The press had been speculating about the announcement for weeks. The highest born and most illustrious and influential members of society were present to witness it. Everyone who was anyone had come to Montagu House, for an invitation from the Duke of Buccleuch was second only to a royal summons. Not Princess Louise, though. Margaret’s oldest friend, who counselled her to accept her fate gracefully, was chained to the queen’s side at Osborne House on the Isle of Wight, and would not be present to witness her compliance.

And comply she must! Margaret willed herself to reverse her progress, to return to the ballroom, and join what amounted to a victory parade, with herself the trophy to be displayed. But she couldn’t do it.

Not yet.

Not ever.

The truth brought her to an abrupt halt. From the very moment she had allowed Mama to persuade her to accept Killin’s proposal, she had been deluding herself. No matter how much her parents wanted it, she could not sacrifice herself on the altar of duty by marrying a man she knew in her heart would make her miserable. She simply couldn’t go through with it. Not even if it meant committing what amounted to social suicide, as it surely would.

Back in the ballroom, Mama would be standing on the dais, looking as fragrantly beautiful as ever. Beside her would be Papa, tall and ramrod-straight, his black evening clothes in stark contrast to his distinctive flame of red hair, which was almost as vibrant as Margaret’s own. He would be frowning, in all likelihood impatiently consulting his watch. Victoria would be standing just behind Mama along with Kerr. And Killin would be standing at the forefront of the family group, anxious to confirm his place within the prestigious firmament of the Buccleuch dynasty.

Even as her mind raced, trying desperately to reason one last time with her rebellious instincts, Margaret’s feet inexorably resumed their backwards journey.

Go back in, she urged herself. She was, almost uniquely in her nearly nineteen years on this earth, about to make her parents happy and proud. But at what cost? She would become, in the eyes of the law and society, Killin’s property.

Margaret took a few more backwards steps. As long as she had the ballroom in sight, she could persuade herself that she might return there at any moment. She was keeping them waiting, that was all. Wasn’t that the bride’s prerogative? Though it must already be past midnight. Any moment now, Mama would send Victoria out to usher her back inside like a sheep-dog rounding up a panicked ewe.

That thought sent Margaret backwards still farther into the gloom. She tried valiantly one last time to persuade herself to do the right thing. She pictured herself on the dais, placing her hand compliantly in Killin’s. He’d clear his throat before chiding her for keeping him waiting.