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Chapter One
1818
There were not many things a woman could control in the world. Her life determined not so much by the winds of fate as the whims of men.
But there was a point where Lady Beatrice Ashforth decided that while she could not be the ultimate queen of her own existence, she could be the architect of her own ruin.
And in the end it would amount to very much the same thing.
Her brother, Hugh Ashforth, the Duke of Kendal, might have control over many things, but only so long as she behaved.
She was through with behaving. The life that Hugh wanted her to live stretched out as grey and unending as a mist on the fields of the Bybee House grounds, the house she would never leave if her brother had his say.
She would never have a Season. She would never...
Marriage, he had decreed, was not something she need concern herself with.
For she was taken care of.
Her brother had consulted a physician—the one who had cared for her in her childhood—on her continued good health, and it had been the opinion of the doctor that childbearing would be the death of her.
That had been all her brother had needed to hear to decree that she should stay beneath his protection.
Beatrice was concerned with her freedom.
She had spent her childhood shut up in the walls of Bybee House. Everything from fresh air to rain to too much sunlight was deemed the enemy of her health.
When her father had died, the responsibility for her health had fallen to Hugh. Hugh did nothing by half measures.
He cared a great deal for her happiness. He brought her sweets from London whenever she wished, new dresses, beautiful bobbles for her hair.
That was precisely why she’d come up with her scheme. One she had told no one—not even Eleanor, her brother’s ward—about.
Well, she had told one person. Her accomplice in the plan.
But she trusted James. His family had purchased a country manor within proximity to Bybee House four years earlier and the two of them had fallen into a strange sort of friendship.
She had never expected to befriend a man. She knew it was somewhat unseemly for a young lady. But Beatrice was accomplished at sneaking out. It had been the only way she could ever have fun as a child. The only way she could leave her bedchamber.
More than that, she had sensed that...it was where she might find her strength. Lying in bed, endlessly bled by physicians, confined to rooms with low light. She felt as if she were withering away. A flower starved for the earth, the rain and the sun.
Out there she had found strength she hadn’t known she’d possessed. It was how she had met Penny, who had once been destined to be her sister-in-law, until the engagement to Beatrice’s brother had been broken. And ultimately, she had found James, and a deep friendship with him.
That friendship had led to conversations about marriage. He was having issues around the subject as well. He did not want a wife, in truth, and though he had not been able to explain it all to her—he had stumbled over his words and in the end asked if she could simply believe him—they had discussed a potential solution for them both.
She would have freedom. She would have a life, a real life. A life as a woman, rather than simply as her brother’s shut-in sister for the rest of her life.
At least tonight the party was at the house, which meant she would be permitted to be in attendance. Though, she was not treated as a real guest. She did not dance. Or have a dance card. Had not made her debut in society.
For after all, what was the purpose?
Hugh did not wish her to marry. And so, he did not have any plans to bring her out. It all made her feel so desperately sad. So desperately lonely. As a married woman she would be permitted to attend balls. She knew she was playing a very dangerous game. That her reputation would be poised on the edge of a knife, and the wrong interpretation of the moment, the wrong strain of gossip, the wrong timing, could damage her in a way that made things quite difficult. But she was invisible as it was, and she would rather be ruined than non-existent.
‘You look be
autiful,’ Eleanor said.
Her friend was lounging on the settee in the corner, dressed in a delicate silver gown covered in glittering stars. Eleanor was to debut this Season. She would not be formally presented in court, as her father had not been part of the aristocracy. Bea didn’t know the full circumstances surrounding Hugh’s connection with Eleanor’s family, only that he had been named her guardian and she was now his responsibility.
Well, Beatrice was his responsibility as well, and he had made decisions about her life that were far too high-handed for her to endure.
‘Thank you,’ Beatrice said, looking at herself in the mirror.
She liked the dress that she was wearing, but she did not look beautiful in the way that Eleanor did. For Eleanor was allowed to look like a woman.
And Beatrice still... She was not in a sophisticated ball gown, not in the way that Eleanor was. Her hair was not pinned up in the same fashion. But it did not matter. For Beatrice was going to make her own way. Her brother was a duke, and he was powerful. And he prized propriety above all else.
He had been engaged a year prior to the daughter of an earl. And when he had heard rumours of her affair with a Scottish soldier he had broken the engagement off swiftly. Coldly. Her brother was a good man, and she knew it. His care of Eleanor was evidence of that. But he had absolutely no tolerance for impropriety. Not after the way their father had treated their mother. He had made a mockery of honour, and Hugh despised it.
Which made the game she was about to play tonight all the more dangerous. Hugh would see her married to James after this. But he would be... He would be deeply disappointed in her. He would not understand. As far as he was concerned he was the head of the household, the head of the family, and what he deemed to be right and true and necessary was so. Her brother was arrogant, all the way down to the soles of his boots.
He was a duke. No one dared question him. No one except for his best friend, the Duke of Brigham, whom they all called Briggs.
They were as different as two men could possibly be. They might have the same title, but their behaviour, their outlook on life, was quite different.
He would understand. When she explained to him. If she was allowed to explain it to him. Ever. If her brother didn’t actually kill her.
Though, she doubted he would, considering he was pushing her to this place out of his concern for her untimely death.
‘You seem distracted,’ Eleanor said.
‘I am rather,’ Beatrice said. ‘I only hope that tonight is...’ She could not find a word for it. ‘Fun.’
What a silly, nonsensical word for planning to upend your whole life.
Eleanor smiled, but the smile seemed sad. ‘I am sure that it will be. Your brother is intent on finding a husband for me.’
