Prologue
There has neverbeen a question in the minds of thetonthat a young lady must be guided very carefully. Her character must be formed by strict supervision and direction. Her judgment must be cultivated with precision to ensure there is never any danger of a misstep in society.
The looks of the lady should be comely, but her appearance will be only the decorative icing on a cake of serious reflection and modesty.
Any matron who would nurture and raise such a feat of young womanhood must be disciplined, careful, orderly, and cautious.
Unfortunately, Miss Eloise Mayton, dear aunt and guide to the five Bennington daughters, had never been informed of these facts.
The lady was unsteady and impractical and prone to approving the most rash ideas and plans.
But then, Miss Mayton saw little reason to change her course now. So far, everything had worked out rather well. The two eldest girls were married, and if there had been false suitors, hired pickpockets, an ill-advised kidnapping, or any other less than well-considered plan, that was all to be forgotten.
At least, forgotten by Miss Mayton. She had little time to reflect upon such trifles. Her thoughts were far too taken up with reminiscing over her history of tragic romances on the continent when she had been young and beautiful all those many years ago.
The dear lady had been crossed in love as no other lady ever had—poisonings, hangings, deadly falls—so many gentlemen in love with Miss Mayton had come to a highly romantic and rather final end. She had come very close to becoming a baroness or countess so many times, but fate always stepped in to thwart her.
The Bennington daughters had grown up on her stories and were thrilled by them. They quite naturally presumed they would themselves be the recipient of such deadly passion.
They must only keep their lovestruck gentlemen alive long enough for them to understand their desperate love was requited. That was where their poor aunt had so often gone wrong.
For all that, though, the notion of a gentleman tearing his hair out and threatening to do a violence to himself in the throes of passionate love was found to be very interesting.
And so, with those genial ideas, the five sisters would descend upon London to find their true loves.
Chapter One
The Angel, Basingstoke
1804
Viola Bennington, thirddaughter of the Earl of Westmont, had spent the preceding months dreaming of copper-haired Lord Baderston.
She could hardly attend her sister Rosalind when she visited them in Somerset to tell them of her wedding trip with Conbatten. Though, from what she could remember, the sailing had been positively ghastly and everything else had been positively lovely.
Viola found she could pay little mind to her sister Beatrice’s cajoling of her husband, even though they were neighbors and often at the house. Van Doren was still up in arms over Rosalind’s kidnapping and had composed a thousand lectures about how nothing of the sort could ever happen again.
As time moved dreamily on and the gunshots of the hunting season rang out, she was hardly cognizant of any of it. Her thoughts were too taken up by Lord Baderston.
Her paintings, an art she had taken up during last season, seemed always to drift to a portrait of that young earl, no matter what she had initially intended. She spent hours mixing red and brown to get the color just right on his wonderful copper-colored hair. It was so hard to capture, though—some things produced by nature were too perfect to be replicated.
Viola had not, of course, had any extended conversation with Lord Baderston yet, having only met him once in the park. At least, no extended conversation where he was actually present. She’d had quite a few in her thoughts, though.
Perhaps she did not know him intimately well yet, but he had everything to recommend him! His hair was divine. He had an equally charming face—rugged and ruddy, as if he spent his life out of doors. He had such a strong and determined chin, and at the same time he seemed terribly friendly. He had already expressed an unusual fondness for ham, which everybody knew Viola was exceedingly partial to. That was one thing they had in common, and Viola was certain there were many more to be discovered.
They really were off to a good start. The season was coming and she would see him at parties. He would ask to be put on her card and he would show himself to be just the sort of man she looked for. Beatrice had even speculated that he’d be so keen as to be waiting nearby the doors at Almack’s to see her arrive.
All Lord Baderston had to prove, to be entirely perfect and hers forevermore, was abject loyalty.
Complete and unwavering loyalty was Viola’s absolute requirement. Beatrice may have had her very long list of unattainable attributes and Rosalind may have insisted on courage, but to Viola, loyalty was the hallmark of a true heart.
After all, had it not beenshewho’d patiently waited for two weeks for a very early infatuation to come round and tell her he loved her? It was true that she’d only been eight when the feeling struck but considering her tender age, she’d stayed with it remarkably long.
Was it notshewho stood by and defended her pony, Alice, even though Alice hated all living beings, including herself? How many times had Alice attempted to bite her hand or kick her, then hang her head in shame, certain she would be sent away. Alice was not sent away though, she was given an apple and counseled to try to do better. Alice depended upon her and Viola would love her no matter how hideously she behaved.
Was it not Viola who, at the age of nine, pronounced slices of ham superior to all other meats, and then stayed firm in that opinion? It had not always been easy, either, as sometimes she got a stomachache from it.
She must have a gentleman’s true heart to match her own true heart. There could be nothing more frightening than a person whose opinions on things might change from day to day. Especially not a husband. Was his wife to wake one day and discover she was no longer preferred? No, she could not bear that.
