The Duchess Debt (The Sinfell Sisters #1)
PROLOGUE
The Outskirts of London
In the middle of the Old Ford crossroads, the four Sinfell sisters huddled together against the cold, blue dawn.
Even their fur-lined wraps and kid gloves weren’t enough to ward off the bracing chill, although their trembling wasn’t from the cold.
They all knew that as they tried their best to show a brave face, because in only a few moments, they would have to say goodbye.
The carriages their father had hired were waiting even now to take them away.
“We’ve only promised these men one month,” the oldest sister, Helena, reminded all of them, her breath clouding on the cold air as if in emphasis.
At twenty-six, she’d seen enough of the world—and a woman’s limited place in it—to know when rules came down in her favor.
This was one of those rare times. “That time limit was in all the proposals Papa sent, which all the men agreed to. They’ve signed letters saying so.
Their replies are as good as legal contracts. ”
Her three sisters nodded glumly from beneath their fur-edged hoods.
But the youngest of them, Selena, didn’t raise her hazel eyes from the frost-whitened ground at their feet as she whispered, “How can we tell in only a month if those men are the ones we’re supposed to spend the rest of our lives with? ”
“It’s possible,” Phoebe answered softly, yet a hard shiver undercut the assurance of her words.
She’d always been the most optimistic of the four sisters, always seeing the good in everyone and the positive possibility in any situation…
even if she had to force it to her will to make it so.
“Only a month, yes, but one spent nearly every day, all day, with the men that Papa’s picked for us.
That’s more than enough time to find out if we’ll suit.
It’s more than most unmarried misses at Almack’s are given, in truth, if all the courting hours are added up. ”
“I suppose.” But Selena clearly wasn’t won over.
Neither was Larissa. “What if they all lied in their letters to Papa about their intentions?” She pulled her wrap tighter around herself. “What if they’re monsters in disguise?”
“They’re not monsters,” Helena assured them. “They’re men in need of wives.”
Larissa lifted a brow in challenging reply.
“Papa would never send us to men who were monsters,” Phoebe insisted.
“And if he somehow turns out to be one, then you leave,” Helena said firmly. “No one can keep us with them. It’s our choice, now and always. Remember that. No one can ever force us into a marriage we don’t want.”
But even as she uttered the words, she knew that wasn’t the complete truth. The truth was that she and her sisters had no other hope for finding husbands. Down deep in their hearts, they all knew it, too.
To society, the Sinfells had lived up to their name.
They’d each gotten themselves mired in one kind of scandal or another, but not always due to their own faults and often because they had simply been too caught up in the moment to resist the excitement and temptation. But the end was the same—social ruin.
How utterly unfair it was! If they’d been men, no one would have thought twice about what they had done.
There would have been no salacious gossip, no cuts-direct, no declarations by the ton’s mamas that none of them were fit to marry their sons, although their daughters had most likely done some of the same things as the Sinfells and not been ruined.
Of course not. Not when they had been able to do what aristocratic families have always done—they bought their way into respectability by offering huge dowries.
The hypocrisy was breathtaking. If the Sinfells had been well-endowed—and not in their bodices but in the purest sense of the word—they would have been cheered for being so daring and spirited.
Suitors would have lined up for the chance to call on them.
Their front hall would have been filled to the ceiling with invitations to all kinds of parties and soirees.
They would have each been declared the season’s Incomparable, their only competition to the dubious title each other.
But they weren’t.
They were four unmarried misses with barely a ha’penny between them, a dearth of invitations of any kind, and not a serious suitor in sight.
Their only hope now at having husbands and homes of their own lay in finding gentlemen willing to marry them sight unseen, sins unknown, and dowries not included.
That was why Papa had drawn a deep breath six weeks ago and did the unthinkable.
Praying for one last chance for his daughters to find happiness, Sir Henry Sinfell had sent letters across England to every respectable gentleman he could find who was in need of a wife.
He knew as well as his daughters that if they didn’t make good marriage matches—and quickly—they would spend the rest of their lives as penniless spinsters who wouldn’t have the means to care for themselves or for each other.
Only four men had been brave enough to answer.
“If you don’t like anything about the gentleman who’ve proposed, you do not have to stay with them,” Helena reiterated for emphasis. “None of us will blame you if you come home.”
Well, not aloud, anyway. They all knew that Papa’s plan was the only way to their financial salvation and that at least one of them had to wed.
Only one marriage, and then the other Sinfells would all be cared for.
Only one. They’d promised each other that.
That way, there would be no pressure to wed someone who was completely wrong for them—or wed one of Larissa’s monsters.
They could rely on one of their sisters for help.
Yet none of the sisters would know by the time the month was up who had gone through with her wedding and who was on her way back home.
Yet not knowing somehow made the pressure worse, as if the entire responsibility for saving her family pressed heavily on each set of slender shoulders and on hers alone.
“It’s time,” Papa announced as he slowly approached them, tugging at his gloves and not raising his eyes to meet theirs.
They could hear the trembling emotion in his voice, and all four ladies choked back tears.
They knew he considered himself a failure of a father, although their situation wasn’t all his fault.
They had each played a role, however unintentional, in bringing them to this moment.
But now they had the chance to correct everything.
The sisters exchanged tight hugs, rasped out their goodbyes, and placed kisses of absolution to their father’s cheek.
Then they walked with as much resolve as possible to each of the four waiting carriages.
They took their seats next to the women who had agreed to act as chaperones for their trips, leaned out their windows, and waved white handkerchiefs to each other, not so much in goodbye but surrender.
With a flick of whips and ribbons, the carriages started forward. Each rolled down one of the four roads, each sister heading in a different direction to the stranger who had agreed to marry her.