ChapterOne
England, 1813
Miss Anette Bolingbroke had the terrible misfortune of being born a lady. A simple, overachieving lady. A bluestocking, or so she had been called on an occasion or two. It wasn’t an insult to her, but rather a compliment.
If she had been lucky, she would have been born an heiress, and she wouldn’t have to conform to societal norms. But she was not so fortunate. Her dowry was sizeable but that would belong to her husband once they were wed. And, quite frankly, she had no desire to participate in the marriage mart this Season, or any other for that matter. She was quite content with being alone.
Despite her objections to matrimony, she didn’t fault women for wanting a husband since that brought forth security and the protection of their name. She hadn’t always been so jaded about marriage. It all changed when the man she wished to marry had rejected her, leaving her heart shattered.
As she stared out the window of the darkened coach, Anette resisted the urge to sigh. She didn’t know exactly what she wanted to do with her life, but she refused to sit back and let others plan her future.
The worst part was that she knew if she followed the dictates of her heart, it would disappoint the people she was closest to. And that was a devastating thought. She had no desire to disappoint anyone, least of all herself.
Her brother’s amused voice pierced the silence. “Has anyone else noticed that Anette has failed to move since we stepped into the coach? It is uncanny.”
Anette brought her gaze to meet his. “I do not dare to move since the ornate lace overlay on my gown is very fine and I cannot risk ripping it. Or, heaven forbid, I wrinkle my gown before I arrive at the ball.”
“Yes, heaven forbid,” Caleb joked.
Her mother spoke up. “Leave Anette alone. I am glad that she is finally taking my advice to heart.”
“How am I to secure a husband if I have a wrinkly gown?” Anette asked lightly. “It is unthinkable.”
“You must always look your best because you never know who is watching,” her mother advised.
Anette blew out a puff of air and the two curls that framed her face took flight. “No one is watching me, Mother.”
“You don’t know that,” her mother contended.
“I do know that,” Anette asserted. Why did her mother insist that people cared about what she did or how she thought? For the most part, no one gave her any heed. She was overlooked by everyone. Yet her mother failed to see what was right in front of her.
Her mother gave her an encouraging smile. “You are only in your first Season. You have time to secure an advantageous match.”
“I don’t think time is the issue,” Caleb remarked. “Anette seems to have an aversion to the marriage mart.”
“No proper lady should have an aversion to marriage,” her mother countered.
Caleb chuckled. “Perhaps that is the problem. Anette may be a lady, but she isn’t exactly proper.”
Her mother bristled. “Do be kind, Caleb,” she ordered. “Anette is just young, and she doesn’t know what she wants.”
“I know what I want,” Anette declared. “I want to be an author and write books.”
“Surely you don’t mean that,” her mother said, dismissing her comment as though it was unthinkable.
“I do,” Anette said.
With a shake of her head, her mother responded, “It is just a passing whim. When you were younger, you used to want to be a horse trainer.”
Anette knew there was no point continuing this argument. No one seemed to believe that she was capable of such a feat, but she knew she could write a book. Now, she just had to figure out what she wanted to write about. That was the hardest part. She had so many ideas that were wafting in her head that were begging to be written down.
Caleb nudged her with his arm. “Don’t despair, Sister,” he said. “I think you would have made a wonderful horse trainer.”
“Don’t encourage her,” her mother stated. “It is bad enough that I have caught her wearing trousers to ride her horse.”
“It is far more comfortable than wearing a riding habit,” Anette remarked.
“A proper lady does not wear trousers,” her mother chided.
