CHAPTER ONE
"Lavinia, if you remain unmarried at the end of this season, you will leave for your Aunt Meredith's estate in the countryside."
The pronouncement hung in the air like a death knell.
Lavinia Webbs, daughter of the Marquess of Emberfield, had been seated on the edge of a delicate, floral-patterned chair at the small tea party hosted by Lady Pembroke, when her father had called her to the side to have a word with her.
She already knew what he wanted to say, but she indulged him anyway. No matter how much she tried to avoid the conversation, he always found a way to remind her that time was running out.
Spinsterhood.
According to theton, it meant a life without purpose, a fate worse than death itself. The great social calamity of her time. The way society spoke of spinsters...the level of seriousness that was placed on being one, was a future that terrified Lavinia, more than she wanted to admit. An unmarried woman was not just a failure, she was a catastrophe.
Lavinia didn't mind birds, but she would prefer not to become sustenance for metaphorical ones.
And what would she do as a spinster? Spend her days embroidering handkerchiefs no one would ever use, or gossiping with her fellow spinsters about which debutante was most likely to get married first, or be the most sought after maiden of the season? Oh, and there would definitely be cats, Persian cats. She had heard it was practically required.
She had learnt long ago, during her first season out in the society, that theton'sobsession with marriage and finding the perfect match wasn't exactly about love. Lavinia wasn't naïve. It was about securing alliances, uniting fortunes, and ensuring that future generations of children bickered over inheritances.
But it had taken her quite some time to learn this truth. For the bulk of her first season, Lavinia foolishly believed in the fairytale of love and finding a life partner because of it. Love, butterflies, moonlit waltzes...it had seemed so romantic at the time. She had imagined meeting a man who would not only be handsome and charming but also someone with whom she could build a life. Love...
How foolish of you, Lavinia.
"I am talking to you, Lavinia," her father said, snapping her back to reality. "You don't seem concerned at all about your future. This is your fourth season. You are so close to becoming a spinster and you do not worry? It does not bother you?"
"Of course it bothers me, Papa," she answered. "But there's only so much worrying I can do. I'm not sure my worrying would change anything, that is all."
"Even Alice managed to make a husband out of the Duke of Ravenmoor," he said to her. "Why are you taking your future lightly?"
The thought of Alice instantly came to mind the moment Jeremy mentioned her. Alice's own path to marriage had been far from the fairytale Lavinia had once thought love was. She had married the Duke of Ravenmoor, a man who was as feared as he was respected. To most, the duke seemed cold, calculating, and intimidating, a man who ruled his household with an iron fist. No one ever thought the man to be capable of love. Despite what everyone else said, Alice had managed to turn a marriage that began in fear and uncertainty into a genuine relationship built on trust and love.
Deep down, Alice was one of the few reasons Lavinia was still holding on to that tiny thread of hope that love could happen to her. If Alice, her good friend, could find love in the most unexpected of places, why couldn't she?
"As much as it hurts me to say this to you, my decision is final," her father continued. "I can no longer endure this. You are already so close to becoming a spinster, and yet, you show no urgency in securing a match."
A few ladies, most of them older and with children, sat around the long table, sipping tea from fine porcelain cups and exchanging polite pleasantries. The conversation, as usual, circled around the topic of marriage and the debutantes of the season. Lavinia didn't need to sit close to them to know exactly what they were saying. It was always the same conversations, year after year.
"Perhaps, the countryside would be nice," she caught herself thinking out loud.
"Lavinia Webbs," her father said in a commanding tone. "Do you think this is some sort of joke?"
"No, but I don't know what else to do," she said softly. "And quite frankly, Papa, I think this is a rather inappropriate place to have this conversation."
"How is it inappropriate?" he retorted. "There are eligible bachelors scattered around this tea party and you are seated at the corner of the table with your head down, staring at the ground, and your shoulders slouched. You have seen four seasons. How can you possibly still be so introverted?"
"What would you have me do, Papa?" Lavinia asked, lifting her head slightly but still avoiding his gaze. "Throw myself atthem? Flirt with every man in sight like some, some...desperate debutante? That's not how I was raised."
"I don't expect you to throw yourself at anyone, but you could at least appear interested, Lavinia. The least you could do is show some effort. Do you think men are just going to fall at your feet when you sit there with a book in your lap and a scowl on your face?"
Lavinia opened her mouth to retort but stopped herself. She wasn't sure how to explain that the idea of marriage, especially the kind her father was so desperate for her to embrace, left her feeling hollow. It made her feel as though she were expected to be something she wasn't. It was his notion of marriage that had soiled the one she had initially created for herself. She loathed the idea that it was all transactional. She hated that it was rare to find love first before anything else. It was foolish to hold on to that thread of hope, she was well aware, but a part of her still wanted to believe.
"I will try harder," she said through clenched teeth. It was what her father wanted to hear, but she had no idea how to accomplish that.
"I hope for your sake that you do," he retorted. "Go and sit, and keep your head up with a smile. If a gentleman as little as glances your way, you stand up and you curtsy. With a smile." Be polite and they will come to you. Do not talk to them about your books."
"Yes, Papa," she said and turned on her heel, ready to leave the conversation, but her gaze caught something across the room that made her pause.
Edwina Darwin sat at the other end of the table, looking perfectly at ease as she cooed over a small child in her lap, giggling and talking to the women beside her. The baby was bundled in a soft blue blanket, its small hands reaching for the teacup Edwina had carelessly left too close to the child's grasp.
