Chapter One
…And then the handsome prince held out a hand to lift her up on his horse, and they rose away together to live happily ever after.
Miss Sibyl Clifton put down the book with a sigh.
Would that she might meet a handsome man someday, too.
Since she had been a child, she had loved reading old tales.
A storybook contained such wonders, where everything went right, and if things did go wrong, they were always resolved by the end of the book, and the main characters always had a happy ending.
She loved the new stories that had become such a sensation in Germany last year. Two fellows, named the Brothers Grimm, had penned a set of stories that had taken the minds and literary salons by storm.
Now bookshops in Germany were full of the tales, and her papa had brought one back for her from his travels. She’d never known it would be the last gift he’d ever give her.
As a traveling mapmaker, her father had been in demand for businesses that had wanted to expand. One wouldn’t think a humble mapmaker would have been necessary, for surely, the world was already explored, but requests for his services had kept coming in.
Whilst her mama had been happy at the income that had kept a roof over their heads, it had meant he had often been away traveling, and Sibyl’s family had missed him keenly.
They missed him even more now, now that the news had reached them that he had died. His ship, the HMS Baccus, a small ship traveling from Calais, had been hit by a nasty storm and struck rocks before reaching Dover. The ship had split into pieces, and there had been no survivors.
Now that he was gone, his loss was a hurt that never went away. The pain only lessened, little by little.
That had been nearly six years ago. Since then, they had mourned him and had rented out their home and quit their little cottage in Waterford, Hertfordshire, taking in the sights of London, where life was decidedly busier.
It was easier to lose oneself in the crowds and be forgotten as another face when surrounded by strangers.
They had only been there a few months and still knew very few people.
But it was their home, for the moment. With each passing day, it was as if they’d left their old lives behind and instead were building new memories in their London townhouse.
But her father’s absence had left a gaping hole in all their hearts, Sibyl thought, as she glanced out of the window, seeing a lonely, gray sky.
At the worldly age of twenty-one, Sibyl knew she was also expected to marry well. The middle child of three daughters, Sibyl was often looked up to by her younger sibling. There was Mary, the eldest, who had married a wealthy man at age twenty-four, and her younger sister, Lucy.
Sibyl sometimes thought of her best friend, Isobel, a stunning beauty with dark hair and classic features, milk-white skin, and soft, pink lips that enticed many a man.
If Sibyl was the sun, with her wheat-blonde hair and warm disposition, then Isobel was the moon.
Like water and fire, Sibyl was more placid and calm, whereas Isobel was fiery and dramatic.
Her dark eyes would flash when she was angry, and with her pert nose, no man’s heart was safe.
Sibyl often found herself bored when asked to accompany them on their social walks to ‘take the air’ and usually wished she had brought along a book of poetry or tales.
As a member of a wealthy family, she did not have to work.
Her family was not so wealthy to belong to the aristocracy or the ton, but they were wealthy enough.
Genteel without pretension was their way.
So it was that afternoon, that when her mother called to say Isobel had come calling for her, Sibyl put her storybook down with some regret, but only a little, and went to meet her friend.
That day, Sibyl wore a light-blue dress, adorned with dark-navy bows along the bodice and navy trim along the sleeves and hem. The designs made her think of the ocean, from what she’d seen at Lyme and the Thames, even though the latter was a river.
She hurried downstairs to their small drawing room, a parlor decked out with faded blue-green walls that reminded her of the waters of the sea, lapping against the shore.
But that was the only nod to the aquatic, for the walls were adorned with pretty, silk paintings, self-portraits, and landscapes artfully and not-so-skillfully executed by her and her sisters over the years.
The drawing room itself boasted a poky but very cozy fireplace, a small table where her mother liked to mend hats, and a comfortable blue-and-white-striped cushioned sofa and creaky wooden chairs for visitors.
Sibyl paused in the entrance of the room and smiled at her mother and her friend. “Isobel.”
“Sibyl.” Isobel Blakeney curtsied. She wore a light-pink day dress and a smart beige walking coat, along with leather boots and a straw bonnet with a wide, blush-pink ribbon. “It is very fine out. Shall we take some air?”
“Oh, yes, Sibyl’s been inside all day with her books,” Mrs. Clifton said. “I keep telling her she’ll never meet a man indoors with her nose stuck in a book. Do go on.”
Sibyl turned her head, feeling her cheeks warm from her mother’s subtle insult. She bit the inside her cheek and made herself ready, pulling on her boots and a dark-blue Spencer, and paused. Her family was not extraordinarily wealthy like some, but she realized the difficulty.
They would look well together, but in terms of bonnets, all she had was one for mourning to be used for funerals, a straw one for the summers, and a tan one that had seen better days, for it tended to be worn when rain was due to fall.
She opted for the straw one and idly wished she had a bit of navy ribbon instead of yellow to tie it on, but never mind. Once suitably dressed, she joined Isobel and waved to her mother.
The moment they were outside the Clifton family townhouse near Portland Place, Isobel gave her hands a little shake. “I have the most exciting news.”
“Tell me, what is it?”
“I am to be engaged.”
Sibyl’s mouth dropped open. “Congratulations.” She warmly embraced her friend, but her mind spun. She had barely heard mention of this young man before, and now Isobel was engaged? It seemed rather fast.
“Look.” Isobel thanked her and pulled open the collar of her high-necked walking coat to reveal a locket.
“What’s that?” Sibyl leaned in and peered at it.
“Why, it’s his hair, silly. Mr. Day gave me a lock of his hair, and I gave him one of mine. Isn’t it romantic?”
Sibyl looked closer. There, encased in a locket, was a small curl of reddish hair, nestled against a small oval of white, likely oyster shell or enamel.
Perhaps ivory taken from an animal tusk, or porcelain.
So fragile. She looked upon the locket and felt a pang of wistfulness.
If only she might meet a man who liked her half so much.
“It is handsome,” Sibyl said.
“I know. I wear it close to my heart at all times. It was a fast courtship, but then when you are in love, what is time?” Isobel sighed and buttoned up her coat.
“He gave it to me a few weeks ago so we might never be apart. Isn’t it lovely?
I’m sure you’ll have something like it someday.
Now let us walk. I don’t know how you can stand to be in a stuffy room all day with so many books.
The air will be stifling and bad for your lungs. All that paper can’t be good for you.”
Sibyl laughed. “You always have such funny ideas. Paper from books can no more be bad for you than the wallpaper, I’m sure.”
Isobel giggled, and the pair walked through the London streets to Borough Market, where there were market stalls and many dozens of people all around, walking, talking, laughing, exchanging ideas, calling out prices, selling fruits, vegetables, almost anything Sibyl could imagine.
Isobel steered her past a few handsome gentlemen and then strode right by, close enough that the men noticed them.
Isobel lifted her chin, smiled, and said, “But I am despondent, truly. My dearest Gerald is gone to fight with his regiment, and I don’t know when he will return.
It may be months before we are together again. ”
“Hmmm,” Sibyl said, only half-listening. There, up ahead, were signs for a lending library, and if she weren’t mistaken, there were great drawings of fantastical men and women. “Look at that.”
“What? Oh. Oh… Don’t tell me you want to look at books again. Really? I should have known. You always do this.” Isobel let out a small noise of exasperation as Sibyl steered her toward the book stall.
Sibyl released her friend’s arm from hers and moved forward, keen to see.
There, the stall bore a respectable collection, and each edition was just a few pence to borrow.
She nodded to the proprietor and began reading the titles, leaning in close to see what new stories there were.
She had just spotted a new book, little more than a thin volume, and reached for it when another hand plucked it from the shelf first.
“Oh.” She darted her hand back.
The offending hand belonged to a young man. He had a head full of medium-brown hair, dark eyes, and he wore a tan overcoat over an olive-green waistcoat, a white shirt, and tan breeches with black boots. He looked down and past her as his gaze lingered on Isobel.
“The ladies’ magazines are over there,” he said with a nod.
“I’m sure they are, but I was reaching for that.” She pointed at the thin book he held.
He didn’t let go of the book. “You’ll just have to wait.”
Her mouth dropped open. She reached for the book and grasped it.
They faced each other. Neither let go of the book.
His eyes were like ice in winter. Cold. He stared at her hard and waited.
He was expecting her to let go of the book, she realized. She had no intention of doing so.
“I was here first,” he said, with a nod toward the book.
“I was reaching for that book first.”