Cover

Dedication

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my beautiful girls, who have all the strength and courage of Lady Margaret. They too have followed their hearts and live life on their own terms. This book is for you, Beatrice and Eugenie, with all my love.

Chapter One

Chapter One

Montagu House, London, Wednesday, 19 July 1865

AH, THERE YOU ARE! It’s fast approaching midnight, my dear.”

Lord Rufus Ponsonby, the Earl of Killin, was considered by most to be a presentable-looking man. His tall, rather lean figure was always immaculately dressed. His aquiline profile was suitably haughty, as befitted an earl of the realm. Every aspect of him was austere, repressed, and calculated.

Lady Margaret Montagu Douglas Scott took an involuntary step back as he loomed over her. “I’m all too aware of that.”

As ever, he seemed oblivious to her prickly reaction to him. “Why are you skulking in the shadows? Perhaps you are insecure about your appearance,” he continued, answering his own question. “Allow me to reassure you. Your gown is neither too simple nor too ornate for the occasion. Her Grace, your mother, has excellent taste.”

Surveying the man her mother had helped select to be her husband, Margaret begged to differ. “I would have preferred a turquoise gown, actually.”

“All young ladies in their first Season wear white.”

“Look at me,” Margaret persisted, exasperated beyond words because Killin never did look at her, not properly. “Don’t you think I resemble a ghost at my own betrothal party? I am, quite literally, a spectre at the feast.”

“I think your tendency to be fanciful is coming to the fore.”

“There are so many ruffles and swags on this gown I feel like I’m wearing a set of drapes.”

His lordship, his attention on his watch, didn’t notice the note of suppressed hysteria in her tone. Killin checked his gold timepiece against the ballroom clock, frowned, checked again, made a minor adjustment, then checked it one last time before snapping the case closed and returning it to his waistcoat pocket.

“We had better join your parents for the announcement,” he said. “They will be getting anxious.”

That little vocal tic he had, something between a cough and a snort, as if he were about to clear his throat and decided against it, made Margaret’s toes curl. No-one else seemed to notice, yet every time he opened his mouth to speak she braced herself for it. “I think if anyone has a right to be anxious,” she said, smiling through gritted teeth, “it should be me. My life is about to change forever, after all.”

Though he smiled in return, it was a token effort that failed to be reflected in his eyes. “We are on the brink of a new life together, Lady Margaret. I for one am eager to embrace it.”