Page 1 of The Duchess and the Beast

CHAPTER ONE

MAY 1816

The Salisbury Ball

“…And then there is Lord Wetherby,” Lady Prudence Sommers explained, holding up a third finger as she compiled her list thusly. “He may be somewhat lacking in height, but his shoulders are admirably broad, and from the looks of things, his stomach—and this is coming from my cousin’s mouth mind you, one could scrub their washing on it! Can you imagine?”

“Is that so…?”

“And let us not forget Lord Tarrow,” Prudence continued, holding up a fourth finger. “Only a baron, yes. And word is that he is close with his mother… too close that it borders on obsession in fact, so marrying him would undoubtedly be marrying her as well. And no one wishes for a mother-in-law who is perpetually present, prying into one’s affairs and dispensing unsolicited advice on how to please one’s husband—look no further than Lady Susan.” She cast a glance across the busy hall and licked her lips. “Heisquite handsome though… so perhaps it would not be entirely intolerable.”

“Yes, very handsome…” Lady Virtue Hartleigh said absently, her mind wandering as her friend chattered on. Prudence, enjoying the sound of her own voice as ever, scarcely noticed.

“Of course, we mustn’t overlook Lord Hightower either. Father says he is one of the wealthiest men in London, and already a marquess at only one and twenty. But…” she bit into her lip and sighed. “Men that age are hardly willing to settle down for things such as marriage, are they? Typical.” She clicked her tongue. “We are expected to be wed as soon as we turn eighteen, yet they are allowed to gallop all about town like stallions in heat! Perhaps it is best if we leave him off the list for now. Why waste our time?”

“A wise idea…”

“Oh!” Prudence clapped her hands with sudden excitement. “I almost forgot. Lord Wexley!” She glanced around eagerly, searching for a familiar face. “Annabelle was speaking of him earlier. Down from the north, she says, here this Season specifically to find a bride. An earl, terribly wealthy, and the way Annabelle described him, you would think that you died and went to heaven—he is that easy on the eyes. But I have not seen him…” She continued to scan the ballroom cautiously. “I do hope he has decided to attend tonight. He has no reason not to.”

“Oh yes, he sounds delightful…”

“Virtue!” Prudence snapped her head around, looking at her friend for the first real time since the two had started speaking well over ten minutes ago. “Are you listening to me?”

“He sounds wonderful…” Virtue muttered, very evidently not paying attention.

Prudence pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. “They also say he is extremely well endowed.”

“That’s nice.”

“And that is not to mention the goiter on his neck. But apparently, one can scarcely notice it.”

“I am sure one cannot.”

“Virtue!” Prudence slapped her on the arm. “Will you pay attention!”

“Pardon?” For the first time, Virtue returned to the present moment—the conversation, that is. She focused on her friend, took note of the scowl that she wore, and offered an apologetic smile. “I apologize. My mind was elsewhere for a moment.”

“You don’t suppose.”

“It is not personal,” Virtue tried. “I’m just not… I am nervous, Pru. This is my first public outing since…” She trailed off, notwishing to voice it, knowing there was no need, for certainly everyone already knew. “And I feel as though everyone is looking at me.”

“Don’t be so vain, my dear.”

“I assure you, I am not!”

“Indeed you are.” Prudence took Virtue by the arm, and with a decisive tug, pulled her shoulder to shoulder, aligning them both to overlook the crowded hall. “But shall I tell you a hard truth?”

“Pray, do.”

“Not one soul here has concerns for anyone else but themselves, Virtue. You may fancy yourself the subject of every whisper, but truly, you are not the cynosure you imagine. And I should know, for I have been trying to speak with you for the last ten minutes, and where it might shock you to hear, I have found more amusement in discourse with the stone walls of Sommerton.”

“Oh, what a delight to hear,” Virtue said flatly.

“You are most welcome, my dear. Now, stop with this nonsense, and let us enjoy ourselves.”

Lady Virtue Hartleigh, only daughter to Lord Holmfield, wanted to believe her friend. Oh, how she wished that her words held a semblance of truth. It might have been nice to have gone unnoticed. Even Prudence’s comparisons to a brick wall weren’tnearly as cutting as she meant them to be. To be able to pass on by without knowing that she was the subject of whispers and titters from her contemporaries was a dream that Virtue doted like a bee might a freshly bloomed flower. And yet, reality painted a far different picture.

She had nearly forgone the invitation to tonight’s affair entirely—the inaugural ball of the Season, a spectacle she had not missed since blossoming into society at the tender age of eighteen. It was the most anticipated event of the year, a pivotal night for all young debutantes seeking the admiration of potential suitors, with hopes of romantic courtships and perhaps even fortuitous marriages. Where fates intermingled like the gentle swirls of mist over a moonlit mere.