Chapter One

Hyde Park, London

April 1816

Hyde Park on a spring afternoon possessed a peculiar sort of magic during the Season.

Not the grand magic of fairy tales and poetry, nor of enchanted forests and moonlit declarations of love, though Lady Evangeline Everly had spent much of her childhood believing such things possible. No, this was a distinctly London sort of enchantment: one fashioned from gleaming carriages, elegant ladies in silk walking dresses, polished gentlemen on horseback, and the endless hum of fashionable society putting itself on display.

Along the broad gravel path of the promenade, wheels crunched over pale stones while horses snorted and tossed glossy heads. The air carried the scents of fresh grass and damp earth mingled with lavender water and expensive perfume. Somewhere in the distance, a child laughed. Birds sang overhead from budding trees, their cheerful chorus nearly drowned by conversation and carriage traffic.

Evangeline drew a slow breath of the mild spring air and tilted her face toward the sunlight.

“I had forgotten how lovely Hyde Park can be.”

“Lovely?” Daphne repeated sceptically.

Her youngest sister adjusted her bonnet and cast a dramatic glance around them.

“I should call it exhausting. One cannot take three steps without encountering someone determined to inspect one’s gown or hair. It’s exhausting.”

Rosalind laughed softly beside them.

“You cannot be surprised, sister,” she said. “After all, everyone comes here for precisely that purpose.”

And everyone did.

The promenade had become one of the great rituals of London society. Years earlier, fashionable ladies and gentlemen had begun taking afternoon drives and walks through Hyde Park, turning simple exercise into an elaborate social occasion. During the Season, attendance became almost mandatory. One saw and was seen. It was here that alliances were formed, matches arranged, and scandals discovered.

From the outside it looked pretty, but in truth, for those in the marriage game, one could be admired or ruined between one turn of the path and the next.

Evangeline knew her younger sister found the entire performance ridiculous, and she was not entirely wrong.

Ladies strolled arm-in-arm beneath colourful parasols while gentlemen bowed and exchanged greetings. Elegant carriages rolled past in carefully measured procession, displaying family crests and gleaming lacquered panels.

One did not simply visit Hyde Park; one appeared there with the very purpose of finding the perfect match.

Rosalind leaned closer and lowered her voice conspiratorially.

“Shall we play?”

Evangeline smiled.

Ever since childhood, the sisters had found great enjoyment in inventing stories about strangers. It had begun years ago during dull dinners and long carriage rides through Kent, but London had elevated it into an art.

Daphne’s eyes brightened. “Oh yes.”

She clasped her hands dramatically. “At last. Something fun.”

Evangeline laughed. “You speak as though we have been enduring great hardship.”

“We have,” Daphne said gravely. “Mama spent forty minutes discussing suitable husbands this morning.”

Rosalind sighed dreamily. “I should not consider that hardship.”

“Of course you would not.”

Rosalind ignored her.

“Oh, look.”

She nodded discreetly toward a handsome young gentleman riding a chestnut horse several yards ahead.

“He is quite attractive.”

Daphne narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Hmm.”

“He appears respectable enough,” Evangeline observed.

“Too respectable,” Daphne declared. “It is clear that he is hiding something.”

They looked at her as she nodded with complete confidence.

“He is secretly a pirate.”

Rosalind blinked. “A pirate.”

“Certainly.”

Daphne gestured toward him. “He spent years sailing dangerous seas, amassed an enormous fortune, and now pretends to be an ordinary gentleman.”

Evangeline lifted a brow. “And why would he do that?”

“Because he seeks revenge.”

Rosalind looked delighted. “For what?”

Daphne considered. “He was betrayed.”

“By whom?” Evangeline asked.

“A woman with magnificent hair.”

Rosalind burst into laughter. “That is absurd.”

“It is inspired,” Daphne argued.

“It is nonsense,” Rosalind insisted.

“It can be both,” Evangeline cut in.

The sisters continued their tall tale, as Evangeline paused for a moment, watching them with a smile.

Being with her sisters always filled her with a warmth difficult to describe. Rosalind, with her gentle heart and endless dreams of romance, forever seeing love stories where others saw ordinary conversations. Daphne, with her sharp tongue and hidden tenderness, who laughed at sentiment while quietly possessing the softest heart among them.

She loved them both so fiercely it almost frightened her.

There had been a time when she believed the three of them would remain exactly as they were now. Walking arm-in-arm through gardens, whispering beneath blankets long after midnight, laughing over absurdities no one else would understand. But girls did not remain girls forever.

Rosalind was nineteen and entering the world with all the hopeful anticipation of a heroine stepping into the first pages of a novel. Gentlemen had already begun to notice her. Evangeline had caught more than one lingering glance at recent musicales and assemblies, though Rosalind seemed blissfully unaware.

Daphne, despite being only seventeen, possessed a beauty and spark impossible to ignore. Heaven help whichever gentleman eventually fancied himself equal to her. He would require patience, courage, and perhaps divine intervention.

Soon enough, there would be courtships and engagements, then marriages and households of their own. They would fill those households with children and start entirely different lives.

Such things were natural. They were happy things.

Weren’t they?

Yet sometimes, a quiet ache settled inside her when she imagined it. The three of them had become something stronger than sisters in the twelve years since Papa’s death. They had become a little world unto themselves, holding one another together while Mama worried over bills and appearances and burdens she tried not to show.

Evangeline wanted Rosalind to find the sort of love she dreamed of. She wanted Daphne to find someone clever enough to make her laugh and kind enough to deserve her.

She wanted all of it for them.

But she found herself wishing, selfishly perhaps, that time might slow its relentless march for just a little while longer.

Just then, a magnificent carriage rolled slowly along the drive, black lacquer gleaming in the afternoon sun.

Daphne leaned close. “Now there is someone interesting.”

Evangeline smiled. “Very well,” she said as she studied the passing carriage. “And who might its occupants be?”

Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm.”

“Newlyweds,” Rosalind suggested.

“No,” Daphne said, shaking her head. “Spies.”

“Spies?” Rosalind repeated.

“French spies,” she continued. “Here to determine which absurd London fashions English ladies will embrace next.”

Rosalind laughed, and Evangeline joined in too, the sound lifting into the warm afternoon air. But suddenly, a tickle brushed against Evangeline’s nose.

She frowned and lifted a hand. “Oh, dear.”

Daphne glanced toward her. “What is it?”

“The pollen, I believe.”

The trees lining the promenade had begun to bloom in earnest, and pale yellow dust had settled over nearly everything. Evangeline had escaped most of spring without complaint, but apparently nature had finally decided to wage war against her.

She reached into the small reticule hanging from her wrist and withdrew a white linen handkerchief embroidered with tiny blue flowers at the corners. It had been a gift from Rosalind two birthdays ago.

“You are not about to sneeze upon some unfortunate gentleman, are you?” Daphne asked suspiciously.

“I shall endeavour to preserve society from such a horror.”

Rosalind laughed.

At precisely that moment, as Evangeline lifted the handkerchief toward her face, a sudden gust of wind swept across the promenade.

“Oh!”

The linen slipped from her fingers, and for one dreadful instant she watched helplessly as it danced through the air, carried by the breeze like a taunting white bird.

Directly into the path of an approaching rider.

Her stomach dropped as the horse reared, its rider pulling sharply on the reins as gasps sounded around them.

The large black stallion settled quickly under skilled control, stamping once against the gravel.

Whispers spread through the crowd with peculiar swiftness.

“That’s the Duke of Blackwood.”

Despite herself, Evangeline found herself quite unable to look away.

The Duke sat his horse with effortless authority, broad shoulders filling the dark coat he wore. Everything about him seemed large, the width of his chest, the powerful line of his frame, the sheer force of his presence.

Black suits him, Evangeline thought.

Not merely because he wore it, but because he seemed carved from shadows and storm clouds.

Dark brown hair brushed his collar beneath his hat, touched by the breeze. His face was striking in a severe sort of way—the strong line of his jaw, the straight nose, the hard mouth.

And then she saw the scar. It ran from his left temple down across his cheek toward his jaw, pale against sun-bronzed skin.

Society had not exaggerated it, but neither had they spoken of it correctly. Because, in truth, she had expected something monstrous or frightening. Instead, it was neither.

Before she could stop herself, pity stirred. Not pity for the scar itself, but for the loneliness she suddenly thought she saw in his face.

“I heard he was injured during the war,” Rosalind murmured.

“And that he scarcely leaves his estate,” Daphne added. “I heard Lady Pembroke say he attends almost no social gatherings.”

Rosalind nodded eagerly. “They say he is cold and severe.”

“And impossible to love,” Daphne finished quietly.

Evangeline’s eyes remained on the Duke.

How strange it was that people spoke such words about someone they did not truly know.

And then, before either sister could stop her, Evangeline stepped forward.

“Evangeline—” Rosalind hissed.

She ignored her sister as she approached the horse and peered upward.

The Duke’s grey eyes met hers, and to Evangeline’s immense surprise, her breath caught in her chest.

His eyes were not merely grey, but storm-grey—the colour of dark skies before rain.

Cold eyes, society would probably say, but she thought they looked tired.

“Your Grace,” she said carefully, “I owe you an apology. The handkerchief is mine.”

His expression did not alter, and for a moment she wondered whether he intended simply to ride away.

“You need not apologise,” he said, in a low voice roughened by disuse.

He leaned forward and extended the handkerchief toward her. Evangeline reached for the linen, and as her fingers brushed the fabric, his hand tightened fractionally.

Only for a moment, but she felt the warmth of his gloved hand beneath hers. A strange sensation passed through her—a feeling that caught low in her chest and spread outward before she could name it.

For one suspended moment, the noise of the promenade seemed to fade entirely.

Then he released the handkerchief and inclined his head once. Without another word, Anthony Hawthorne, Duke of Blackwood, turned his horse and rode away.

For several moments Evangeline stood staring after him, the handkerchief still clasped loosely in her gloved fingers. The dark figure on horseback moved steadily through the promenade, seeming somehow untouched by the cheerful noise around him. People shifted to make room as he passed. Some bowed politely; others avoided looking at him altogether.

Just then, a cool breeze swept suddenly across the park, stirring skirts and ribbons and carrying with it the sharp scent of damp earth.

Evangeline looked up to see that the sky had changed while they had been standing there.

Heavy grey clouds were gathering overhead, rolling slowly across the pale blue of the afternoon sky.

Rosalind followed her gaze and frowned. “Oh, dear.”

Daphne sighed dramatically. “I knew it. Storms always arrive after mysterious encounters with dark gentlemen.”

Evangeline blinked at her. “What an alarming thing to say.”

“It is true,” Daphne insisted as they began walking toward where their carriage waited along the drive. “I have read enough novels to know these things.”

“You have read far too many novels,” Rosalind said.

“I should think that impossible.”

The wind lifted Rosalind’s bonnet ribbons and sent several dark curls escaping from Daphne’s carefully arranged hair.

Around them, the promenade had begun to shift as others noticed the threatening weather. Carriages rolled forward, footmen hurried toward their waiting families, and ladies gathered their skirts as they moved more quickly across the gravel paths.

Evangeline kept pace beside her sisters, though her thoughts had not entirely returned with her.

She could not stop thinking of those storm-grey eyes.

Their carriage came into view just as the first light drops of rain began to fall.

“Oh!” Rosalind hurried forward.

Within moments, they had settled inside, and the carriage lurched into motion, carrying them away from Hyde Park.

Rain began tapping gently against the windows as London passed outside in shifting shades of grey and gold.

“I must confess,” Rosalind said carefully, “I found the Duke rather frightening.”

Daphne looked across at her sister. “How so?”

“He looked as though he had stepped from one of Aunt Eleanor’s Gothic stories,” Roslind explained. “All dark clothes, severe expressions, and tragic secrets.”

Daphne leaned back against the squabs thoughtfully. “I thought he looked rather mysterious.”

Rosalind narrowed her eyes. “Daphne.”

“What?”

“You have that expression.”

“What expression?”

“The one that means you are about to say something inappropriate or dreadful.”

Daphne looked entirely innocent. “I was only going to say that mysterious gentlemen are often attractive.”

Rosalind stared at her. “Daphne.”

“What?” she asked again. “I did not say handsome.”

“You implied it.”

Daphne smiled.

Evangeline shook her head. “You should both stop.” Her sisters looked toward her. “It is unfair to discuss someone as though he were not a real person.”

Rosalind’s expression softened immediately. “You are right.”

Daphne sighed. “You always make me feel guilty.”

“You generally make that very easy.”

Daphne crossed her arms. “I was not being cruel,” she argued. “I was merely expressing my opinion on the matter.”

Evangeline looked out the carriage window again as London unfolded beyond the rain-streaked glass.

They left the open greenery surrounding Hyde Park behind and entered the elegant order of the West End. Shops stood shoulder-to-shoulder beneath painted signs, displaying silks and gloves and delicate china in polished windows. Gentlemen hurried beneath umbrellas while ladies stepped carefully from carriages beneath the protection of attentive footmen.

As they approached Mayfair, the streets widened again.

Tall cream-coloured townhouses lined the fashionable squares, their black iron railings gleaming with rain. It was one of the most desirable neighbourhoods in London, home to old families and great fortunes.

Or at least the appearance of great fortunes.

Evangeline’s gaze followed droplets sliding down the window.

She ought not think about him, and certainly ought not wonder whether he always looked so solemn. Or whether the loneliness she thought she had glimpsed had only existed in her imagination.

She frowned.

Good heavens, Evangeline, she chided silently. You exchanged perhaps ten words with the man.

Chapter Two

Everly House — Mayfair, London

April 1816

The rain had strengthened by the time their carriage turned onto their street in Mayfair. Water glistened upon the cobblestones and ran in narrow streams along the gutters while footmen hurried beneath umbrellas and carriage wheels hissed through the wet streets.

Everly House stood among a neat row of elegant townhouses with cream-coloured stone facades and black iron railings. It was respectable rather than grand, comfortable rather than impressive. As a child, Evangeline had once asked her father why their house was smaller than Lord Weatherby’s several doors down.

“Because I prefer homes with an equal ratio of person to room,” he had replied cheerfully.

Light glowed warmly through the windows despite the gloomy afternoon, and relief stirred faintly within her at the familiar sight. Home always felt different after London society, the noise and expectations and endless effort of being observed left one strangely tired.

The footman hurried forward with an umbrella while the sisters gathered their skirts and stepped carefully onto the pavement.

Daphne glanced upward at the dark sky and sighed. “If the weather intends to continue in this manner, society ought to suspend all obligations until further notice.”

Rosalind laughed softly as they climbed the front steps. “I do not think London would survive such a scandal.”

Inside, warmth greeted them immediately. The scent of beeswax polish and lavender hung in the air, accompanied by the faint aroma of tea somewhere deeper within the house. A maid hurried to take their damp cloaks while another relieved them of gloves and bonnets.

Evangeline loosened her shoulders. No matter what troubles existed within these walls, there was comfort in familiarity.

The sisters made their way toward the morning room, but before they reached the doorway, Evangeline slowed.

Their mother sat near the window with several ledgers spread open before her. Sheets of paper covered the small table beside her chair in untidy stacks.

She looked up at their entrance and smiled, but something about it felt strained.

Lady Margaret Everly had once been considered one of the loveliest women of her generation. Even now, at forty-eight, traces of that beauty remained easy to see. Her chestnut hair, touched now with silver, had been arranged neatly beneath a lace cap, and her features retained an elegant softness that grief had never entirely diminished.

Yet lately, worry had settled itself upon her face in quiet ways, a faint line between her brows, shadows beneath kind eyes that sleep no longer seemed capable of erasing.

Evangeline had begun noticing those things more and more.

“My dears,” Lady Margaret said warmly. “Did you enjoy your walk?”

Rosalind moved immediately toward her and bent to kiss her cheek. “We did, Mama.”

Daphne wandered toward the tea tray and frowned. “There are papers everywhere.”

Lady Margaret’s hand moved almost instinctively over the nearest ledger. “Oh, merely household matters.”

Evangeline’s eyes lingered upon her. Not merely household matters.

For a brief moment nobody spoke, and then Lady Margaret began gathering several loose papers together rather hurriedly.

Far too hurriedly.

A quiet unease settled in Evangeline’s stomach.

“Mama?” Lady Margaret looked up as Evangeline moved farther into the room. “What is it?”

For a moment her mother said nothing, and then she slowly removed her spectacles and set them upon the table.

“Oh, dear…”

Rosalind straightened immediately. “Mama?”

Lady Margaret looked down at the papers in front of her and folded her hands. “I had hoped… I had hoped to spare you girls from this a little longer.”

Evangeline’s heartbeat quickened. Rosalind had gone still beside their mother, and even Daphne had lost her usual easy expression.

Lady Margaret took a breath. “When your father died, I believed I understood our circumstances. I knew there had been debts, naturally. Most families have obligations of some sort.” She looked up. “But I did not realise how extensive they truly were.”

Evangeline sat slowly as a cold feeling began spreading through her chest.

“We have managed these past few years,” Lady Margaret continued, “but only by reducing expenses and drawing upon funds that had been set aside.”

Rosalind frowned. “What funds?”

Lady Margaret looked up. Her eyes had filled with tears.

And Evangeline suddenly knew the answer, even before she spoke.

“The dowries.”

Rosalind and Daphne stared at her.

“The money intended for you and Daphne is gone.”

Outside, rain tapped softly against the windows.

Evangeline turned her head to see the colour draining from Rosalind’s face.

“Gone?” she whispered.

Lady Margaret closed her eyes briefly. “I am so sorry.”

Rosalind lowered herself slowly into a chair as though her legs no longer wished to hold her. “But…” Her voice trembled. “Without dowries…”

Her sister did not finish her sentence. She did not need to. In London society, there were things one did not say aloud, because everyone understood them already. Dowries were among those things. Not every gentleman sought wealth, and love matches certainly existed, but a respectable dowry could improve a young lady’s prospects considerably. Without one, opportunities narrowed.

Evangeline looked down at the ledgers on the table. How strange that something as small as ink upon paper could alter lives so completely.

Beside Rosalind, Daphne reached for her hand.

“We shall think of something,” she said lightly.

“But the money is gone,” Rosalind said, her voice shaking. “And now I may never marry.”

She blinked rapidly and looked down at her hands.

“I do not mean that I care about grand houses or titles.” She gave a small, uncertain laugh. “I know that must sound horribly selfish.”

“It does not,” Lady Margaret said at once.

Rosalind swallowed. “I only…” Her eyes lifted. “I always thought someday there would be someone.”

The knots in Evangeline’s stomach twisted painfully.

Sweet Rosalind.

Rosalind, who still cried at sad endings in novels and believed every lonely gentleman secretly possessed a tender heart beneath a stern expression. Rosalind, who saw romance everywhere.

To hear such despair and uncertainty in her voice felt wrong somehow.

Beside her, Daphne squeezed her hand firmly. “Well,” she announced with forced brightness, “if society proves idiotic enough not to appreciate us, then we shall all go and live in the country and become eccentrics.”

Rosalind gave a watery smile. “Eccentrics?”

“Certainly. We shall fill a house with exotic animals and argue with our neighbours and frighten visitors.”

“Daphne,” Lady Margaret said softly.

Daphne’s smile faltered.

They all knew that Daphne always joked when frightened.

Lady Margaret lowered her gaze toward the papers before her. “There is more.”

A dreadful stillness settled over the room.

“The creditors have become less patient.” Lady Margaret folded her hands together tightly. “If our circumstances do not improve…” She hesitated. “We may lose the house.”

The rain continued tapping against the windows, gentle and steady and unbearably ordinary.

Lose the house.

Evangeline looked around the room at the faded blue wallpaper, the shelves of books Papa had loved. The chair near the fireplace where he used to sit and read aloud in ridiculous voices until all three girls dissolved into laughter.

Her throat tightened.

“And if that happens…” Her voice shook. “Rosalind and Daphne will have very little in the way of prospects.”

Evangeline looked at her sisters, and her chest ached. At twenty-three, she was what society called too old for the marriage game. And yet, she had spent years imagining what her own future might look like.

A man who made her heart race when he entered a room. Holidays by the sea and long walks on the beach. Tender glances across crowded ballrooms.

Evangeline had always wanted love, and for a long time, she had hoped it would find her. There had been suitors over the years, even some proposals, but she had not loved any of them, and so she had not married.

As the years passed, she knew her chances of marrying grew slimmer. And yet, secretly, she still hoped that one day she might meet a man who made her feel like one of the heroines in Jane Austen’s novels.

Yes, Evangeline still hoped, but she also knew that some dreams belonged to stories and some belonged to life. Sometimes life asked for something different.

Evangeline drew a quiet breath. “I shall marry this Season.”

Lady Margaret looked up immediately. “Evangeline—”

“I mean it.”

Daphne frowned. “You cannot simply decide such a thing.”

Evangeline hesitated a moment, then exhaled slowly. “I can.”

She looked toward her sisters and her mother. Since their father passed, it had been she who had looked after this family. And she had no intention of stopping now.

“If I make a good marriage, Rosalind and Daphne will have dowries.” Her eyes moved back to their mother. “And we can keep the house.”

“No.” Lady Margaret’s voice broke. “No, I will not ask this of you.”

“You are not asking,” she replied. “I am offering.”

Evangeline rose and crossed the room, kneeling beside her mother’s chair. Lady Margaret reached over and touched her face.

“My darling…”

Evangeline smiled, though her chest ached.

“We do what families do.”

A tear slipped down Rosalind’s cheeks. “Evangeline…”

“You would do the same for me.”

Lady Margaret brushed trembling fingers through Evangeline’s hair.

“The Duchess of Ashbourne’s Midsummer Ball is next week.”

Evangeline looked up.

An invitation to the Duchess of Ashbourne’s ball was coveted by every ambitious family in London.

“The guest list is always excellent,” Lady Margaret continued carefully. “There will be many unmarried gentlemen present.”

Evangeline held her mother’s gaze, then nodded once. “If I am to secure a husband,” she said quietly, “that will be my opportunity.”

***

Later that evening, Evangeline sat before her dressing table while moonlight spilled softly through the windows of her bedchamber.

The house had gone quiet around her.

Somewhere belowstairs she heard the faint sounds of servants finishing their work for the night. Otherwise, there was only silence.

She removed her earrings and set them beside her hairbrush. As she reached to remove her necklace, her gaze fell upon the handkerchief resting near the mirror.

For a moment, she simply stared at it, then slowly she ran her thumb over the embroidered blue flowers in one corner.

Her thoughts betrayed her immediately, and she frowned faintly.

Very carefully, she folded the handkerchief and placed it upon the dressing table.

Tomorrow she would begin considering gentlemen differently.

Not as heroes from stories or as future grand romances, but as security and duty.

Her sisters deserved futures of their own.

Rosalind deserved love, and Daphne her equal. And Evangeline was determined to give them both those things.

Whatever it cost her.