Excerpt

Chapter One

In which Mrs. Weyden's warnings go Unheeded.

"Tout vient à celui qui sait attendre," muttered Frederica d'Avillez. Her tone made it sound more like a curse than a proverb. It was, she supposed, just a remnant of some long-ago French lesson which now kept repeating itself over and over in her head until it became maddening, rather like that big green and yellow bird she'd once seen swinging on a wire in a Piccadilly shop window. All comes to him who knows how to wait. What a bloody stupid saying. And an egregious lie, too.

At the stable door, she stared grimly into the night for a long, uncertain moment, then forced back her shoulders and marched off in the direction of the terraced gardens. As she paced, Frederica tapped her crop impatiently against her thigh, the muted sting somehow keeping her tears at bay, much as her silly proverb had done for the last several months. The words had given her hope during a miserable come-out season in London. And they had sustained her at home here in Essex while she anxiously awaited Johnny's return from his grand tour.

Well, much good her patience had done her! She should have gone to Scotland with Zoö and the little ones. Instead, she was stuck here with Aunt Winnie and the menfolk, and she and Johnny were done for. Ruthlessly, Frederica shoved a bough of hemlock from her face and pushed on through the shimmering moonlight, her riding boots digging hard into the gravel as she hit the garden path. Here, at the bottom terrace, the gardens were allowed to grow thick and natural. High above in the distance, someone had left a lantern burning by the back door. Frederica should have found it welcoming