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Prologue
“Good morning, miss,” Sally Bisley said as she opened the door and entered the chamber.
Rowena Whitworth turned from her vanity, where she had been brushing out her dark-brown hair, and smiled at her lady’s maid.
“Good morning, Sally,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”
Sally nodded, returning her mistress’s warm smile.
“I did,” she said. “You certainly look bright and fresh this morning.”
Rowena shrugged.
“It is a lovely day,” she said, gesturing at the warm April morning sunshine streaming in through her bedchamber window. It illuminated the room’s mahogany furniture and yellow and pale-blue décor. “I was thinking of spending a good portion of the day in the gardens. Perhaps a picnic with Sybil and some outdoor crocheting. Benji will love it,” she added, glancing across with an affectionate smile at the bed, where a small brown puppy lay curled up and dozing, snoring slightly.
Sally’s face brightened, and she nodded.
“Oh, that does sound lovely,” she said. “I can see to it that a picnic lunch is prepared whenever you wish.”
Rowena grinned.
“Wonderful,” she said.
Together, she and Sally walked over to her wardrobe. After much deliberation, the pair chose a beautiful, pale-purple morning dress for her to wear for breakfast. Then, Sally styled her hair in a loose, elegant bun atop her head, with ringlets delicately hanging in front of her ears. She adorned the hairstyle with a purple ribbon, and Rowena was ready for the morning.
Sally escorted Rowena to the drawing room of her family’s country seat. She immediately noticed the absence of her father as she took a seat beside her younger sister, Sybil. And judging from the expression on Martha Whitworth’s face, she could guess what had happened.
“Good morning, Mother,” Rowena said warmly, hoping to lift her mother’s spirits.
The Viscountess Worthingwood gave her daughter a warm but wan smile.
“Good morning, darling,” she said tiredly. “You look lovely.”
Rowena blushed.
“Thank you,” she said. Then, she turned to Sybil. “How would you like to spend the day in the gardens with me and Benji, Sister?”
Sybil was opening her mouth to respond when their father entered the drawing room. One look at his alcohol-reddened eyes and mussed hair confirmed what she had first suspected about his tardiness.
“Good morning, my dears,” Gerald Whitworth said in honeyed tones.
The women returned the greeting, and Rowena saw her mother bite her lip. She suddenly had the feeling something was amiss. It was not unusual to see her father in such a state. It was well known in their family that he was an elbow-crooker and often drank a bit too much. But it was not normal for her mother to seem so pensive. What had happened to worry her so?
The viscount stumbled his way to a chair beside his wife, wearing a crumpled shirt below his waistcoat and a badly tied cravat. Sybil exchanged a worried glance with Rowena, telling her that her sister sensed something, as well.
“How did you sleep, dear?” the viscount asked his wife, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
The viscountess tried to smile, but the fatigue showed in the lines around her mouth.
“Well enough,” she said. “Have something to eat, darling.”
Everyone tried to pretend she hadn’t suggested it to help him combat the aftereffects of his night of drinking. The viscount helped himself to the small spread of scrambled and boiled eggs and leftover pieces of beef from dinner the evening before. Rowena had noticed her family’s recent increase in thrifty habits, but she put it down to her father having a slow business period.
The family ate in silence for a few minutes. Rowena recalled her idea for the day, and she turned to face her sister.
“Sybil,” she said, “we didn’t finish discussing our day in the gardens. I thought we might take Benji for a walk through the gardens, have a picnic lunch, and then maybe enjoy some crocheting in the shade.”
Sybil nodded eagerly.
