest glimmer of kindness her way

Scarlett’s heart hammered in her chest. How could they do this to her? How could they ambush her like this, in public, where she could not argue back?

It dawned on her then that it had been set up this way for precisely that reason.

She rose unsteadily to her feet, her face a mask, smiling despite her despair.

“Thank you, Uncle George,” she managed to say, though her voice trembled. Perhaps they would mistake her emotion for happiness or ordinary nerves.

Those were the only words she could get out before sinking back into her seat and staring dully at the spectacle unfolding in front of her. She felt as though this was happening to somebody else. She wished, with everything she had, that it was.

The guests returned to their conversations and the music resumed. Once the ball was again in full flow, Scarlett slipped away to be alone.

Her mind was racing. She wanted to scream in rage and break things. But she was too well trained in the art of polite subterfuge, hiding unwelcome feelings behind a veneer of cheerful compliance, just like her aunt hid her unhealthy pallor beneath a generous sweep of rouge.

In the garden, the air was cool. Scarlett looked up to the expansive sky for guidance, or a sign, or something to fix on beyond herself. But the stars were coldly indifferent to her plight, distant and serene.

Scarlett sank onto a stone bench. She hadn’t even been asked, hadn’t even been told. It was as if she wasn’t a person at all, but an object to be traded and gifted among powerful men. Her fists clenched. Deep within, her resolve hardened, and she got to her feet.

“I will not give in to this,” she said out loud to the quiet of the garden “I will not be a pawn in some man’s chess game. I will find a way to reclaim my life, no matter what the risk, what the cost.”

A door opened and the strains of a waltz floated through the garden, along with the titter of frivolous, insincere laughter.

Someone approached from the shadows and coughed decorously to catch Scarlett’s attention. Her pulse quickened.

It was Mercer.

As she turned, he approached closer still and, before she could speak or shoo him away, captured her in a clumsy embrace.

They stood eye to eye, Mercer’s hands gripping her about the waist. A smile played across his lips and when he spoke, a fug of foul breath struck Scarlett full in the face. It smelled like the fire of strong drink and the rot of ill-cared-for teeth.

“What a happy day,” he said, his thick grey moustache twitching delightedly. “And what a beautiful birthday present for a young woman, to be betrothed to a man such as me. I must say, I am delighted.” His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips as he spoke, which made him look like a lizard.

“I don’t know what to say,” she almost sobbed. “I—”

Mercer touched a finger to her mouth to silence her. His skin was rough and cold against her lips.

“Then say nothing at all, my love. A woman such as yourself shouldn’t trouble herself with speaking. Being as beautiful as you are, that is accomplishment enough. In the future, I will speak for you, and you can concentrate on being your lovely radiant self, adorning every room you walk into.”

With that, he planted a rough kiss on her cheek, released her waist and turned to go.

“I must rejoin the party,” he said. “And I expect you will want to do the same. There will be time enough for embraces in the months and years to come.” He smiled lasciviously and his eyes swept down her body before returning to her face with a knowing look that made her skin crawl.

Scarlett held back a gag, still feeling the rough scratch of Mercer’s stubbly chin against her cheek. When she shuddered at the thought, Mercer chuckled, obviously mistaking it for some maidenly quiver of anticipation at being near him.

“Adieu, my darling,” he said, “but just for the time being. I’m so looking forward to the chance when we can connect again. Permanently.”

In another moment, he was gone, and Scarlett let out a stuttering breath. She collapsed back onto the stone bench, her legs suddenly too weak to support her, while her mind reeled with all manner of unpleasant thoughts at what their next “connection” might bring.

Scarlett realized she couldn’t allow any of them to happen. There was no way she could marry such a repulsive beast.