The Scarred Duke’s Deceiving Bride (Preview)

Prologue

James Montague, Duke of Kennington, gazed toward the horizon, losing himself in the view of the sea and the first rays of an early morning sunrise.

The ship had arrived in the cove several hours later than expected. He’d been hidden in the sand dunes at the foot of the cliff since midnight. 

He gazed at the silvery seascape, calm and flat like a lake and wished for that same calm and serenity in his own life.

The news from their people in France was bad, and it was clear that someone had infiltrated their network. 

Jupiter, a leading agent, and personal friend as well as comrade, had disappeared—presumed dead. He’d been taken from the place where he’d been living an undercover life near the town of Gravelines and taken to Paris for interrogation. None of them expected to see him again. 

He looked toward his cousin, Sir Philip Sinclair, who stood counting the bolts of cloth being loaded onto the rowing boat… ready to go out to the French ship waiting far in the bay.

It seemed strange to hear voices calling to each other in French at the isolated beach on the Suffolk coast. He loved the language of the land of his grandmother, Celestine, and regretted the war between the two countries, which showed no signs of ending. 

Fluency in French, as grandchildren of emigres from the bitter Revolution in that country, had made him and Philip valuable commodities to their British spymasters in London’s Whitehall.

They would continue to do their duty and serve their country, but it didn’t mean he didn’t long for a peaceful life walking his dog, riding across his estate and occasionally flirting with eligible young ladies at society ton events. 

“Are they ready to go?” James asked Philip, feeling apprehensive as the sun rose higher in the sky. They needed to leave that beach. 

“Pretty much. Everything’s on board,” replied Philip.

James knew how urgent it was that the bolts of cloth containing coded messages reach their people across the northern coast of Normandy.

“I’m glad we sent agent Saturn with the first boat. I don’t like being this late. It’s daybreak, and our work is best done under cover of darkness.”

James stopped suddenly and looked around. The owl hoot. Unmistakable. An alert to tell them someone approached. 

The revenue men who patrolled this coast had been told not to interrupt this shipment, but he knew that messages could be lost or misunderstood. 

I hope it isn’t the dragoons riding into action to stop a smuggling shipment. I don’t want to have escaped death at French hands for the last two years to end up being killed by a redcoat.

He called to the sailors on the boat to leave, speaking rapidly in both English and French. Philip told their own men to scatter and make their way back to the village. 

“Damn it. The rest of the shipment will have to wait for the next boat,” James muttered, not liking this at all. 

“It won’t be too long. There’s another shipment due next week,” whispered Philip. 

They stood back in the dunes, their horses beside them. The intruders should appear any second.

The owl hooted again—this time three hoots to tell them to hide. 

She appeared out of nowhere. James gasped in stunned surprise. This isn’t what he had expected to see. Was this a woman or a creature from another realm? Her long chestnut hair flew out behind her as she rode her horse across the beach. As he watched she urged her mount alongside the waves, the sea splashing into a whirlpool behind her as they galloped onward.

It’s almost as though she is part of the horse. Is she human? A faerie creature from another realm? James’ breath caught in his throat as he gazed at the rider.

He’d heard folk tales of the selkies of Suffolk, those mythical creatures which were part woman and part seal, who left the sea to live on land as humans when they fell in love. The beautiful young woman who galloped across the beach, on a horse the color of a dark sky at midnight, so like the glossy pelt of a seal, could have been one of those mythical creatures. 

Should he leave her to ride on? 

Why would a young woman be riding at speed along a deserted beach? A cove, where agents of the crown had just exchanged men, and sent instructions in those bolts of cloth to their network of British spies across the northern coast of France. 

Could she be an enemy agent?

James stopped watching her and ran to his horse, leaping onto Titan and urging him into an immediate canter accelerating to a gallop chasing after the figure riding her horse along the shifting sands of the beach. 

His horse had been waiting for several hours and sensed an excitement in his rider driving him to race ahead, hooves pounding along the sand chasing the mysterious woman. 

James called to her, but she did not stop. Surely she must have heard him? She seemed in a world of her own, connected to another realm. 

He called for her to stop again, but she still showed no sign of hearing him as she urged her horse along the beach with that mane of dark brown hair streaming after her like strands of seaweed.

He urged Titan forward, sensing the moment the horse settled into his fastest stride, and raced forward to overtake the rider ahead. The gap between them began to close. He knew when she saw him and it was as if she had returned from that other world. 

He waved at her and tried to signal for her to slow down. The look of annoyance on her face made him sorry he’d had to stop her wild gallop along the water’s edge. 

She slowed to a walk but didn’t dismount. “Are you all right?” James asked her. 

“I’m sorry,” she said with barely concealed anger. “I was enjoying an early morning ride, and you’ve stopped me to ask if I’m all right. Of course I’m all right.”

“I thought your horse might have bolted,” James said, struggling to find words to say. He knew the questions which he needed to ask her, but however he put them it was going to seem strange. 

“I don’t believe you,” she said, her sapphire blue eyes blazing at him. “You’re either with those smugglers or the revenue men. I can see that boat out in the bay and there are tracks in the sand. Either way I want nothing to do with you,” she told him sharply. 

He looked out at the rowing boat now almost a speck on the horizon. This was smuggling country, and a French ship in this cove wouldn’t be seen as unusual. No one knew that its cargo and purpose was different to the usual cognac, rum, lace and silk.

“Very well I shan’t tell you why I’m on the beach. You can assume whatever you want. However, it is highly unusual for a young lady to be out unescorted this early in the day. Do you usually gallop as if the hounds of hell are chasing you?”

“I ride how I choose to ride,” she told him. “It is no concern of yours.”

Her horse had slowed almost to a halt, and she slipped deftly down and out of the saddle onto the beach. He caught himself admiring the delicate shape of her willowy body, and the style of the riding habit, which would not have been out of place in Hyde Park in London. 

He dismounted to join her and found that he towered over her and yet her presence and confidence made her seem taller. 

She led her horse by its bridle as she walked along the shore. A slight breeze ruffled her hair, and she put up her hand to push it out of her face.

“Who are you? And what are you doing here?” he asked.

“You think I’m with the smugglers?” she said laughing and almost doubling over in amusement. He waited for her to become calm again. 

“And who are you sir?” she demanded in return.

“I’m not at liberty to tell you that,” he told her, knowing he sounded stilted and formal. 

“Oh really? Yet you demand to know my name,” she said indignantly. 

“You need to tell me your name and why you are here,” James repeated.

“I don’t like your tone sir. However, I have nothing to hide. I’m Lady Phoebe Barrington, and I still feel my reasons for being on this beach are no business of yours.”

“I would not be a gentleman if I didn’t ask why you are here, riding alone so early in the morning,” replied James.

“Gentleman? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous. There is no way a gentleman would chase after me along the beach and demand to know what I’m doing here.”

The anger and indignation were real. He felt certain in that instant that Lady Phoebe Barrington was no French spy. 

“I’m no gentleman,” James told her smiling. “And you do not behave like a lady.”

“That’s outrageous,” she told him, her eyes blazing. 

“Well Lady Barrington, my advice to you is to act like a lady if you don’t wish to be mistaken for a hoyden. You should not be riding out alone.”

As he gazed at this intriguing woman, he knew she knew nothing, and probably cared little, about their clandestine business on the beach. Lady Phoebe Barrington being on the beach was a coincidence. But why was a young lady of quality galloping along a deserted beach at daybreak? 

***

Well, of all the …

I have every right to ride along the beach. It’s my way of coping with losing my brother. 

Lady Harriette Wainwright gently squeezed her legs to urge Midnight forward. She felt the breeze in her hair and ignored the tiny darts of excitement flowing through her veins. 

She wanted to look back and see if that obnoxious man was staring after her, but knew she didn’t want to make eye contact with him again. Those eyes glaring at her, green like a cat about to pounce on a mouse. She shuddered. 

I usually feel more regulated after my early morning rides. Today I feel more agitated. 

Harriette raked her hands through her hair, tangled with the salt spray, and felt more tears rolling down her cheeks. 

Richard, why did you have to die? You said you would take care of yourself when you left for the Iberian Peninsula. 

Her brother, Richard had been in army intelligence service in the battle against Napoleon Bonaparte. The news had arrived two days prior, that he was missing and presumed dead. 

Her Aunt Cynthia and Uncle Arthur, Lord and Lady Thornley would arrive the next day to take over Branshaw Hall, which was entailed to the male heir. 

But until then, Harriette could ride her horse, Midnight, along the beach and gallop as fast as she wanted. When she rode, she forgot the raw grief and felt in tune with her horse and almost part of the ocean. 

All I wanted to do was ride, instead of which that man chased after me and began berating me about riding along the beach. How dare he! I’ve never met him before, and he spoke to me as if I was a wayward child. 

Harriette thought he might actually pull her off her horse. He scared her, and she didn’t like feeling fearful of a man. Her heart pounded in her chest, until she realized he was merely the most obnoxious man she’d ever met. She was sure he must have been one of the smugglers. That cove was notorious, and she. Had seen the rowing boat out in the bay. 

Why was he asking all those questions? Maybe he was with the revenue men. 

She laughed to herself. Maybe he thought I was a smuggler. 

And he insisted I told him my name and never told me his. I hope I never see him again.

Harriette still felt shaky but just couldn’t get the image of those green eyes out of her mind. 

Chapter One

9 months later

Callender Square, London

All I ever do is sit in this room and go for the occasional walk in the park. Last year I would have been riding every day, tasting the tang of the sea, and feeling the wind against my face. Now I’m confined to this drawing room in Mayfair. Even the weather is dismal with day after day of gray skies and rain. Oh, to see the sunshine and go for a ride on Midnight along the coastline. 

Harriette’s uncle Arthur, Lord Thornley, came into the drawing room holding a letter and staring at it in confusion. “My dear Cynthia, what do you think of this letter?” he said to his wife and handed her a thick page of velum. He then stood waiting while she read the contents. Harriette watched, aware her Aunt Cynthia looked perturbed as she stared at the page.

“I swear I’d forgotten all about this arrangement. Well, that’s not strictly true. I knew that your father and the Duke of Kennington believed an alliance between our families would be advantageous, mainly because our estates in Sussex share a border. However, your father passed away ten years ago, and we had no contact with George, or his family, after your father’s funeral.

They were close friends, but we’ve lost contact over the years,” Aunt Cynthia said, almost talking to herself, as if she were trying to make sense of the contents. 

Harriette watched as her aunt seemed to stare at the words. “This is quite a surprise. In fact, isn’t your father’s friend, the Duke of Kennington, dead?” 

“I believe he died about eighteen months ago,” replied Uncle Arthur.

“These betrothal arrangements are so old fashioned and unlikely to stand up to a legal challenge,” her aunt said thoughtfully.

“That’s exactly what I thought, my dove. You are so astute in these matters,” her husband replied.

“Having said that it would do no harm to maintain the connection. This is clearly an expectation that we honor this contract of marriage between Isabella and James Montague, who will now be Duke of Kennington.” 

She handed the letter back to her husband. “This letter is from Louise, Duchess of Kennington. She’s inviting Isabella to stay over the summer, with a view to the couple getting to know each other and decide whether to proceed with the match.”

Aunt Cynthia looked at her husband with concern etched on her face. “How unexpected and confusing. We need to give this some thought,” she said vaguely.

“Do you think Isabella should marry Montague?” asked Arthur, blunt as always. 

“Papa no…” came an anguished voice from the sofa.

“Hush, Isabella,” said her mother. “Your father and I need to work out what this means. It seems you are betrothed to a man who is now the Duke of Kennington.”

“You never told me this before! How can I be betrothed to a man I’ve never met?” protested Isabella, Harriette’s cousin, her light brown ringlets bobbing about in agitation. 

Harriette stared at the scene, feeling uncomfortable at being an observer in such a tense family conversation. She wished she could sink into the chair and disappear. 

“We were aware that your grandfather and his friend talked about how wonderful it would be if our families joined together through matrimony. It would create one of the largest estates in Suffolk. We weren’t aware of any formal agreement. It’s a total surprise,” continued Harriette’s Aunt Cynthia.

“It’s quite ridiculous,” continued Isabella.

“Hmm. In different circumstances I might have considered James Montague as a match for you. You would eventually be a duchess,” mused Lady Thornley.

“But Mama …” shrieked Isabella. 

“Calm yourself, Isabella. There is no way you can marry the Duke of Kennington.” She held the letter out in front of her and squinted at the contents. “I’d quite forgotten that on top of everything else James Montague is hideously scarred physically from action in the war. Rumor has it that his mental health is fragile too,” she continued. 

“Oh, the poor man,” said Harriette, getting up to stand next to her cousin Isabella. “So many men have died or become disabled.” She felt tears welling in her eyes as she thought of her brother Richard, lost in combat the year before. 

“They probably can’t find a bride who will accept a deformed Duke and decided to fall back on this betrothal to secure an heir,” continued her Aunt Cynthia, insensitive to her niece’s grief. 

“By Jove, he’s the young man who was held captive after the siege of Cortuna,” said Lord Thornbury. “I heard that he saved several comrades but was captured by the French. He escaped and his wounds healed, but he is a shadow of his former self. He was a member of my club, but they haven’t seen him there since he returned. They say his face is so disfigured and he wears a mask much of the time, preferring to live at Minsmere Manor in Suffolk.” He reached for the decanter on the sideboard and poured himself a glass of Madeira wine. “We don’t know any of this for a fact, Cynthia, it could just be gossip.” 

“I remember hearing the same, Arthur,” agreed Aunt Cynthia. “James Montague returned from the Iberian Peninsula a damaged shell of a man. He is quite reclusive and refuses to leave that estate in Suffolk. They say he went crazy before escaping from the French. It’s rumored he worked in army intelligence, and the French commander had orders to find out all he knew of Wellesley’s battle plans. The battle, and subsequent torture, left him unbalanced in his mind.”

“Oh, the poor man,” repeated Harriette. “Tortured and disfigured.” She hoped Richard hadn’t been tortured before he died. She shuddered, the rawness of his loss returning as she listened to this conversation.

“He sounds a hero to me. It may be advantageous to us to proceed with this match,” suggested Lord Thornley.

“Stuff and nonsense. As I said a few minutes ago Isabella can’t marry this man,” retorted his wife.

“I understand my dear, yet if you read on, you will see that if we pull out of this arrangement then we will owe the Montague family a huge sum of money.”

“You can’t mean that?” said Aunt Cynthia, a look of concern shadowing her face. 

“I wish I didn’t. All my money is tied up in the estate and investments. I simply can’t find that amount of money,” replied her Uncle Arthur in despair. 

“We can’t lose any more money, Arthur. Things are dire enough financially as it is. We’ve already closed up both Latham Priory and Branshaw Hall, our properties in Suffolk, and you’ve been considering renting them out.”

“As soon as we find a tenant, both houses will be let out. We need the income,” said Lord Thornley. “There are aspects of this marriage which could be very attractive financially.”

 “Do I not have a say in this, Papa?” said Isabella. “I’m not going to marry a man I’ve never met, who is hideously deformed and possibly deranged.”

“Of course you’re not my child. We will think of something,” her mother reassured her. 

Aunt Cynthia had moved across to the window, staring out at the driving rain and the carriages trundling past splashing water onto the pavements.

“Can you all be quiet for a moment,” she said as Isabella and her father started to debate what they could do. “I’m trying to think of a way to get Isabella out of this obligation without ruining our finances” 

“If anyone can find a solution then it will be you, my dear” said Arthur in admiration. 

“I’ve got it …” Aunt Cynthia cried. “It’s obvious,”

Harriette looked at her cousin who shrugged in confusion.

“Harriette, Isabella, come and stand here in front of me,” commanded Lady Cynthia “I need to see how tall you are.”

“But you know how tall we are, Mama” protested Isabella. 

“I need to be sure. Now turn around both of you. Ah, perfect, you are pretty much exactly the same height. Everyone is always saying you could be twins.” 

They returned to their seats, both looking baffled.

“You don’t mean …?” stuttered Lord Thornley.

“I do indeed. The answer is staring us in the face. We shall send Harriette in Isabella’s place, and she can break off this betrothal after a suitable period of time. It says in that letter that Isabella must spend three months at Minsmere Manor prior to the marriage. If either of the affianced pair pulls out after one month in close proximity, then the financial consequences are null and void.”

Harriette stood suddenly, her chair pushed backwards so quickly it toppled, and Isabella reached forward to catch it. Harriette took several steps forward and stood in front of her Aunt Cynthia and Uncle Arthur. 

“You cannot send me to marry the Duke of Kennington as a bride incognito. That’s preposterous. I’ve never even met him. It’s not fair to him or me,” protested Harriette.

“What’s preposterous is your speaking to your Aunt Cynthia in that tone of voice,” her Uncle Arthur scolded.

The room felt unbearably hot, and Harriette wished there was a table to hold onto. A wave of dizziness washed over her. 

Oh no, I can’t faint now. I need to stay calm and say what I think to this ridiculous plan. 

Isabella came to stand next to Harriette. “She’s right, Papa. You can’t do this.”

Her father looked at them with despair in his eyes. “I don’t know what to do. Your mother refuses to let you go,” he said to Isabella.

“I do indeed. Isabella danced the cotillion and a reel with the Earl of Westmoreland at Lady Baring’s ball last week. He called upon her yesterday. She’s made a conquest. She can’t go to Minsmere Manor for several weeks just to call off a marriage with a disfigured Duke.”

“There is an agreement, my dove,” Uncle Arthur reminded her. 

“I hadn’t finished, Arthur. I will not have Isabella sent into a household with a scarred, crippled man. Harriette is far stronger and will cope better with the situation. And look at them. I struggle to tell the difference sometimes and Isabella is our daughter,” Aunt Cynthia replied.

Harriette’s Uncle Arthur looked at Harriette, and began to speak, a pleading note in his voice. “It wouldn’t be for very long; a month at most. Your aunt is right, it is difficult to tell you apart. You could take Isabella’s place and end this nonsense. We are, erm, on the ropes financially. Even if we let out our country estates, we will still have to make the house ready for tenants, and that will be costly as the houses have been closed for a year and there is only a skeleton staff.” 

“Why Uncle? My brother never spoke of financial difficulties, and since he died you have had access to the income from the Branshaw estate,” asked Harriette.

“I made some dreadful investments, Harriette. I have been hoping, against hope, that I might still get some return on my money, but it looks less likely with every day that passes,” confessed her uncle.

“How so, Papa?” asked Isabella. 

“I invested in farms supplying cork to the wine trade in Portugal. It should have been a steady, safe investment. Now the other partners have sold and cut their losses, which I can’t afford to do. They are convinced that Napoleon will march into Portugal in the months ahead, and the situation in Spain, on the Iberian Peninsula, suggests that might well be the case.”

“Oh Arthur, you weren’t to know,” said Aunt Cynthia.

“I have lost everything. We even risk losing this house in Callander Square.”

“Oh, Papa, I’m so sorry,” said Isabella, going to him and putting her arm around him. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Our best hope is Isabella captivating and securing the Earl. He has ten thousand a year,” said Aunt Cynthia.

Harriette looked at her family in despair. She didn’t feel a warmth of affection for her aunt and uncle. They had arrived within days of the news of her brother Richard’s death. At first there had been some hope as he’d been reported missing in action, but then the war office had confirmed he had been killed on the border between Spain and France.

The message was clear that she needed to be resilient and get on with life. These things happened in war time, and it was their duty to be strong. 

She took a deep breath, hoping it would calm her thoughts. This must be a nightmare. Her Aunt Cynthia suggesting that she went to the house of a duke and impersonated her cousin as a betrothed bride.

She had to break off the engagement before returning to London possibly to marry a man who could be her grandfather. She felt a gentle touch on her arm and looked at Isabella who whispered, “Are you all right?” Harriette nodded her thanks and tried to smile. 

She looked at her Aunt Cynthia and Uncle Arthur, heads together and making plans to put their scheme into action. 

Within a fortnight of their arrival, Harriette’s beloved home, Branshaw Hall, had been closed up, with dust sheets placed on all the furniture, and the staff told there was no work for them as the key turned in the lock. They had offered Nanny Parker a cottage in the grounds as she had an agreement with the family, and Mrs. Ruskin, the housekeeper, had remained with a maid to keep the house habitable and ready for potential tenants. 

Isabella had helped her through those dark days after she lost her family and childhood home at the same time. Her cousin had a way of making things seem better, she wore positivity like a cloak around her, and made sure Harriette was covered by that cloak.

Harriette had soon learned from her cousin Isabella that the same had happened to Isabella’s own home at Latham Priory, which was a half day’s ride further north along the coast. The family had been living in town at Callander Square, and Lady Thornley’s main objective in life was to secure a match for her daughter Isabella. 

A year younger than Isabella, Harriette had been kept at home, rarely venturing out. For several months she had been in deep mourning for her brother, Richard, but now she realized her aunt never wanted her to venture into London society as she might distract potential suitors from Isabella. 

Last month they had met a Lord Pembroke, a Colonel in the army, while walking in Hyde Park and he had asked if he might visit Harriette. He came every week to sit and take tea with her aunt. She knew from the way Aunt Cynthia behaved on these visits that she was hoping for a match between them. 

I don’t dislike Lord Pembroke. He seems cultured and clearly lonely, but I don’t want to marry a man in his late forties. I always wanted to marry for love. 

They weren’t cruel people, Harriette knew. They were struggling financially and trying to avoid a disaster. The only route Aunt Cynthia could see back to prosperity is if Isabella secured a rich husband. 

They were, in effect, keeping her confined and away from society but she didn’t believe there was any malice in it. 

I’m sure, once Isabella is married, that I’ll be allowed out occasionally. At the moment I feel like an unpaid companion to my Aunt Cynthia.

“So, we will simply send Harriette in Isabella’s place and get her to break things off,” concluded Aunt Cynthia.

“We have to consider Harriette in this plan. We don’t want to damage her future and options of finding a suitor,” said Uncle Arthur.

Her aunt looked a little uncertain, as if she was considering whether to say what was in her mind. “I don’t believe we need to worry about Harriette’s future,” her aunt said, before turning to look at Harriette with a broad smile on her face. “I was going to save this news for later, but I have news to share with you. Lord Percival Pembroke is quite settled back into society after recently returning from the Peninsular war. He’s a distant relation of Arthur Wellesley, the commander of the army and very distinguished.” 

“He has been calling regularly,” said Harriette. “I’m sorry Aunt Cynthia but I’m a little confused how this fits with Isabella marrying the Duke of Kennington.”

“A marriage which will never happen. However, Lord Pembroke admires you and has now asked to court you in a formal arrangement. You have a suitor my dear Harriette.” Her aunt clapped her hands in delight. “He’s highly eligible, a widower and has five thousand a year.” 

Harriette stared at her aunt in shock and dismay. “I can’t Aunt Cynthia. I won’t marry unless it is for love.” 

Suddenly it seemed the world started to spin around her again, with the sensation of dizziness and nausea making it difficult to focus. 

“I’ve never heard such poppycock. Of course you will let Lord Pembroke court you. This business with the Duke of Kennington will delay things a little, but as soon as His Grace tears up the marriage contract you can marry Percival.

“And you,” Aunt Cynthia smiled at Isabella, “must stay in town and focus on landing a fine catch. We’re all relying on you marrying a rich suitor.”

“I’m still not sure that people won’t immediately work out that Harriette is not Isabella,” said Uncle Arthur. 

They have moved on from me, no one is going to listen to anything I say against this crazy scheme of pretending to be Isabella to fool the family of a peer of the realm. 

“The girls share strong physical characteristics, and the Duke of Kennington has never met either girl, so our ruse will be successful,” replied Aunt Cynthia confidently.

“Very well, I shall trust in your judgement,” said Lord Thornley.

“Harriette,” said Aunt Cynthia. “We must begin to get you ready for your visit to Minsmere Manor. You’ve only needed mourning clothes and an occasional evening gown but that won’t do for Minsmere. Your uncle has been honest that we need to retrench and not be extravagant. However we can ask for funds in trust for you from your brother’s estate, so I don’t foresee a problem getting you ready for your visit.” 

“I’m sure they won’t expect me to be stylish, Aunt Cynthia. They will be aware the family has only recently left mourning for Richard.”

“Well, we can regard it as planning your trousseau for Lord Pembroke. I’m determined, Harriette, and you know what that means,” Aunt Cynthia warned her.

“Indeed, Aunt Cynthia, I would never disagree when you are determined,” Harriette said smiling at her aunt’s attempt at humor. 

There seemed no point in protesting further. As her aunt had reminded her, they were her legal guardians, and in the end, she would have little choice but to comply with their plan.

Harriette had thought before about leaving and trying to make her own way in the world. The trouble was that she didn’t have the character or skills to make an effective governess. She was not studious, or even talented in music or sketching. She never enjoyed lessons with Miss Mitchell, and always preferred to be outside in the garden or in the still room with herbs and potions. 

I’d be a dreadful companion. Yet it may be that I have to adapt and somehow make myself suitable for such a role. Maybe Isabella will marry a rich lord and take me into her household as a companion. 

The future seemed bleak. Harriette faced a possible marriage to a man thirty years her senior on the horizon. Maybe Lord Pembroke would find another lady to court while she visited Minsmere Manor. She could dream of a different future, even if time was running out. 

Harriette felt that familiar spirit of rebellion rising inside her. She needed to breathe fresh air. Despite her Aunt Cynthia’s rule that she should never leave the house unattended she took her cloak that she had brought from Branshaw Hall and made her way to the door leading into the garden and out to the mews behind the house.

I need to get some air and escape from this house. I don’t care if I ruin my reputation. Maybe I could be a governess? Can they arrest me for impersonating someone else? Will anyone believe my guardians made me do it?