Page 3 of Wynter's Bite

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Page 3 of Wynter's Bite










Chapter Two

Rochester, England, August 1817

Eight years ago

Bethany stepped out of the carriage, eyes fixed in rapt wonder at Ellingsworth manor. Gossamer paper lanterns hung from the trees, lining the drive like stars from the heavens. Strains of enchanting music emanated from the house.

Her mother rapped her on the shoulder with her fan. “Don’t stare! They’ll know you’re a green girl immediately.”

“Yes, Mother.” Bethany schooled her features into what she hoped was an expression of urbane boredom, as if mansions decorated like fairylands were a regular sight. As if this were not her first country party.

Her mother continued her lecture, straightening invisible wrinkles on Bethany’s gown and fussing with her already overworked coiffure. “Remember, this is our best chance to secure a proper match for you. We cannot afford an elaborate come out when the Season begins, and besides, there will be even more attractive debutantes to compete with you in London. We must strike early, while the eligible bachelors have their guard down.”

Bethany nodded, struggling to conceal her disgust. Her mother spoke of the resident gentlemen like they were nothing but hares to be flushed out and trussed with a snare. But Cecily Mead’s plan for a preemptive matrimonial campaign was not simply due to worry about the more affluent competition for the Season. As her father had no sons, his baronetcy would be going to her cousin, Willis, and it was imperative that Bethany marry into a good family so that her parents would be assured of a comfortable future. To make the matter more urgent, the family fortune was dwindling away after two years of bad crops and a few gambling debts. Furthermore, Father had grown impassioned with politics and was determined that Bethany’s marriage secured him the right sort of connections.

Unfortunately, her mother was right. With a modest dowry, only passable skills in ladylike pursuits, limited social connections, and what her father referred to as “irrational flights of fancy,” Bethany was not the most attractive candidate as a prospective bride.

“At least your hair is blonde,” her mother often said. “That is all the rage this Season.”

As if her hair was the only thing about her of value.

Hiding her dejection behind her fan, Bethany followed her parents into the manor, keeping a polite, disinterested smile plastered on her face as the butler announced them.

As they made their way to the bottom of a sweeping staircase to greet the hostess, Bethany’s mother whispered behind her fan, pointing out prospective prey.

“Willoughby may only be a squire, but his income is twelve thousand per annum. You must wrangle a dancing invitation from him at all costs.” Her fan flicked in the direction of a stooped old man. “Lord Peabody may be a little long in the tooth, but he is an earl. Just imagine, you could be a countess! There’s Lord Darkwood, a baron. He is possibly the best catch in attendance. We must endeavor to secure you an introduction.”

Bethany followed her mother’s gaze. The Baron of Darkwood was at least handsome, but something about his harsh countenance and emotionless dark eyes made her shiver. He looked all too capable of cruelty. Darkwood turned and said something to another man, who grinned and laughed. “Who is that gentleman standing next to him?” she whispered, captivated by the man’s long dark red hair, russet brows, and brilliant green eyes dancing with merriment.

Her mother’s lips pursed as if she’d sucked on a lemon. “Viscount de Wynter, a known rake and blackguard. Stay clear of that one.”

“But a viscount ranks higher than a baron.” Bethany frowned in confusion, trying to make sense of her mother’s contrary logic.

“Yes, but the only proposals you’re likely to receive from that one are the indecent kind. He ruins maidens for sport.” Mother lightly grasped Bethany’s upper arm to guide her forward. “Now, avert your gaze before he sees you looking at him.”

Lady Ellingsworth greeted them courteously enough, though with hurried disinterest. Bethany couldn’t blame the hostess, for she still had a long line of guests to greet.

Disinterest turned out to be the best reception Bethany received all evening.


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