Secrets and Sin (Bow Street Wallflowers #2)
Prologue
PROLOGUE
L ondon, May 1807
Glittering chandeliers hung high overhead, casting light upon the swirls of colour below. Miss Maria Roberts flipped open her fan and waved it before her rhythmically as her stomach swooped in anticipation. Music filled the grand ballroom, and hope swelled in her chest.
The ballroom was large and full, the air fragrant with perfume and heavy with humidity. It was utterly delightful.
She scanned those in attendance, enjoying the bustling activity and high energy, and her gaze irrevocably slid sideways toward a group of young men. Despite her best efforts to the contrary, she frequently found herself watching the handsome profile of Jasper Sinclair, the future Duke of Derby.
The young man was the focus of all the society mamas, who were no doubt studiously directing their newly out daughters in the art of fan flirting in his direction—a practice which continued to mystify Maria. He was charming, affable, and knew precisely what to do to get a woman’s heart fluttering.
Her stomach twisted in knots, and she suppressed a sigh. With every one of the man’s breaths, he stole hers away. With every flash of his single dimple, tingles skittered over her skin. And, Lord help her, with every word he spoke, her belly trembled. His hair was black as pitch and appeared feathery to the touch—heavens, but she wanted to touch it—and his eyes…
“Have you any names on your dance cards?” her dear friend Lady Juliana Sinclair asked, jolting Maria out of her ill-timed musings about the woman’s brother.
The third of their trio, Miss Heather Morgan, shook her head. “I do not expect to receive any. My aunt says that I ought instead to focus on?—”
“Come now, dearest,” Juliana murmured, a delicate frown puckering her brows. “You ought never to take what she says to heart. Your aunt’s treatment of you is abysmal. You may set your heart on whomever or whatever you desire. And I daresay you should.”
Heather nodded. “Yes. Of course you’re right, Juliana.”
“Indeed.” Juliana turned her gaze to Maria. “And you, Maria? Have you any names on your dance card?”
“No.” Her stomach gave a sad wobble. “We are only in our second season; not on the shelf already .”
“I should say not,” Heather mused, her expression rueful. “It would appear, however, that we are wallflowers.”
“ Wallflowers .” Juliana scoffed. “Surely not! You two are lovely, and I’m… Well, you two are very pretty.”
Hiding a perplexing flinch at being called pretty , Maria gently chided her friend. “Oh pish. While our intelligence might be intimidating for men—and therefore must be disguised—our beauty is undeniable.”
Juliana mightn’t believe it, but she was beautiful: tall and shapely with stunning hair. And, for pity’s sake, she was the daughter of a duke! It seemed impossible that men would not line up for the opportunity to dance with her. But her friend had experienced several disheartening encounters with disingenuous men and fortune hunters—and was, Maria knew, understandably jaded.
Dancers whirled past, and Maria watched them with longing. How odd that she’d never been particularly fond of dancing, and yet she now found herself missing it.
“Besides, how handsome a woman is scarcely determines how marriageable she is. One must also consider their breeding,” Heather mused, listing the items on her fingers, “the suitability of their relations, or whether madness runs in their blood—” Her eyes flashed wide. “Oh Maria, I’m sorry. I?—”
Maria waved a gloved hand through the air, her empty dance card dangling limply from her wrist. “I know that you meant no harm by it, Heather.”
“Your brother is a genuinely lovely person; not mad, at all,” Juliana put in. “I fail to comprehend society’s lack of acceptance.”
Maria nodded. “Thank you.”
“Nevertheless,” Heather continued, “we are undeniably wallflowers.”
“I daresay it matters naught…”
Her friends’ discussion continued as they strode to the refreshment table, giving Maria an opportunity to gather herself. All the while, her thoughts turned inward. Her brother, Thomas, was indeed wonderful. And Juliana was correct: he was by no means mad. With the haut ton’s skewed definition of madness, however, Thomas was forced to?—
Maria discreetly cleared her throat in an attempt to dislodge the lump that had abruptly formed there. Thomas wasn’t the only reason she was a social pariah. It was also because of her boisterous and overbearing mother, her too-familiar father, and her own…peculiarities.
A heavy sigh escaped her.
She looked downward at her attire. That evening, she wore white, like the other debutantes of the ton . Her bodice was modest, her sleeves capped, and her brown hair done fashionably high. Her gown wasn’t threadbare or out of style, but for some reason she felt mundane, and wished she were permitted to wear a colour that brightened her grey eyes and detracted from her too-strong jaw.
No , her inner voice challenged. She didn’t just feel mundane . Today, this dress felt… wrong . Mayhap it didn’t perfectly suit her body—despite the modiste’s assurances to the contrary—or perhaps the lack of colour made her look drawn. But whatever the reason, the wrongness itched along her spine and curdled high in her belly.
And yet… She still wanted to dance.
Raucous laughter erupted from several paces away, drawing Maria’s attention to the group of handsome young men gathered around Jasper. The young pups gazed at him in admiration, clearly pleased that they’d been included among his circle.
Maria angled her slender neck, notching her chin higher in the hope of making her jaw appear less harsh should one of them deign to look her way. Please let it be Jasper . She shifted her stance near the wall, affecting nonchalance in an attempt to lure the men toward her. Would that they asked her to dance!
“It’s unfortunate, really,” one man said mockingly.
“Indeed not,” another young man replied. “It’s their own fault.”
Maria stilled. Did men gossip? She trained her ear on them while she focused her gaze on the dancers.
“How so?” Jasper asked, sipping on his champagne.
“If,” the man responded, “they truly intended to attract a husband, they would lower their necklines and fix their flaws. And, of course, one cannot go wrong with allowing a man some liberties.”
The men laughed again, and Maria pursed her lips.
“You just want to get under their skirts, Billingsly,” the first man said with a superior sniff.
“Doesn’t every man?” drawled another.
More laughter erupted, and Maria’s stomach dipped unpleasantly.
“But one must have standards,” Jasper interjected. “Unlike Billingsly, of course.”
The man named Billingsly lightly shoved Jasper with his elbow. “Sod off, Sinclair. I wager that even you haven’t the cods to seek a dance with a wallflower.”
“And your sister doesn’t count,” another young man put in.
Sounds of discreet interest and boorish delight surrounded the men, and Maria set her jaw against a scowl. Outrage, affront and, she was ashamed to admit, hurt pulsed through her with every beat of her pounding heart. How could men speak thusly about women? They ought to know that she and the other wallflowers were not truly out of the range of hearing—though perhaps that was their wish, for they’d not attempted to lower their voices despite their proximity to the outskirts of the ballroom. She’d not imagined Jasper would be capable of something so…so crass .
Indeed, not the Jasper she knew.
“A wager?” Jasper asked.
“I do love a wager!” another man interjected, interest and devilment ripe in his voice. “What are your terms, Billingsly?”
There was a moment of silent interest while the swirling dancers and the overwhelming scent of candle wax, sweat, and perfume dizzied Maria.
“If we’re wagering, I’ll make this interesting,” Billingsly urged. “If you can encourage a wallflower to fall in love with you, then snub her, I’ll give you ten quid.”
Maria’s eyebrows rose and her heart stuttered at both the large sum and the abhorrent terms.
“Because I’m charitable,” Billingsly continued, “I’ll give you ten shillings just for asking the ugly wench to dance, and another seven if she accepts.”
Out of the corner of Maria’s eye, the smug, challenging smile on Billingsly’s face was almost menacing. Surely Jasper would not accept the wager. He was Juliana’s brother, after all, and Juliana was among the wallflowers that the other man found so distasteful.
Maria refused to believe Jasper capable of something so hateful. He’d joined in their discussion, but he would refuse, of course. He would defend his sister’s honour, and would unquestionably not ruin a woman merely for the sake of a wager.
Struggling to keep her breathing slow and even, the din around her was drowned out by the rush of blood in her ears. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the men gesturing, but could no longer hear their conversation. Jasper will refuse .
Abruptly, he moved. Dragging his fingers through his hair and straightening his coat, Jasper sauntered toward the wall of women.
Sharp pain burst beneath her sternum as her heart broke. The ache spread over her chest and tingled down her arms. No, Jasper. Don’t do it.
Then he stood before her, his two-toned blue-and-brown eyes glittering with false appreciation, his smile broad and gleaming. He appeared for all the world like a young man in earnest as he bowed. And it hurt her all the more.
“Good evening, Miss Roberts,” he said charmingly.
Maria was very aware of the other wallflowers’ awe at his presence. But all Maria felt was a mix of indignation, disappointment, and…anguish. The man had let himself down with this barbaric choice.
She nodded coolly and dipped into a shallow curtsey, deliberately leaving off his title as she replied. “Good evening.”
His smile deepened, and she was struck by his ability to be so affable to a woman’s face and yet so dismissive and cruel behind her back.
“Might I claim the next waltz?”
A waltz . The most intimate of dances. Her chest clenched. He’d accepted the larger wager, then—to make her fall in love with him. Another twist of the proverbial knife to her heart, to be sure.
Well, she would not give him the satisfaction.
“I thank you for the request, but I am otherwise engaged.”
He blinked, his gaze sliding downward toward the empty dance card dangling from her wrist. Maria indiscreetly hid it among the folds of her skirts.
“Brother!” Juliana exclaimed delightedly, drawing nearer with Heather at her side.
The strains of another quadrille echoed through the ballroom from the orchestra’s balcony, and a flurry of motion and swirls of hot air filled the space. Maria could not countenance another moment. Her heart ached and her stomach churned.
“Please excuse me,” she muttered. Ignoring the surprised—and penetrating—glances of all those around them, including the dishonourable Jasper, Maria spun on her heel and strode determinedly toward the refreshment table.
If that gentleman and his friends were representative of her choices for a marriage, Maria wanted nothing to do with it. She would find a way to support herself in the future without relying on a man. Indeed, from that moment forward, she would gladly accept—nay, welcome— her role as a wallflower.