Chapter One

Julia knelt upon the floor, making the final adjustments to her ball gown. She took the last pin from her mouth and stood, surveying her work with pride.

“There,” she said. “You couldn’t find better on Bond Street.”

Her mother’s gown might have been old, but elegant simplicity made it timeless. It was a periwinkle satin with delicate lace trim edging the sleeves and neckline. Julia was a few inches taller than her dear mamma had been, and a bit fuller in the bust, but she was a talented seamstress. After all, spinsters needed something to occupy their time. She’d spent the last week completing all the necessary alterations.

“I don’t know why we couldn’t get your gown fitted at Mrs. Maxwell’s.” Julia’s stepsister, Susannah, entered the room with a book in hand. She shook her head, copper ringlets bouncing. “Mamma ordered my entire season’s wardrobe from there.”

“Ah, but your mother hopes you’ll make a good match your debut year.” Julia fluffed the bottom of her dress. “Whereas if she could force me to attend a ball without a stitch of clothing on, she’d be only too happy.”

“Mamma wouldn’t do that,” Susannah said half-heartedly.

“No indeed.” Julia lifted an eyebrow. “Even at my advanced age, wearing nothing in public might secure me a proposal or two.”

“Julia!” Susannah laughed, sitting beside her on the sofa. “You can be quite scandalous.”

“A touch of scandal is good for the blood.” Julia took up an old pair of slippers that had also belonged to her mother. She slid a foot into one, hoping it would fit. Constance, her stepmother, would never dream of purchasing new ball slippers for Julia. “We must conserve our resources,” she’d say with a fluttering handkerchief. “For dear Susannah’s dowry.” Meanwhile, Susannah’s dowry was among the most substantial in London society. To put a dent in it, one would need to buy eighty pairs of solid gold shoes and half of Gloucestershire.

“Maybe if tonight goes well, Mamma would allow you to chaperone me at future events,” Susannah said. Julia wrapped her stepsister in a quick embrace. Her father had married Constance when Julia was thirteen and Susannah four. After his death a mere year later, Susannah had been the best possible comfort. Having her as family was worth being tied to Constance. Mostly.

“Darling, if Constance weren’t currently laid up with a chest cold, there’d be no question of my chaperoning you. While we’re in London, she’ll probably lock me in an attic trunk and allow me out only for small tea breaks.”

Susannah sighed, but she couldn’t deny the truth. Julia put on the other slipper, stood, and walked back and forth across the room a few times. Her shoes fit beautifully. Julia beamed—until the right heel wobbled. Damn. If only she were a talented amateur cobbler as well.

But if being allowed out in society meant wearing bricks, she’d gamely clop her way around the Weatherfords’ Mayfair ballroom tonight. Julia had missed the past ten London Seasons, forced to stay behind in Kent.

“The only reason Constance allowed me to come to town for your first Season was because I’m quite in the prime of spinsterhood.” Julia appreciated how the sunlight winked on the beaded toes of her slippers. Her mother’s taste had been excellent. The thought gave Julia a quiet pang; if only she could remember her. “She knows you’ll be the center of attention, and rightly so. Meanwhile, it’s less likely I’ll secure an offer of marriage than that someone will mistake me for a coat rack.”

“Julia!”

“Well, I am quite tall, darling.” Julia sighed as she took the slippers off. In a perfect world, her heels would be steady. But in a perfect world, her father would still be alive and dear Constance would have been fired out of a cannon long ago. “Tonight could be my first and last chance.”

“To find love?” Susannah asked.

Julia’s smile rarely faltered, and she fought against the impulse. “Love is asking far too much. But a distinguished widower with three thousand a year and one or two amusing jokes should be possible.”

Despite being twenty-seven, perfectly ancient in her stepmother’s opinion, Julia still possessed a full head of golden hair, and eyes that had been described as cornflower blue. She had one nice dimple, a full lower lip, and an easy way with words and smiles. All she required now was a single opportunity to turn a man’s head.

“You’ll find the perfect match tonight.” Susannah got up and embraced Julia. “A true prince.”

“Or a slightly used duke. One must be sensible, after all.”

Julia sighed when she heard the tinkling of a bell somewhere upstairs, and the tromping of obedient feet. The parlor door opened and Mrs. Stanley, the housekeeper, entered with an apologetic look.

“Beg pardon, Miss Julia. Her ladyship would like to see you.”

“Does she require someone to pour her tea? Fluff her pillow?” Julia winked at Susannah. “Fan her with ostrich feathers?”

“Julia.” Susannah stifled a giggle.

“Found a religion in her name and serve as high priestess?”

“I believe it’s time for her medicine,” Mrs. Stanley replied.

“So predictable when one is sick. I expected more originality.” Julia left the other women and climbed the stairs, noting her father’s portrait on the way. She blew a quick kiss to him as she passed down the hall to her stepmother’s bedchamber.

Julia knocked and entered. The curtains were half drawn, leaving the room in semi-darkness. Constance lay tucked beneath quilts, pillows fluffed behind her back. She wore a lace nightcap, and a small selection of ladies’ magazines nested at the foot of her bed. A half-eaten box of marzipan fruit sat directly beside her. From the way she reclined against the cushions, eyes fluttering shut, one might’ve thought her afflicted with consumption or a rare tropical disease. She’d always been dramatic about infirmity. One time she’d developed a hangnail and summoned the doctor in a panic.

“Julia?” she croaked. “Are you there?”

“No, I left, but I’ll return in a moment,” Julia said.

Constance coughed.

“Humor is a bad quality in a woman. Come.” She pointed at a bottle upon her bedside table. “Tend to me.”

Tend to me. Words Julia had heard over and over since her early adolescence. She obeyed, taking up the bottle and a spoon, and sat beside Constance on the bed. Julia poured a dark, syrupy liquid and gave it to her stepmother. Lady Beaumont, as Constance became when she married Julia’s father, had not been born to privilege. By all accounts she’d come from humble origins before marrying her first husband, a wealthy merchant, and then wedding a less-than-wealthy baronet after said merchant’s death. Julia admired the pluck and resourcefulness Constance must have possessed to make such a climb.

Unfortunately, upon entering the aristocracy Constance took the worst of their snobbish traits to heart. She looked down upon servants and tradespeople and performed the most fluttering, histrionic sorts of helplessness.

Julia’s stepmother wanted a companion and nursemaid for the remainder of her life. Susannah would marry, and Julia would stay at home and tend to her. It had been Constance’s design since Julia’s father last drew breath. It was not, however, Julia’s design. Indeed, she’d sketched an altogether different set of plans.

“Well, girl,” Constance said after Julia handed her a glass of water. “I pray you are not wearing that to the Weatherford ball this evening.”

“No, dear stepmother.” Julia smiled sweetly. “I’d intended on sackcloth and ashes. They say it’s the height of fashion this season.”

Constance hmphed. “I hope you won’t joke in such a tasteless manner tonight. I don’t want poor Susannah’s chances crushed by a stray comment. The gentlemen may think madness runs in the family.”

“I will loudly remind everyone I meet that Susannah and I don’t share blood.”

“Very well.” Constance sounded mollified. She frowned again, as she did often. “Mrs. Stanley says you asked to have the pearls brought out.”

“My pearls, you mean?” Julia had to be careful now. “The ones my mother left me?”

“I’m afraid they are out of the question,” Constance said. “They are far too valuable to be worn at such a crowded event.”

No, it’s because they might look becoming upon me, and then some man might notice. Julia had known Constance far too long. Her stepmother wanted her to argue about the pearls, at which point attending the ball would be potentially withheld as a punishment.

Of course, then Susannah would not be able to attend, either. Constance knew Julia had to chaperone; she just didn’t like it. Therefore, she wanted to remind Julia that any good thing could be taken away.

“All right,” Julia said, getting up. “I don’t need the pearls. My gown and slippers will suffice.” She was unable to stop the next tart reply. “Though I could roll about in the dirt a few times. That way, I wouldn’t run the risk of appearing too presentable.”

“Dear child.” Constance tsked. “At your age, it will be a miracle if you’re even noticed. Don’t sulk, Julia. I am only looking after your well-being, as your dear father would have wished.”

Julia knew that this was the precise opposite of what he would have wanted. She liked to imagine that her dear papa looked down from heaven, smiling at her before making a rude gesture in Constance’s direction.

Papa would probably remind Julia that she had the Beaumont spirit. The Beaumont line stretched all the way back to the Conqueror, and King William himself was rumored to have called Julia’s ancestor “the most exhausting man alive.” Beaumonts never gave up.

“Very well, my lady. I shall endeavor to be appropriately dull and spiritless this evening.”

“Good.” Constance nodded in approval. “Fetch me the Lady, and you may go. Oh, and fluff my pillows,” she added when Julia picked up the magazine.

Julia almost offered to fan Constance with ostrich feathers but worried her stepmother would take it seriously.

Julia left the chamber and descended the stairs with even greater determination than before. Tonight she would dance with a wobbly heel, laugh, and catch some gentleman’s eye. She would be charming and witty. She would not turn away anyone, even a shaved walrus, so long as he was prepared to marry her.

As far as Constance was concerned, Julia’s ending had already been written. However, a great revision was about to be made.