Chapter One
England, 1860
Saffron Summersby’s breathformed a cloud of mist as she searched the murky night for a spray of peacock feathers or a flash of pale yellow.
A perfectly manicured lawn stretched out in front of her, bisected by a white, stone path. To her right, twin onyx lions guarded the entrance to a hedge maze. To her left, the path wound around a circular structure with a domed top.
A cool wind brushed across the terrace, bringing with it the mixed perfume of flowering plants. She rubbed her gloved hands over the exposed skin of her upper arms. Had she known she would be chasing her foolish younger sister around in near-freezing temperatures, she would have worn a shawl over her brown, wool gown.
The last time she had seen Angelica, the Duke of Canterbury had collected her for the dance he’d claimed, a quadrille. The thought of her sister wrapped in the elderly duke’s arms made her insides squirm, but they were running out of options.
She pried her chilled fingers from the balustrade and returned to the cloying warmth of the ballroom, where couples twirled and stomped to the tune of a simple country dance, illuminated by candles set in low-hanging chandeliers. Paintingscovered the walls, from brash depictions of horses stampeding to war to gentle landscapes in hues of green and brown.
Each lady wore a unique color, their hair decorated with bobbing feathers or sparkling gems. All the colors blurred together in Saffron’s vision, like she was spinning in circles, and it made her nauseated. Sweat dripped down her back, but she forced herself to keep moving.
She managed three steps into the refreshment room, the last notes of the orchestra still hanging in the air, before the Dowager Duchess of St. Clair caught her.
“Oh, Miss Summersby,” the woman said. She fluttered her fan, causing locks of silver hair to float away from her face. “I did not know you would be in attendance. How kind of Lord and Lady Jarvis to invite your family, despite your… unfortunate circumstances.”
Saffron forced a pretty smile. She could not respond to the taunt without giving the society matrons another reason to shun her. She dipped into a curtsey. “Your Grace.”
The dowager clicked her tongue. “Come, let me look at you. I have not seen you for ages. We’re discussing the newest production ofThe Brides of Garryowenat the Adelphi.”
Against her wishes, she joined the entourage surrounding the duchess. To do otherwise would have been rude. She would have to hope the woman would tire of her company quickly. “I have not seen it, Your Grace.”
“Why, you must. It is a splendid time.” The dowager helped herself to a fruit tart from her serving plate. She had crammed her ample bosom into a crimson gown of jacquard-woven silk, the neckline pulled so low that half the gentlemen surrounding her had trouble keeping their gaze on her face.
Saffron envied the duchess and her independence. As a titled woman of wealth and power, she was above reproach. She couldride a white stallion around the park in a Grecian toga and still receive invitations for every major event of the Season.
“I might lend you my private box,” the dowager added, brushing crumbs from her bosom. “You could watch it with your aunt, and that darling sister of yours.”
Her sister would love that. Angelica hid her disappointment well, but the sadness in her eyes every time they had to sell another piece of their mother’s precious jewelry made Saffron feel like a monster. Soon they would have nothing of their mother but a handful of faded portraits and the one item Saffron refused to part with, her mother’s diamond broach.
At least they hadn’t yet sold the books. When that day came, they would both cry.
“It would be an honor.” She bowed her head.
“Where is your sister, my dear?” Rouged lips curved into a devious smile. “I have not seen her since dinner.”
A cold needle of fear pierced her heart and she used the first lie that came to her mind. “She is suffering a megrim. She has not been feeling quite herself lately.”
The dowager made a humming sound. “Yes, the two of you are quite the pair. One strange, the other flighty. I pity your aunt.”
Saffron’s cheeks burned. As the eldest, it was her responsibility to guide her sister through the shark-infested waters of society. Unfortunately, keeping Angelica out of trouble was like trying to cage the wind.
This would never have happened if Basil were still alive.
Everything had changed after her brother’s death. With no male heirs, the Crown had awarded the baronet title to a distant cousin, who cared not one whit for his estranged family. The funds that had once seemed endless had rapidly dried up. They had scrimped and saved every penny, but the small pension her widowed aunt, Rosemary, had received from herfirst husband couldn’t support them. Then the newly widowed Duke of Canterbury had arrived in town like a white knight and immediately set his sights on Angelica. His wealth meant a lack of dowry was of no consequence, but he had insisted upon an old-fashioned, lengthy courtship. That would not have been a problem, except that they had missed the last payment on their townhouse, and the two prior payments had been short. It would not be long before the bank ran out of patience.
We will make it, Saffron thought.If I must become a governess, we’ll make it.
But first she had to prevent her sister from ruining herself.
She clenched her jaw and, with a prayer for luck, took a half-step back as a young man laden with drinks passed behind her. The sound of tearing cloth split the air, sending her sprawling. Two glasses of lemonade shattered against the marble floor. Servants descended upon the broken glass, ushering them away.
The young man stared at Saffron in horror. “Dreadfully sorry.” His ears turned a bright red, the same shade as his curly hair. He dabbed at a wet spot on his brown wool jacket. “I did not see you.”
“Enough of that.” The dowager waved her empty plate in the air. “The deed is done. Off with you. Accompany Miss Summersby to the retiring room.”
