Chapter One
London, April 1812
Victoria Forster eyed herself in the cracked mirror one last time. The dress she wore was not only too long for her short stature but also too big in the bodice. Not to mention of such an ugly shade of green it made her eyes hurt. The scullery maid, Molly—no lady’s maid for the likes of her—had pinned the dress in so many places Victoria was afraid to move.
“Tell her I’ll not wait a minute longer!” Her cousin’s screech scrabbled down the corridor.
But move she must, or Louisa would leave for the soiree without her. Victoria could not afford to miss any social engagements, horrible gown or not. Molly gave her an encouraging smile and, ever so gingerly, Victoria made her way down the staircase of her cousin’s townhouse.
Louisa stood near the front door, her head tilted to catch something the butler, Morgan, had said. His words, whatever they might be, inspired a saucy grin on Louisa’s face.
Victoria was struck again by how young her cousin’s butler was. His muddy brown hair held not a trace of grey and Victoria had determined he was probably around thirty years of age. He certainly was an ambitious fellow to achieve the position of butler so early in his career.
Louisa’s grin vanished when she caught sight of Victoria. In its place was a nasty smirk. “Well, well, well. Don’t you look...atrocious.” Her cousin shook her head in disgust. “That color does not suit you at all.”
Victoria stilled her tongue. Louisa had chosen the gown for her. Louisa chose all of her gowns. None of them ever fit and all of them were as unfashionable as could be. There was nothing Victoria could do about it. She couldn’t wield a needle and thread to save her life and she certainly hadn’t the money to purchase her own gowns.
Swallowing her frustration, Victoria followed her cousin into the waiting carriage. Louisa’s husband, Mr. Barrett Browne, was Victoria’s guardian. The man rarely paid her any mind, especially when she’d been installed at his manor in Lincolnshire. Recently, after her twenty-fourth birthday, he’d decided his ward should have a Season in order to land a husband and remove herself from his expense sheet. Louisa had not embraced this plan with enthusiasm. She spent as little coin as possible on Victoria’s wardrobe and only reluctantly let Victoria attend various social gatherings with her.
Victoria was not certain why Louisa didn’t try harder to get her married off. She’d be out of her cousin’s hair once and for all, wouldn’t she? But then, who would Louisa order around? Upon whom could she pile insult after insult?
The obvious and unfortunate answer was the household servants. However, Louisa treated them with more respect and dignity than she did Victoria.
Louisa, sitting on the opposite seat of the carriage, looked down her nose. “Do not embarrass me.”
Victoria stared at her cousin. “When do I ever embarrass you?”
“Every time you step out of the house. I have no idea why you couldn’t just be left behind at Rippingale, as usual.”
“If I marry, I’ll be out of your life permanently.”
“It’s not worth the expense. Or my time.”
Victoria nearly deflated at that. It was one thing to know a truth. It was another to hear it given life. Many times over. Her father, God rest his soul, had not been a perfect parent, but he had loved her fiercely and vocally. She tried to keep his voice—and his love—alive in her head and her heart. He had always valued her as a person and she had decided, after his death, that she would be his legacy. No matter what, she would always fight for herself. For her dignity, for her right to speak up, for her right to be seen.
Louisa’s lips widened in a sugary, false smile. “Mr. Browne will see soon enough that wasting money on a Season for you is ridiculous. You’re unlikely to attract anyone’s attention. Plain of face, short as a child, dressed as if you are one pretending to be an adult. Enjoy this rout as it may be your last, if I have my druthers.”
Louisa’s smug chuckle filled the carriage. Victoria closed
her eyes. It was all well and good to insist upon her worth, but it didn’t do much good when Louisa turned a deaf ear. She prayed for mercy. Or, at the least, a decent man willing to marry her.
The coachman drew the vehicle to an abrupt halt. The door swung open and a footman pulled down the steps. Louisa swanned out of the carriage without a look back. Victoria followed gingerly, mindful of the dozens of pins keeping her respectable. Once inside the house—a baron’s if she recalled—they made it through the receiving line without incident. At the entry to the drawing room, Louisa put a hand around Victoria’s upper arm, holding her back.
“Yes, dear cousin?” Victoria asked, trying to keep up pretenses.
“Remember your place. Do not reflect badly on me.”
If that were truly her cousin’s concern, she wouldn’t allow Victoria to be dressed as she was. Victoria turned away, effectively releasing Louisa’s hold, and ventured into crowd.
This wasn’t a ball, only a crushing rout and Victoria needed to find a target and put her best foot forward. At just a couple of inches over five feet, there was no point in trying to survey the room. She must dive in. Despite her urgency, she moved sedately due to the precarious state of her bodice and the long hem of the gown, which threatened to trip her up at any moment. It took her ten precious minutes but at last she spotted a gentleman known to her.