CHAPTER ONE
“Do you want to die a spinster?”
The words replayed in Lady Emily Clifton’s mind. It was like a slap of a whip every time it did, reminding her of society's opinion of her. She had been asked that question a few years ago by one of the ladies of the ton.
Another had followed by saying, “Perhaps, she’s just unlucky with prospects.”
The derisive laughter that ensued at that moment made Emily wish the earth would open up and consume her. She could not simply take her leave, so she remained, her lips pressed together and her gaze averted from the ladies. Her cheeks were a deep crimson from mortification.
It’s just a silly comment, she had thought, assuming it would blow over and be forgotten soon.
After all, if there was one thing that was never lacking in high society, it was gossip.
Undoubtedly, the ladies of the ton would find another subject of gossip to occupy themselves with.
However, much to her displeasure, that silly comment somehow did the rounds, and it stuck.
Rumours were everywhere about how unlucky she was with the prospect of finding a match.
Even now, years later, she still couldn’t get rid of the status that had been associated with her.
Unlucky.
She abhorred that word.
Standing by one of the windows in the modiste’s shop, she observed the flourish of beauty and youthfulness that filled the streets.
Excited debutantes moved through the somewhat narrow streets, hurrying to whatever social engagements they had, some in carriages and others on foot.
One thing that was common among them was the hopeful smiles that etched their faces.
It was the start of the London Season, and as always, the streets had come alive with the clattering hooves of horses and the rickety sounds of carriage tyres. Like every Season, it was a time when many young ladies came into the marriage mart, the Season aglow in their eyes.
Emily couldn’t help but feel a heavy weight settle on her chest as she watched them.
Despite the excitement and buzz—not to mention the gossip and rumours that went about—the Season reminded her of a time in her life that brought about that word she hated.
It was a reminder of a life she couldn’t reach, irrespective of how close it once was.
Six years ago, she had been a debutante. Six years later, she was still a spinster. Hope was a distant tune she listened to now. With each second that passed, she felt her chance at ever redeeming herself of that status move further away.
Emily turned away from the window and faced her reflection in the large mirror that leaned against the wall. She didn’t have to move closer to notice the fine lines that crinkled the corners of her eyes, another reminder that time certainly wasn’t her dear friend.
A sigh left her lips. Six Seasons ago, she had been eighteen and was a highly sought-after debutante with the possibility of a happy-ever-after life.
She was a promising match, with glowing, youthful skin and grace that pulled men in.
Even the vicious ton could agree to that.
A distant memory crossed her mind, and she grimaced.
***
Six years ago…
It was a delightful evening in London. Emily watched with bright eyes and a pleased smile as handsome men and gorgeous women moved about the ballroom.
The Almack’s ballroom twinkled before her eyes, the dim candlelight adding to the allure of the room.
A well-composed minuet was being played by an orchestra stationed at a corner.
Light chatter filled the room as greetings were extended.
Emily stood next to her older brother, Lord Richard Clifton.
They were by the edge of the dance floor, where she was fidgeting with her fingers as she regarded the men and women dancing.
She ran her hands over her dress, smiling briefly at the thought that, if anything, she was undoubtedly well-dressed.
Her dress was a light blue piece the modiste had tailored for her.
It complemented her skin colour nicely. Her honey-blonde hair was curled to perfection, half of its tresses cascading down her back and the other half sitting in a twist atop her head.
A few tendrils framed her face, and she had fought every urge to fiddle with them.
This was the first ball of the Season, and all in high society were present. She had to be of her best composure tonight.
The occasional glances, the stares and smiles she got from some of the gentlemen assured her that she appeared enthralling to their eyes. Perhaps, soon, a few of them would make their way over to her. She sure hoped they did.
Her chest pounded with excitement as she mused over the possible ways tonight could go.
“Do I seem nervous?” she inquired of her brother suddenly. From the moment they arrived, he’d been scanning the crowd.
“Yes, you do,” Richard replied, glancing at her with a teasing look in his eyes. “If it wasn’t obvious, your hands would give you away.”
Emily at once stopped her hands from fidgeting. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the upward curve of her brother’s lips.
“You look most enchanting tonight, Emily,” he told her sincerely. “If none of these men can see that, then there surely must be something wrong with their sight. You, my dear, are certainly a sight for sore eyes if I do say so myself.”
A wide smile crossed Emily’s face. “Why, thank you, dear brother. Your kind words are most sincerely appreciated.”
Richard offered a smile to her. “It is such a shame that father couldn’t make it tonight. He is rather occupied with matters of the estate that cannot be neglected any further.”
“Is there a problem with the estate?” Emily asked, angling her head towards her brother. She knew she wasn’t to bother herself with matters as such. However, she liked to think she could be more beneficial to her family than just being a bride to someone in high society.
“Trouble not with such matters, dear sister,” Richard advised, “Tonight is the first ball of the Season, and we shall focus on that.” His gaze roamed the room. “There are several eligible matches here tonight. Let’s focus on the possibilities the night holds.”
Emily gave a curt nod and turned her attention back to the room.
Another set took the floor; they stood in pairs, waiting for their cue.
She watched as they swayed to the music, smiling to herself.
Her eyes moved and landed on a trio of men standing across the hall.
They were looking in her direction, whispering to themselves, and one of them held a smile on his face.
“It would appear that someone has decided to be bold enough,” her brother said, drawing her gaze to the gentleman approaching them with a warm smile.
She recognised him at once. Viscount James Hartley.
His handsome features hardly would allow one to forget him. She’d seen him a couple of times at social functions. Now, he was walking towards her, his eyes shifting between her and her brother. When he got to them, he offered a courteous bow.
“Lord Clifton, Lady Emily,” the viscount started, his voice smooth, “A delight to see you both this fine evening.”
Richard nodded in response. “Lord Hartley, pleasure to see you as well.”
The viscount’s eyes found Emily’s, and his smile grew. “Lady Emily, I was hoping you could join me on the floor for the next set. Would you do me the honour?”
Smiling, Emily glanced briefly at her brother, her eyes asking for his approval. Richard gave it with a slight nod after taking another look at the viscount. Pleased, Emily dipped into a curtsy, a light blush spreading across her cheeks. “It would be my pleasure, Lord Hartley.”
Lord Hartley extended a hand to her, and she gently placed her hand in his, allowing him to lead her toward the dance floor as the next set was about to start. The music began again, swelling around them.
“You dance quite well, Lady Emily,” Lord Hartley said, his clear blue eyes staring into hers.
They twirled across the dance floor, following each other in fluid steps.
His right hand rested just below the blades of her shoulders, and Emily tried not to think about how well her right hand fit in his left.
“Thank you, Lord Hartley. So do you.”
They glided across the room, and Emily lost herself in the moment, feeling as though her feet no longer touched the floor.
They eased into a light conversation about their hobbies as they continued to dance. Emily was engulfed in the majestic sound of his voice and the irresistible features of his face. His height easily towered over her, and she found herself imagining what their children would look like.
Caution, Emily, she chided herself. It was too soon to be daydreaming, but she was already imagining what life as the wife of this charming viscount would be like. She didn’t miss the jealous stares of some other debutantes and felt even more like she’d scored herself a great choice.
“I would love to hear you play the pianoforte sometime soon, my lady. I’m sure your talent is impeccable,” Lord Hartley commented.
“Oh, I wouldn’t go as far as saying impeccable. I’d always had a flair for music. My father would often jest about me being born with music notes rolling off my tongue,” she told him.
A rich, deep chuckle bubbled from his throat. “Well now, I can certainly say that I must hear you play. I also enjoy music myself but was never patient enough to learn.”
The music began to fade and eventually came to its end. The orchestra waited until their set left the dance floor and another took over, before playing again.
“Would you like something to drink? Perhaps some lemonade?” Lord Hartley asked.
Emily smiled at his thoughtfulness. “Yes, that would be lovely, thank you.”
Side by side, Lord Hartley led Emily to the refreshment table, where he poured their glasses.