Chapter 1

1816 England

IT WAS CONSIDERED PRUDENT for a lady to fastidiously contemplate the art of securing a husband at the age of five-and-twenty. It would gratify her parents immensely and reassure her entire family that she would be well taken care of if she devoted scrupulous efforts to the science of love. 

But it was deuced boring. According to Lady Bridget Harrington. So instead of fastidious contemplation and scrupulous efforts wasted on the art and science of love, she was spending her time simply on the arts and science. No love needed.  

Currently, she was experimenting with her latest invention.

The Glider. 

Ah, yes. The Glider. Glorious. Breathtaking. Windbreaking. Well, maybe not that. But in the wee hours of the morning, as she rode alone down the now desolate Rotten Row, the wind blew through her hair. No speed demons at this time flying by on their horses, trying to win a wager. Just her and her Glider. Pure freedom. Pure delight. Her feet landed on the ground, astride the wooden beam between her legs. The leather of her front and back wheels had lost momentum against the friction of the grass and dirt. It was time to push off and glide again.  

This was what deserved her utmost attention. This invention, among others, was where her heart lay. Her true love. 

As her feet hit the ground again and pushed off, she could feel the slight burn in her muscles from the exertion. Curious and wonderful to experience something new. Perhaps the next version of the Glider would have a method for using her feet to spin the wheel. Like how a knee lever or a foot pedal on a piano controlled different parts of the instrument. She would have to contemplate that more. Yes, that would be her plan for tomorrow: plan pedals of some kind. 

Though it was not in vogue to be a bluestocking, she was fortunate enough to have parents who discouraged censure on her unladylike predilections. 

She glanced around Hyde Park, knowing no one would be around at this time, save her chaperone, a lady’s maid lost in a lurid novel, who was sitting on a bench a few hundred yards away by now. The air was crisp this early, but the summer blossoms still filled the air with sweet honeysuckle.    

She briefly caught sight of a man walking along the path. He walked as though he had a stick up his bum. Confidence bordering on arrogance, to be sure. The fine lines of his coat and breeches attested to him being a peer of the realm. Likely a duke. With her luck. Not that it mattered. He hadn’t seen her yet. No need to confront that likely bullet of judgment. 

Perhaps it was time to take a road less traveled, more sedate. The Lady’s Mile would do nicely. Surely no ladies would be out at this time. It simply wasn’t done, for it wasn’t proper. 

Bridget glided down toward the Lady’s Mile, indifferent to the supercilious man-probably-duke, lost in her reverie of wheels and pedals.  

***

ARTHUR ASHBOURNE, DUKE OF Whitewood, knew it was far too early to be on his way to the symposium on the new medical field of gynecology. But he couldn’t sit around Snowfield House thinking about women’s…under parts. What he needed was a long, brisk walk in the park. Residing for the season two minutes away, in Grosvenor Square, afforded him the luxury of taking such a needed stroll. With the swelling anticipation Arthur was experiencing, he would have broken out into an unfashionable run had he not been paying particular attention to the straightness of his spine. If it was straight, he couldn’t possibly run. He was a duke after all. He had a reputation to maintain. True no one was around, but anyone could come by at any moment. 

Attending the gynecology symposium was already taboo enough for one day. Probably for a lifetime. But he couldn’t pass up the knowledge. Hardly anyone spoke of women’s medicine. And didn’t women deserve equal care to men? He knew he certainly felt as though the women in his life, his mother and sister to name two, deserved the best care possible. Much of his medical expertise was focused on ensuring proper attention was given to the men who worked in the Ashbourne owned mines. It was time to consider the other gender. 

So it was that Arthur noticed nothing in Hyde Park that morning. Not the flowers. Not the fragrance of honeysuckle. Not the sound of the soft breeze. And certainly not–

Well, now. How could one neglect to notice the blue-frocked, dark haired, bespectacled beauty in the middle of Rotten Row riding a…he had no clue what to call that contraption. He had never seen anything of its kind before. He almost hailed her until he realized they were the only two in the park, and she probably thought she was the only one there.

Hands at his side, spine straight, he continued his leisurely–albeit fast-paced–stroll.   

He had no time for such independent women anyway. Convention dictated that he find a biddable wife, some passion was acceptable, as long as she was groomed to be a duchess. He was sure that the second he met her he would fall in love. He just knew it in his bones. That’s how it had been with his parents, and they had experienced a loving marriage. Cut a bit short, but full of love all the same. Certainly the same fate was to befall him. 

Mavis, his mother, had been more attentive to her children than most duchesses. She breastfed her children, when she could, for as long as she could. Though she had the help of a nursemaid, she worked hard to create a bond with each of her children. 

There were even some nights that Arthur could recall his mother sleeping with one or another of his siblings when they were infirm or struggling with a nightmare. She was the epitome of what it meant to be a mother. And that was the kind of mother he would have for his children. 

His parents had been incredibly happy, almost irritatingly so, except that they had poured the same amount of love into their eight children. Rest assured, it was not a marriage of convenience or an heir-and-a-spare agreement. No, his parents had found their perfect match and had married for love. He was unwavering in his confidence that he would find the same for himself. 

The shimmer of those glasses against that pale face that was split into a grin as wide as the ocean pressed into his mind. A shiver wiggled its way up his spine, momentarily unstraightening the straightness. 

It was a fleeting thought. Due to the oddness of the contraption she had been riding. That was all.    

Certainly, nothing so free could be contained long enough to be loved.