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Chapter one

Bath, England

Cold and raining. A perfectly glum outlook for the day’s outing.

Candles flickered on either side of the mirror before me, offering little light as I turned my auburn hair this way and that.

My curls wouldn’t hold in this weather. The knot felt lopsided, but I didn’t have the heart to call Lila back to redo my chignon.

What did it matter? My hair would be tucked within a bonnet, out of sight.

“Cassandra!” Mother’s voice echoed down the hall, anxious for us to be about our business.

“Coming!” A tap-tapping pecked at the window as the rain mixed with sleet. I cringed. Could the weather be any worse?

Staying home today would be far more preferable.

I could plunder Father’s bookshelves the day long, enjoy endless creamy cups of tea, and dream about the Assembly Ball happening this Saturday and, not long after, Christmas.

Excitement welled up. The holidays couldn’t come soon enough.

I allowed myself a dreamy thought. Would they include romance?

Susan Richard’s brothers would be visiting—mayhap this time, I would catch one of the gentleman’s interest. She had long plotted my romantic demise with one of them.

Would it be Ransom or Luke? They’d been abroad the past few years after completing their education and miraculously remained unattached.

Would they recognize me? I was no longer the skin-and-bones girl who tagged after their sister and giggled over much when we tried to spy upon them.

I grimaced at my own reflection—at the dark shadows beneath my eyes. I wouldn’t catch anyone’s regard looking like that. Not that I believed the thing was entirely dependent on my ability to attract.

The Seasons in Bath were decent, and while I thought I made a fairly amiable dance partner, I’d never made a match past a few well-meaning calls. A bundle of posies, a stiff bow, and the gentlemen would exit my parlor, never returning to further my acquaintance.

Father had jokingly suggested my taking a Season in London. London—where surely the pickings were plentiful among the ton. Mother all but promised I’d be wed within two years. Two years ago. I tossed the old hope aside and gathered my reticule and scarf.

Best not to think about disappointments. Little good it did. Today, Mother and I were to shop for gloves, stop for tea at Lady Ridgeport’s house, then stop for tea again at Mrs. Gentry’s. Both of whom would while away the calling hours by regaling us with tales of their youth.

This consisted of very old gossip, new gossip, outdated ways of life they preferred, and dishes their former cooks used to make.

Mother had an affinity for the elderly gentlewomen whose husbands had departed this life.

And, an affinity for some of that gossip, fresh from their lady’s maids.

While she didn’t approve of gossip in general, she did relish hearing tidbits concerning our acquaintances.

Like morsels of cake, information would be doled out for consumption.

Then, she’d do something quite contrary to most who wagged their tongues without regard. She’d pray. Then find a way to be encouraging to the poor soul whose name had been kicked about in the tea parlors. Such was her game. Life was too hard, she’d say, to allow meanness an upper hand.

“Cassandra!” Mother’s urgent voice called again as the clock in the hall chimed nine times.

I cast a parting glance at my emptied tea cup, my warm bed, and unfinished needlework by the chair. “Coming—”

Mother flung open my door. “Cassandra!”

I startled away from the mirror and turned. “Forgive me, I did not mean to dilly-dally.” I gestured to the window. “Have you seen the weather?”

Mother huffed out of breath, her cheeks flushing apple-pink. She was only half ready for our outing. Her day cap hid a mass of brown and grey frizz, except an uncurled portion had cascaded down her neck. “We aren’t to go calling today.”

Concern volleyed with uncertainty. “Are you ill? What can I do?”

She waved two messages in the air. “We are disinvited.” Her lip curled in disgust. “As though our presence could sully the very teacups we held.” She crumpled the notes and tossed them onto the remains of my breakfast tray.

“Makes me sick at heart, dear.” She pressed the place as though a thorn pierced.

Lady Ridgeport and Mrs. Gentry rarely canceled. “I don’t understand. What has happened?” Mother never behaved in such a manner—crumpling invitations? Never. She was decorum itself. At all times.

She shut her eyes, took a stabilizing breath, and spoke again. “We must be brave now, darling.” She patted my cheek. “Very brave.”

Confusion swirled. “What does bravery have to do with glove shopping and calling?”

“Everything.” She licked her lips, pausing for a moment. “We, my dear, are ruined.”

Ruined. The word seemed wrong, out of place. Perhaps Mother was ill after all?

Her brows lifted as though still absorbing the fact. “I can see you think me out of my mind, but no, dear. I’m quite sane. We,” she huffed another breath to say the word again. “are truly ruined.” The terrible truth begged for an explanation.

How does an upstanding family like ours become ruined? Impossible. I couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t. There must be some mistake. I made for the door. “I must talk to Father.”

Mother snatched my hand and shook her head. “Don’t go downstairs, dear. Stay here. I’ll have fresh tea sent up.”

Doors opening and closing sounded from downstairs. Men’s voices echoed.

“What is going on?” My heart beat in quick time. “Why can I not go to him?”

Mother eased down upon my bed. “I’m sure he will tell us about it soon.

” She tugged the bell pull within reach.

“He only told me the most important part.” She looked down at her empty hands and then back at me.

“That we’ve lost everything.” Her eyes glazed over as she crossed her arms around her middle.

“And word of our demise has spread amongst our friends already.” Humiliation trembled at her chin.

How could it be so when we’d only just found out?

I tossed my reticule to the vanity. Men of business could gossip worse than women, betimes.

To tell a wife was to tell the ton. I could hear Lady Ridgeport’s pinched voice slicing into the gossip, serving it many times over, her eyes merry with imparting information to the interested parties.

The Chilton’s are ruined—utterly ruined!

Horrible woman. Why had we kept connections with her?

The chintz fabric that adorned my bed, the cheerful candlelight, and the bright red knits tossed about seemed to mock the moment. I’d hoped to stay in today and not go visiting. But not like this.

The maid that responded to the bell opened my door. “Lila? Will you take Mother to her room?”

Mother resisted. “No, no. I can’t take care of myself.” She shooed Lila away. “Just bring us each a tea tray, that’s a good girl.”

Lila curtsied and left to do as bid. I stood in one place, stunned. “What can I do?”

Mother rose to her feet and huffed. “Nothing. There is nothing to be done.” She shuffled to my doorway with slumped shoulders. “Do stay above stairs, Cassandra. Your father is meeting with some important people.”

Ruined? Lost… everything?

Just how much of everything?

After a few hours later of pacing and nail-biting, I dared to sneak down the steps and listen to the nearby study door. Seemed Father’s solicitor, Mr. Smith, was in attendance—all the way from a village near Birmingham. Were things so dire?

A name was repeated many times. A certain Lord Bandbury and a scandal.

What did my good father have to do with such rogues?

It wasn’t like him. Not at all. Mr. Smith’s voice rang loud, “Unfortunate that Banbury’s misfortune also be yours.

A noose around your neck, man. He may be dead but his greedy claws rise up from the grave, they do, and pull the rope tight-tight-tight! ”

I gasped and clapped a hand around my mouth. Such a horrible thing to say!

Father didn’t respond. But another gentleman spoke as though to a child. “One ought to be more careful, mind you.”

I shrank back from his words. Father was always careful. Intrigues were the stuff of novels and newspapers. Nothing to do with the Chilton family.

I scampered back to my bedroom with a sick feeling in my empty stomach. One thing I knew for certain was that life was about to change, but I couldn’t fathom in what ways. Would we be mere subjects of gossip? Or utterly destitute? What would we do? Where would we go?

I changed from my calling dress to an older, more comfortable house dress and slipped down the hall to check on Mother. She sat by the window, watching the icy rain dash upon the bricked streets.

“Sit with me, dear.” She motioned to Father’s chair that sat opposite hers. “And together, we will plot our course.”

“Should we not wait for Father?” Perhaps all was not as lost as she’d said. Maybe she’d heard him wrong. Was quite possible. I wanted to believe it.

She patted her eyes with a handkerchief. “We can dream at least.”

Dreams, I knew, were usually the results of good fortunes. Not lost ones. I humored her anyway. I’d do anything to keep worry at bay.

By the end of the afternoon, Mother had envisioned us as pirates who sailed to the Americas and settled in the new frontier.

North Carolina, she’d said. Father could be a clerk at some rustic trading post, and she and I would sew muslin gowns for the ladies.

Did American ladies appreciate fine muslin?

We began to giggle at the thought when Father’s firm footsteps came through the door. His face was pale and sallow. A hand clutched at his heart.

“Excuse us, my dear.” His voice was hoarse and weary.

I stood and reached for him. “Father? Should I send for the doctor?”

“No—no.” He didn’t look at me, only at Mother, with the saddest eyes.

I stepped from the room, closed the door softly, and overheard Father's voice rumble behind me. “We won’t be able to live here anymore…”

Our fine house? No longer ours? My stomach squeezed. The worst was true then. Mother and I had surmised as much. What would happen to us?

The tea tray was collected, and a supper tray was brought up.

I wasn’t sure I could eat. I stepped to the window and watched the busy street below.

Carriages rushed by. Neighbors returned from calling, no doubt eager to be out of the foul weather.

Rain changed to snow as Mother’s sobs drifted down the hall. Her attempt at courage had crumbled.

I’d read many novels of fortunes reversed. Rags to riches, riches to rags. Never did I think it would happen in real life. And what did I really know of real living beyond tea in the parlor and assemblies?

The successful Season in Bath was doomed. London would certainly be out of the picture now.

I chewed my fingernail, which I never did.

Nerves beset me. I supposed the best I could hope for was a position as governess.

With no siblings of my own, this might be a job I’d enjoy.

The last thing I wanted to be was a burden to my parents.

If we were in financial straits, there wasn’t another option for me.

At school, I'd laughed that I would never have the chance to use French or mathematics. How wrong I was!

The snow thickened, and my stomach growled, despite my protest to not eat. How wrong I’ve been about many things.

I’d taken everything for granted. I removed the lid from the bowl of creamy soup and took a seat at my lonely table.

I lifted the spoon to my lips and thanked God.

What else to do in such a moment? We were sustained on this day.

Food still lay upon my table. And, for the first time in my life, I thought about something else besides the next Assembly dance.

Ironic how vain it seemed in contrast to our losses—and what I must do, and how that might be offering good to the world in some small way. Strange that I would only think of doing good after losing…everything…this made me feel the fool. Why didn’t I believe I could do good before now?

Question after question presented. Would my friends still call me a friend?

Did friendship require a percentage of pound notes between us?

How did one value friendships outside of the social sphere, who were very much dedicated to themselves?

If I did show up at the Assembly on Saturday, would I suddenly become a wallflower?

Would I be snubbed? Certainly, no eligible bachelor would come near me. Not now.

But that didn’t seem to matter—not in light of my parent’s grief. My uncle, the vicar, would tell me to ask God for direction. How long had I been in the habit of merely reciting the Lord’s prayer and not using other words?

For a time, it seemed that the words therein were enough. Mayhap they were. A singular phrase stood out and tumbled from my lips, “Your will be done…”

By the time I crawled into bed, Bath was covered in thick, white snow. The streets were abandoned as though time had stopped.