Page 1

CHAPTER 1

"Now, Dorothy," her father said in a low voice as they traveled, "you must remember what we told you. Your betrothed will be here tonight, and we do not want any mishaps."

"We will not have any mishaps," her mother corrected.

Dorothy nodded, but it was not as though she was in any position to argue about it.

"An animal theme, can you believe it?" her father, Connor Godwin the Earl of Bolton, grumbled to himself in the carriage. "Must all of high society lower themselves to such things as this?"

"It is only some fun," her mother, Louisa, sighed, though she did not seem too pleased with her costume either. "Besides, it is not as though anyone will know who we are."

"Of course they will. Who else in thetonwill be accompanied by such a–"

He had cut himself off, but Dorothy knew what he was going to say. He was already looking directly at her.

The first ball of the season was a masquerade one. It gave all the young ladies equal opportunity to meet a gentleman without being judged too harshly on her appearance. Dorothy would have appreciated such a chance, but she realized as she smoothed her skirts that it might well not have helped in the end. A mask could not cover her fuller figure, which she had decided to cover in silvery fabric. It had made the most sense, given the animal that had chosen for her by her family.

It had been because of her stature that she had been given a small woodland creature.

Mercifully, the carriage came to a halt and they fixed their masks. Her parents had chosen a tiger and a panther, two very large cats that Dorothy was ashamed to admit she would have loved to approach if faced with one, and they had made her a mouse. It was quite fitting, she thought, given how they so enjoyed hunting her. It was because she was so quiet, they said.

And so small and round, she had heard muttered immediately after.

As they walked toward the household, Dorothy decided that she would not be as quiet as her costume alluded to. She had far too many questions and not at all enough answers.

"How will I know who he is?" she asked. "It will be impossible, especially when you have not even told me who he is yet."

"It would have been difficult, yes," her father replied bluntly, "if we had not arranged for a signal to be given."

Dorothy could not possibly fathom the sort of signal that would have worked, but she knew better than to question her parents. Fortunately, until the poor gentleman was found, she could spend her evening in the way she liked to.

It was also very fortunate that her friends made themselves heard before they were seen.

She could hear the squabbling from the other side of the ballroom and she recognized Cecilia's voice in an instant. It was the usual affair; a gentleman had asked her to dance and she had inevitably mocked him, not at all interested in parading herself around. Dorothy found them and took a moment to look at what they had decided on. They had, for the most part, been more fortunate than she had been, and they were at least given the opportunity to truly express themselves, and that was precisely what they had done.

Cecilia was wearing a deep burned orange gown, her mask resembling a fox. She had quite foxlike features, too, Dorothy thought, and would have been so beautiful if she did not wear a permanent scowl. Beatrice was a doe, and was wearing a gown of a chocolate color. Together, they were quite autumnal, and Dorothy almost did not wish to ruin the way they looked together.

Almost.

She quickly made her way to them, taking her place beside Beatrice as Cecilia finished what she had unquestionably started.

"Good evening," Beatrice whispered as they listened. "Are you well?"

"Do I seem otherwise?"

"No, although I wouldn't have been able to see your face if there was something wrong. There is the matter of your…situation, though."

"Yes," she replied, biting her lip. "The suitor."

"Dot, I know that this has all made you unhappy, but you must begin calling him what he truly is now. He is more than a suitor."

"I know he is, but until I have met him I cannot truly believe that he is my betrothed."

"You have a ring, though."

Dorothy looked down at her hand, the large diamond sparkling in the candlelight. She should have felt blissful happiness looking at it, as it suggested that she would be very well taken care of, but all she felt was shame.

"He will not want to be my husband," she sighed. "I have been out in society for three years now, and if he did not notice me then of his own accord, then why would he have any interest now?"