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Chapter One

“ V ictoria,” came the ominous word—almost like a curse—after Marianne’s father flung the parlor door open with a crack .

Lord Grisham scanned the room with pale, cold eyes.

A cane hit the marble sharply, the sound shaking the room like an earthquake.

Lord Grisham was an imposing man, with a tall, severe frame hulking in the doorway.

Some might have called him lean, but his oldest daughter, Marianne, knew better.

Beneath that specter-like silhouette lay a coiled strength.

The seemingly perpetual scowl and the silver streaks in his hair only deepened the impression that was all too familiar to Marianne and her sisters.

They were five sisters.

Marianne, Elizabeth, and their three half-sisters, Wilhelmina, and the twins, Victoria and Daphne.

Their brother, Daniel—who was Marianne and Elizabeth’s full brother; Marianne’s mother had died after his birth—was not there to witness this.

All five sat like mismatched dolls in their respective settees and lounges. They were too still, afraid to be noticed by their father’s sharp eyes.

The cane thudded on the floor once. Twice. After the third time, Marianne knew what would come next. Her father lifted his cane—an extension of him—and pointed its end at the twins.

“Victoria,” he repeated with a hiss, his eyes piercing through her twelve-year-old sister.

He was more a specter, one so formidable and crooked that he didn’t feel like a father at all. At least that’s how Marianne knew him.

Victoria’s nose twitched, but she stared back. Marianne knew her sister would not shrink, or at least would not show her fear—not even to their father.

Next to her sat Daphne, trembling and clutching the embroidered pillow in her lap. It was as if she expected the soft thing to defend her.

“Your tutor told me that you threw an inkwell at his head,” Lord Grisham grunted.

Of course, Henry Brighton, the Marquess of Grisham, would take the side of a tutor over his daughters. On the surface, he looked like the perfect father and gentleman, but at home, he was an entirely different person.

“For good reason!” Victoria protested. “He insulted Daphne!”

“Did he, now?” Lord Grisham asked. But it was evident that he was not interested in an answer—not in any of their answers, anyway. “Did the man deserve to have an object thrown at his head merely because your sister spends more time on silly pursuits than her Latin conjugation?”

“Would you allow someone to call your child a mindless simpleton, Father?” Victoria asked, her cheeks turning red more from anger than from embarrassment. “Would you rather have your daughter mocked in front of others?”

“Ah. So you believe that assault is justified, in this case? Will you be doing the same thing for discourtesy committed?—”

“It was not mere discourtesy!” Victoria interrupted. “It was an insult and a public shaming!”

“Violence can result in a lot more trouble in the near future,” Lord Grisham snarled, his body straightening like a crooked tree in the breeze.

“She is not violent!” Daphne cried in her twin’s defense.

“All right, then. Not violent most of the time, but still a disgrace!” Lord Grisham slammed his cane on the floor again.

“And so are you, Daphne! I don’t know how I have one wild animal and a useless dreamer.

I should have sent you away a long time ago!

A place in a school for wayward girls is what you deserve. ”

Victoria opened her mouth and then closed it, trembling with anger.

Then, for some reason, Lord Grisham turned his attention to Elizabeth, his second-eldest daughter, who had kept herself still and quiet.

“ You ,” he growled. “You were supposed to set an example for them! I see a group of uncivilized and unruly young women before me! No man would ever want to marry any of you! And who allowed that to happen? You, Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth shrank further into herself, her shoulders hunched and her head bowed. Marianne knew her sister would not recover quickly from this particular encounter.

“I did not—” she began.

“Silence!” Lord Grisham boomed.

Elizabeth quickly obeyed, her whole body recoiling.

“Perhaps,” Wilhelmina, her sixteen-year-old sister, muttered, brushing something invisible from her sleeve, “if you weren’t such a joy to be around, we would not have to entertain ourselves by throwing inkwells at nasty tutors.”

Silence fell—dead, heavy, and complete. For Marianne, it felt absolute, as if the world itself had stopped breathing. Her heart pounded in her throat, fierce and insistent, yet it made no sound—only a rhythm echoing in the stillness.

Her father turned around. Slowly. “W-What did you say?” he bit out.

Marianne saw Wilhelmina swallow, but the girl kept her chin up.

“You heard what I said, Father,” she replied, quietly but defiantly.

“Say. It. Again,” Lord Grisham grunted, each word punctuated by the cane thudding on the floor.

“If you weren’t so tyrannical, you would not have had to deal with this. Have you ever wondered why the girls behave a certain way?” Wilhelmina’s voice was louder, more confident this time. Her back was straighter, too.

Stop it, Mina, Marianne thought, her throat going dry.

Lord Grisham tightened his grip on his cane, fury etched on his face, which was now so red that she thought he’d erupt.

“You insolent wretch! Is that how you speak to your father?” he yelled.

Marianne saw all her sisters freeze, while their father raised his shoulders, his cane going above his head.

Marianne knew where he was aiming. So, she threw herself between him and Wilhelmina, her arms outstretched.

“No! Stop this!” she panted.

The cane stopped, hovering over her. The tip was so close to her face that she could see the specks of dust and dirt clinging to it.

“Ah, here comes the martyr.” Her father let out a sardonic chuckle. “Get out of my way, Marianne,” he growled.

“No,” she replied, even though her voice threatened to wobble.

“My dear martyr. No matter how righteous you think you are, you are not going to stop me from disciplining your sister!”

“You are not disciplining her. You are harming her,” Marianne retorted.

“Ha! You think you are better than me, don’t you?”

“I never thought or said I’m better than anyone.”

“Still a little liar, aren’t you?” he sneered. “You always think you’re the hero. One day, you’ll see your foolishness when your sisters are nothing but failures .”

His face twisted into a grotesque expression. He had become the nightmare of their home, instead of their protector.

“And you, Marianne? You are the biggest failure of them all,” he continued.

His words cut hard and deep. Even though Marianne had braced herself for the things he spouted out of his mouth, they always hurt. Always.

Still, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her hurt.

So, she remained still, using every ounce of self-control she had not to flinch. That was the advantage of knowing him, his tantrums—she was able to prepare herself.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door.

Thankfully.

The butler stepped into the room. He looked pale and significantly apologetic. Sweat glistened on his brow, his fingers twitching slightly, almost imperceptibly, yet Marianne had caught it.

The skill of observation was important in a place like their home. Marianne had to sense all the brewing emotions, all the miniscule movements, for it could mean getting out of an intense argument, or worse.

“My lord,” the butler began nervously. “The estate manager wants to see you. The hounds for tomorrow’s hunt have arrived early.”

Lord Grisham exhaled audibly, then adjusted his coat.

Priorities , Marianne thought.

The estate was always a priority to him. Never his children.

He turned and gave his daughters one final look.

“I have arranged for a stag hunt this weekend,” he explained in a smooth voice that belied his earlier behavior. “And invited all the respectable lords in the county. Especially those seeking a wife.”

Marianne’s heart sank to her stomach. She exchanged uneasy glances with her sisters.

“The one who performs best will have Elizabeth as his prize,” he continued coldly, as if he was not talking about his second-eldest daughter, but a mare.

There was a pause as Marianne and her sisters tried to process their father’s words.

Could he be that cruel? Really?

For a moment, Marianne thought the air vibrated around her.

“She is not a prize to be won, Father,” she declared in a steely voice—one she had never heard before.

“Elizabeth is my daughter. She is mine,” Lord Grisham said coldly. “You are all my property , and I will do with you as I please.”

Marianne saw Elizabeth turn rigid, like a statue. Like a porcelain vase, placed on the edge of a shelf. Her eyes went vacant, her mouth sealed.

“You will comport yourself as dignified, marriageable ladies during the stag hunt and house party,” Lord Grisham commanded. “Do not embarrass me further.”

He finally turned on his heel, leaving the room with the door slamming behind him.

No relief came after his departure.

Perhaps there would not be any for a long time.