“Are you hurt?” her teacher asked.
“I don’t think so,” Heather said. She felt very tired, and rather overheated, but when she glanced at the fire, the teachers and servants had gained control, and now only a few flames sputtered defiantly against their efforts. Then the huge figure of Mr. Barlow (Cook’s husband) took the half-charred rug and mashed out the remaining flames.
“Got you!” he boomed out.
“I tried to smother it myself,” Heather said, blinking the smoke out of her eyes.
“So we saw,” said Mrs. Bloomfield. “Thank goodness you had the presence of mind to call for help, though. One small girl is not an adequate fire brigade. What were you even doing out of bed at this hour?”
“The storm woke us all up. I volunteered to go through the house to ensure all was well, so we could get back to sleep.”
“Heather, you’re the bravest!” Daisy said, pushing her way to Heather. She put a cool hand on Heather’s cheek. “You saved everyone.”
“That was very dangerous, Heather,” Mrs. Bloomfield said. “You could have been hurt. Or worse. Not to mention that you girls are supposed to remain in your room at night!”
“But Mrs. Bloomfield, if I’d chosen to stay in the room and not explored, no one would have seen the danger. And after all, it would be a shame if Wildwood Hall burned down. Where would the school go then?”
Mrs. Bloomfield shook her head, but smiled. “All the same, it would delight me if you considered your options a bit more carefully before rushing in. Look before you leap into the flames, one might say.”
“I’ll do my best, Mrs. Bloomfield.”
“See that you do, Miss Hayes.” Her teacher hugged her tightly, negating any censure in her words. “My sweet Heather. Youarevery brave. And that is more important than anything I could teach you.”
Chapter 1
Dearest Heather,
I am now settled in at my new home. It was so lovely to have all of my friends at the wedding, but I scarcely got to speak with anyone. Won’t you consider a visit to London in advance of the Season? We’ve heard not a peep from you all summer long, though I suspect the mail may be delayed due to the poor weather. It seems every week brought news of more storms. Happily, it sounds as if my husband’s (so strange to say!) estates were spared the worst, and of course London is a storm all its own. I plan to host several musical events this autumn and I would so adore for you to attend one. I need hardly say that you are welcome to stay here. Poppy has moved back with her mother and stepfather, and it is a little lonely without her, though my lord never lets me grow melancholy. Truly, he is a most attentive husband….
“Husband!” Heather Hayes snarled. She didn’t want to think of husbands just now. She refolded the much-read letter from her friend Rose and turned to regard the wedding dress occupying the corner of the room.
In Heather’s opinion, there were a few small problems with the dress. The first was that it was horribly out-of-date, stuffy and old-fashioned. Her grandmother might have worn such a dress. It was silk, featuring a stiff stomacher decorated with taffeta ribbons, and huge heavy skirts meant to be supported underneath by the wooden panniers contraption that sat nearby. It resembled nothing so much as a cage, and Heather hated it on sight.
The second problem was simple aesthetics. The silk had been dyedpuce. Had this color once been fashionable? Yes. Did it cause the bile to rise in Heather’s throat? Also, yes.
The third problem was even more simple: Heather did not want to get married. She certainly did not want to get married to a man she despised, who was at minimum thirty years older than her, who only wanted her because she was young and pretty, and who was a friend to her uncle.
“This is not going to happen,” Heather whispered to the dress.
Heather hadn’t always been in such dire straits. Growing up, she’d been a very normal little girl with a cat and a dog. She attended boarding school to educate her and prepare her for the future, enjoying life at home with her parents when not at school. But then came the fatal day when she learned that her parents’ ship was lost at sea. In one moment, Heather lost two pillars in her life, and without her friends to support her, she wasn’t sure how she would survive.
Naturally, the young, orphaned Heather had been provided for. Her uncle Cyril Hayes stepped in as her appointed guardian and life went on. She still went to school, and she returned home during the holidays, though “home” felt different with Uncle Cyril as lord of the manor.
And then, about a year ago, things began to get very bad indeed.
A knock at the door broke her out of her thoughts. A key scraped in the lock, and an older woman walked in, closing the door firmly behind her. The woman’s name was Lydia. Heather and she did not get along.
“Let’s get you ready for your wedding,” Lydia announced, with a certain amount of glee.
“Over my dead body!” Heather snapped back. “That…thing…is hideous. And the wedding is hideous. And the groom is hideous. And my uncle is hideous!”
Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “How dare you speak so of your family and guardian. What an ungrateful chit. Now come here and stand still so I can dress you. You want to impress your bridegroom, don’t you?”
The wheedling suggestion did not sway Heather, who said, “He probably picked it out because he’s so old this looks fashionable to him!”
“You’re in need of discipline,” Lydia told her. “Luckily, Mr. Webb is a believer in the rod, and you will soon be biddable. Now get over here to be dressed.”
“I’ll do it myself. I certainly don’t need your help.”
