London, 1815, Winter

Scarlett stared out the window of the drawing room in her family’s lavish townhouse, watching the snow fall. The flakes were thin and sparse, but it was a lovely sight. She delighted in the warmth offered by the fireplace across from where she sat, but she thought snow was beautiful. She and Adelaide had loved playing in the snow as little girls. Now, they were grown women, Adelaide was two years married, and expecting her first child in just a few weeks.

Mrs. Susan Wentworth, Scarlett’s mother, had gone to spend the last few weeks of her eldest daughter’s confinement with her. She had only been gone for one week, and Scarlett already missed her dearly. She missed her sister as well, having only seen her twice since she married John and went to Bath.

She and her mother had been making arrangements for both of them to help prepare for the birth of Adelaide’s child. But at the last minute, her father had forbidden her from going, insisting that she spend Christmastide with him in London.

Her mother had done what lay in her power to reason with him, but he would not be moved. Scarlett had been heartbroken as she bade her mother goodbye. But as she spent more time thinking about it, it puzzled her. Why was so important for her to stay for Christmastide when he normally couldn’t be bothered with her?

She sighed, tired of dwelling on her loneliness. She reached for the book she had brought to the drawing room with her, Pride and Prejudice, and touched the cover of the novel fondly. Jane Austen was a revelation in romances, in Scarlett’s opinion. She loved the author, and she read a little in the novel every chance she got. She hadn’t seen much of her father the past couple of days, so she read more often than normal. When her father was there, however, she hid her reading as though it was a naughty secret.

Her mother encouraged Scarlett and her sister to embrace their respective hobbies. Her father, however, thought Scarlett’s love of reading to be shameful, and a waste of time. He was terribly disappointed that she had failed to make a match since her come out earlier that spring, during the past season in London. And he hadn’t been shy about blaming her failure to pull in suitors largely on her bookish ways.

She and her father had nothing in common, but that wasn’t the worst of their relationship. Her father’s sole concern seemed to be wealth, business ties and ways to climb the social ladder. He had never shown his wife or daughters much in the way of affection. And, at times, he almost seemed to resent them. Scarlett, especially, she often thought. That was why she had been surprised when her father made her stay with him, instead of being with her mother and sister.

Determined to make use of the equanimity without her father around, she opened her book. She hadn’t seen much of him since her mother left, so she had no reason to think that he would catch her reading. But she had to admit that, because of his displeasure with her reading, there was something of a thrill to be had at the idea that she was doing her reading in secret. Mostly, however, it was just the giddiness of being able to read without being disturbed.

The fireplace provided a decadent warmth, perfect for reading on such a cold winter’s day. It didn’t take Scarlett long to become immersed in the story. When she read, she could escape from the loneliness she felt with her sister married and away from home. She could forget the distance between her and her father, and his disapproving looks and words. She could rekindle her hope that she, too, could find love, just as she had always dreamed. The world of fiction was the one place where happy endings abounded, and the world always righted itself in the end. If she couldn’t be with her mother and sister, that world was where she wanted to be.

She had read through several chapters before she knew it. She flipped page after page, unaware of the passage of time. Each chapter was more engaging than the last, and the characters found new ways of winning her over. She was in the midst of a particularly interesting chapter, about a quarter of the way through the book, when something in the doorway pulled her attention from the book.

She looked up, expecting to see her father, but she smiled with relief when she saw the butler.

“Good day, Bradley,” she said warmly. “How do you do?”

Bradley bowed. His expression was stoic, but his eyes were apologetic.

“Good day, Miss Wentworth,” he said. “Do forgive my interruption, but the widow Wentworth has just arrived.”

Scarlett’s throat went instantly dry. She tried to swallow but failed as the color drained from her cheeks.

“Grandmother?” she croaked, her heart racing. If there was one person who disapproved of everything she did more than her father, it was her grandmother. And if her grandmother was there, where was her father? He had to have known she was coming, did he not? Why had he failed to mention it to her?

She knew the answer, of course. Her father would have never considered her important enough for him to tell her. Now, it made more sense as to why he had wanted her to stay behind when her mother left to be with Adelaide. But why not just tell her that the rest of the family was tending to her sister?

The butler stood expectantly in the doorway. She nodded weakly, scrambling to collect her thoughts. Bradley bowed again, stepping into the hallway to usher the widow in the room. Scarlett sat frozen as her stern-faced grandmother entered, her stomach twisting into knots. She hated any time her grandmother came to visit. But with it coming as such an unexpected shock, she was completely speechless.

The widow looked her granddaughter over, her lip curling into a sneer. Scarlett realized what was coming, even before her grandmother spoke.

“My heavens,” she said with bitter disgust. “I wonder how a young lady could dress so poorly when her father has such great wealth. Does your mother not supervise your outfit choices when you go to the modiste?”

Scarlett bristled, regaining some of her senses. She knew that her grandmother was judgmental and opinionated, especially when it came to her granddaughters. She had been no kinder to Adelaide, even since she married. Especially since she married, as she had not approved of Adelaide’s match any more than their father had. But Scarlett couldn’t bear the idea of her grandmother speaking ill of her mother.

“I choose dresses to wear around the house whenever we have no plans to leave or have company,” she said. Her voice trembled, but she held her grandmother’s gaze firmly. “And then, I have nice dresses for the times when I need them. And Mother doesn’t make any selections for me, because I am a grown woman. I choose what I like.”

Her grandmother chortled and continued sneering.

“That much is clear,” she said, shaking her head as she looked at Scarlett’s dress again. “Though a proper young lady should have far nicer dresses, even just for sitting at home. “She paused, looking down at the book in Scarlett’s lap with disdain. “And reading.”

Scarlett felt her cheeks grow warm. Even though there was nothing wrong with a young lady reading in her spare time, and there was even less wrong with the simple but lovely pale green silk day dress she was wearing, her grandmother managed to make her feel ashamed.

Her grandmother behaved as though she was dressed in drapes and partaking in the most unspeakable behavior for young ton ladies. And she was doing a great job of making Scarlett feel as though she was right. She desperately wished that her mother was there with her.

“Shall I go tell Father that you’ve arrived, Grandmother?” she asked. In truth, she had no desire to speak to her father, either and she wasn’t sure if he was home. But she would have done anything to get away from her grandmother. Even if she only pretended to go find him herself while sending the butler to convey the message. If he hadn’t already, that was.

Her grandmother huffed and clicked her tongue.

“A young lady does not do such errands herself,” she said. “The servants handle such menial tasks. I do hope you are more refined than this, and that you just suffered from a momentary lapse of judgment.”

Scarlett tightened her jaw to hold back tears that were threatening to fill her eyes. Why was her grandmother so utterly cruel to her? It was easy to believe that the woman abhorred her grandchildren.

“I only thought to save you the trouble, Grandmother,” she said, defeated. “I thought you might wish to rest after your trip.”

The widow waved her hand, wearing an expression of disgust and agitation as though she thought her youngest granddaughter was a lost cause.

“It is my right as a lady to order domestics to fulfill requests,” she said. “It takes no effort to issue a command to a servant.”

While Scarlett squirmed in her seat and regretted her attempt to be thoughtful, the widow barked her request to a nearby maid. The maid couldn’t get away fast enough to go find out if the butler had found Mr. Wentworth and announced her arrival. The room grew eerily quiet, and Scarlett thought the tension alone would give her a megrim. She dared to glance at her grandmother, who was frowning at her with terrible disdain.

“I will not see you dressed so disgracefully at dinner this evening. Do you understand?” she asked in a way that made Scarlett feel daft.

Scarlett nodded meekly.

“Yes, Grandmother,” she whispered.

The widow sneered and snorted.

“We shall see,” she retorted.

Scarlett glanced at the clock, noting that dinner was still hours away. But she found the only opportunity she was going to have to get away from her horrid grandmother. She rose quickly, averting her gaze to hide the tears that wouldn’t stop stinging her eyes.

“If you will excuse me, I shall go see to that at once,” she said.

Olive Wentworth made a humph sound, but she didn’t say anything further. Scarlett fled the room, not caring about grace or tact as she did so. She couldn’t stand her grandmother’s presence a moment longer. Any excuse, even though she wouldn’t be really getting dressed for dinner for a couple of hours, was good enough for her to hide in her chambers.

When Constance came into her room later that afternoon, she found Scarlett ripping out her dresses from her wardrobe and frantically trying to choose one. She personally didn’t care which one she wore. But she knew that her grandmother would tell her father of her outfit expectations of Scarlett, and how allegedly poorly she was dressed when the widow arrived. She had to do her best to comply, no matter what.

“Are you all right, Miss Wentworth?” Constance asked, closing the door and hurrying over to her mistress.

Scarlett shook her head, explaining her encounter with her grandmother to her lady’s maid. Constance gave her a sympathetic look and took a stack of dresses out of Scarlett’s hands.

“Let me help you,” she said sweetly. “Do not worry yourself so.”

Scarlett nodded, stepping aside while Constance reorganized her wardrobe. The maid selected a pale blue silk evening gown with pearl embroidered gloves, shoes and hat that matched. She expertly dressed Scarlett in no time, then ushered her to her vanity, where she styled her hair in a bun that was perfectly sized to fit beneath the hat. Then, she applied some rouge to her mistress’s cheeks and spritzed her with some rose perfume.

When Constance was finished with her, she looked at herself in the mirror. She braced herself, forcing herself to put on a broad smile. She thought that she looked perfectly presentable. But she didn’t know what to expect when she arrived in the supper room. Would Constance’s efforts be enough to appease the widow?