Chapter 1

Anastasia Thoreau stood looking out the window of her bedroom, watching in dismay as carriage after carriage pulled up to the house. It was to be her party, after all. She should be happy, excited. But instead she dreaded the entire evening, which would be spent being mooned over by a dozen hapless men who had the audacity to refer to themselves as gentlemen. No gentleman would drool over her that way and most especially no gentleman would ever presume to court her without her permission. So many of these lords and barons and earls had gone straight to her father after one conversation. Her father, luckily enough, knew his daughter well and had the sense to turn those suitors away.

“Ouch!” she cried, her maid Clara tightening her corset. “Not so tight, Clara, for pity’s sake!”

“Aye, Miss, but we gotta be getting you in this dress anon.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Anastasia sighed and took a deep breath as Clara continued to inflict fashion-imposed torture on her small frame. She would have to face the music, quite literally. There would be endless dancing; no doubt her dance card was already full and the party had yet to even begin. It was her birthday and she didn’t think she should have to dance with anyone she didn’t like. Yet society’s rules stated otherwise. Her etiquette teacher, a rather harried woman now after having put up with Anastasia in her tutelage, would have a fit if Anastasia were to decline any potential suitors before they had been permitted to state their intentions.

Clara finished with the corset and brought Anastasia’s dress over from the wardrobe. It was sapphire blue and made entirely of silk. It swept around Anastasia’s slender body in a mass of expensive fabric and sparkling trim work. The bodice clung to her breasts, showing off her assets to their best advantage. She studied herself in the mirror as her maid fussed around her. She never understood what all the fuss was about. She was fairly sure she was rather plain looking. What she didn’t see, what the rest of the world saw, was the tempestuous beauty staring back at her. She had midnight hair, long and wavy, a gorgeous contrast to her porcelain skin. Her eyes were the color of her dress, a dark sapphire blue. Her expression was serious, reflecting the deep thought that was occurring right now in her head. She was trying to think of a dozen foolproof ways to get herself out of this party early enough to come upstairs and finish her book. She only had a few chapters to go and was eager to see how it would end.

This was another thing that she was forbidden to speak of amongst her suitors. Anastasia was both quite intelligent and a bookworm, two things that would not get her married off to the best possible man. Men were not interested in wives with whom they could hold genuine conversation. They were interested in women who looked attractive on their arms and said just enough to be considered social and witty. It was a game, courting. And not even a fun one at that. She would just as soon end up a spinster if it meant avoiding any more insipid conversations with suitors whom she could best at everything from whist to wordplay.

Sighing again, Anastasia turned from the mirror. Clara looked at her with tears in her eyes.

”Such a beautiful lass,” she said.

“Thank you, my dear Clara. Now, I suppose I must go and face this silly party of Father’s.”

She made her way down the hallway to the main staircase. She took a deep breath and proceeded to descend the stairs. She walked slowly to prolong her freedom, knowing once she was in the ballroom she would be stuck.

Her father was at the bottom and turned to see her coming. His face lit up with the light of a thousand candles. He was so proud of his daughter, how beautiful she was and how smart. His heart was heavy that he would someday have to let her go. He knew she didn’t want to be married, but he also knew it was best for her. And he thought he had found just the right fellow.

“Father,” Anastasia kissed her father on the cheek. “You look well this evening.” Her love for her father rivaled that of his own for her. She would never deign to put up with these silly parties if they didn’t in some way make him happier. She put on her best smile, linked her arm through his and they walked into the party. She was announced at the door and all eyes turned toward her. She would never get used to that, being ogled.

She heard the whispers go through the crowd as she entered the room. Blissfully unaware of what they were saying, which was mostly along the lines of complimenting her stunning appearance, the men in awe, the women jealous, Anastasia made her way to her post as hostess. She was immediately surrounded by a throng of admirers. The bachelors of the room were first in line to kiss her hand and greet her and tell her how lovely she was. Anastasia blushed each time and nodded, smiling at each of them in turn.

In her head, she was playing a game. It passed the time rather well amidst the tedium of her duty. She counted the number of times these silly men stumbled over their words, compared her to any kind of flower, and exactly how many times they made her laugh. The first number was fifteen, the second twenty-four, and the third – zero. They were flattering, sweet and completely well intentioned, she knew. But not a single one of the men in this room had the ability to make her laugh. So what was it all for? She was expected to choose one of the lot, she was required to marry someone. So was she to spend her entire life without laughter, without feelings of any kind?

The dancing began next and Anastasia was twirled around the dance floor more times than she could stand. Every time she thought she would get a chance to sit and have a glass of champagne, another man would come immediately and ask her to dance. She was exhausted.
She had just finished a dance with the Baron Porter when she spotted Sir Frederick Carmine bearing down on her from across the room. In desperation, she turned and fled, trying to be as discreet about her fleeing as possible, to the balcony. She hurried through the doors and out into the fresh night air. Closing the doors behind her, hoping no one would follow, she took a deep breath, and leaned over the railing. She closed her eyes and just let the moonlight surround her. It was a beautiful evening, warm and clear, the stars out in multitudes.


Her eyes still shut, Anastasia heard a noise behind her.

“Ahem,” came the sound of someone clearing his throat.

She spun around, ripped from her reverie, and saw him standing there. He was in the corner, seated on a bench enjoying a cigar.

“I didn’t see you there,” she said, trying not to snipe at what she considered an intrusion of her much needed fresh air.

“I noticed,” he replied. “Which is why I chose to make my presence known to you so we could avoid any unpleasantness such as you thinking I was stalking you in some way or me having to sit here and be extra quiet so as not to startle your feminine sensibilities.”

Anastasia stared at the man, who stood presently so she could get her first good look at him. He was extremely tall, broad shouldered. He was very handsome, dark brown hair and green eyes that seemed just now to be studying her with much amusement. She was utterly flabbergasted by his tone with her. Why, talking to her like she was just any easily frightened, mindless GIRL!

“While I do appreciate the effort on your part,” she retorted, “to spare my, what did you call it – feminine sensibilities? – I can assure you that any gesture of protection on your part is wholly unnecessary. I can take care of myself. Good evening, sir.”

She turned to walk away from him, perhaps to rejoin the party or perhaps to go back to her post at the railing and simply ignore him for the duration of his stay on the patio. He wouldn’t have put it past her to do just that.

He chuckled to himself at her anger, knowing he had found the right girl. So this was Anastasia. He had heard of her from several people who found her insufferable. They said many scathing things about her including that she read more than a man and was completely unladylike in all ways. Although, to him, it appeared she was more ladylike than any other woman he had ever met. She was stunning.

“Please, please. Do not run off. I did not mean to offend you. I simply assumed you bore the same constitution as your contemporaries and would faint at the mere drop of a hat. I am glad to know I was wrong.”

He said this with great amusement, intending to compliment her with his rescinding of his previous comment.

But instead Anastasia grew even angrier. Who did this man think he was?! She managed to bite on her lip to keep from saying anything she would later be made to regret by her father and the rest of polite society. She knew they already had enough fodder based on her behaviors to feed the gossip mill for months to come. Instead, she took a deep breath, counted to five, and replied: “If I did have the same constitution as my contemporaries I would have fainted in the bathroom hours ago from being so tightly bound by this cursed corset. I would also have been quite glad to have all of those mincing fops cavorting me about the dance floor, hoping for my hand in marriage. Yet, conversely, I would have been married off years ago to the richest eligible bachelor who would have me. But no, Sir, I am not like my contemporaries and I do get so tired of having to pretend such which is why I came out here in the first place. Now, if you are finished with your cigar, which I see that you are, please leave me in peace to enjoy the evening free of suitors and panderers on the privacy of my own balcony.”

The man stared at her in awe. But it was not the usual awestruck look she encountered in men. This one was different. Of course she had also never spoken so openly in front of a stranger before. He stubbed out his cigar and she almost began to thank him for leaving her to her thoughts, when instead of returning inside, he came to stand in front of her.

“Whitfield Manderly, my lady. I am very pleased to meet you.”

He bowed in front of her. This was his subtle way of calling her out on her behavior and she knew it. She rose to the challenge, knowing she could not avoid being polite now, nor should she. She was well-bred enough to know she had just put on quite a display for this man and at least owed him a proper introduction.

“Anastasia Thoreau, and I’m sure the pleasure is all mine.”

She curtsied to him in a grand fashion, lightening the mood in her own way and suggesting a truce. She held out her hand to him and he took it in his own, lifted it to his lips, his eyes sparkling with some joke only he was privy to.

”Is it?” he asked. “Doubtful, my lady.”

Anastasia smirked. She had to admit she was intrigued by this man. He did not seem the least bit intimidated by her nor did he seem interested in wooing her. Two things that made her feel uncommonly comfortable in his presence because they were two reactions she was used to invoking whether she liked it or not.

He returned her hand to her and stood facing her, studying her face. She openly studied him right back. They said nothing to each other for a moment. He admired her audacity and her boldness. She was not the type to back down. And he had tired of the women of polite society and their vapors, and spells, and dainty ways. This woman, this magnificent beauty, acted as though she could take on the entire British Army and win. And she could probably do it with that glorious smirk on her face the entire time.

“So, Miss Thoreau, this is your party.”

“Indeed, Sir, it is. At the behest of my father, we have on our hands yet another splendidly successful party at Thoreau Manor.”
Her voice was edged with sarcasm, which he found both refreshing and questionable.

“Is there somewhere you would rather be? Something you would rather be doing?” he asked her inquisitively.

“As a matter of fact, there is,” she countered boldly.

Anastasia was, however, slightly reluctant to reveal herself to this man so quickly as simply knowing his name made him no less of a stranger. But she had started this honesty bit with him and felt to stop now would be to compromise herself in a worse way than if she told him all of her dark secrets. To pretend to be something she wasn’t now would undermine the strange and inexplicable sense of comfort she felt with this man. He watched her, waiting patiently for her to elaborate.

”I have a new novel,” she began, “that I am actually quite interested in and would rather be upstairs in my sitting room reading it than here in this silly dress amongst all of these silly people. There, I’ve said it.”

Her relief was obvious and he wondered at that. Was their society really so repressed that this tempestuous beauty could not admit to wanting to read her book?? He marveled at how sad that was and how he wished for her sake she were allowed to be herself.

“Is it a secret, my lady, that you read?” He asked her this wondering if she knew that her penchant for books had spread like wildfire through the members of their respective social circles. Anything that made a girl more or less than absolutely different in any way was regarded as a most interesting topic of conversation.

“My father doesn’t like me to announce that particular quirk of mine to the general public, no.”

“I for one think it is wonderful. What book is it that you are reading?”

He seemed genuinely interested in discussing books with her and Anastasia was more than amazed. Men did not usually like to know that a woman reads, much less chat her up about it. She walked over to the bench against the wall and sat down. It was apparent that he was not going anywhere and neither was she. They may as well sit and be comfortable.

He followed suit and sat down next to her.

“War and Peace,” she told him, her voice taking on a new, excited tone. “It’s very new. Father got it for me. And I’m absolutely fascinated with it…”

“I have heard of it. It’s all the rage in the intellectual circles.”

Anastasia blushed, then, at what she knew was meant to be a compliment. From anyone else it would have been intended as an insult, but she knew this was not the case. He seemed to appreciate in her that which made her different. It was a marvel.

They discussed the book at length, although not conclusively as she had not finished it yet. This led to several other discussions about topics such as war, poverty, society, history, and so on. Whit found that Anastasia was more well-read and intelligent than just about any of the men he knew. She was sharp and interested in learning more about anything he was willing to converse on with her.

During their quite lengthy discussion, it never occurred to Anastasia the impropriety of having remained so long outside on the balcony alone with a man and no chaperone. She was utterly enthralled in their conversation and so taken with his candor that she thought of nothing else. He did not try to hide anything from her, but merely sought to share what he knew. Even her father was never this open. She listened with fascination as he recounted tales of the war in America and its economic repercussions.

As she was about to ask him a question pertaining to the topic at hand, the balcony doors burst open and her father came pouring out. His face was reddened and he appeared extremely angry. Anastasia shot to her feet.

“Anastasia!” he yelled. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you all over the blessed house! Where have you been? This is your party and no one claims to have seen you for hours! What are you trying to do to me?”

She was caught off guard by the mention that it had been hours. Hours? Had she really been out here so long? She wondered. She had never seen her father so angry with her and even from outside she could hear the whispers spreading throughout the party. She would most assuredly be the talk of the town for several weeks to come.

Mr. Thoreau was about to launch back into his tirade after having paused to take a breath when he saw Whit sitting on the bench, reclined against the wall with one ankle propped on his knee. He was the picture of leisure, merely observing the scene playing out before him with very little amusement. Thoreau stopped in his tracks upon seeing him there and started stuttering over himself.

“Your Grace,” he muttered. “I did not know that you had arrived…” he trailed off. Anastasia had been in the midst of studying the ground very intently, waiting for her father’s rage to pass when she heard him call Mr. Manderly “your grace.” Her head flew up and she looked at him, disbelieving.

“Your Grace?” she asked him. “You are a duke?”

Before he could answer her she had a flash of memory in which her father had told her to be on her very best behavior this particular evening as the Duke of Wetherby would be in attendance at her party. She knew he was one of the richest, most influential people in England. How could she have forgotten that? She cursed herself silently for being so daft. Her mind had been elsewhere, no doubt. Daydreaming, reading, focusing on anything that had nothing to do with this infernal party.

“Whitfield Manderly, the Duke of Wetherby,” she said, as though testing it out loud to see how it sounded. “Why didn’t you tell me, your grace?”

Instead of showing him the usual pomp and circumstance, not to mention respect and civility due him as a result of his title, she spat the last part at him as though it brought a vile taste to her mouth. She looked at him with all the rage that she felt. She knew her anger was illogical. It was not as though he had out and out lied to her. But knowing he was a duke, it changed him for her. A few minutes before he had just been a man and she had been a woman and somehow they had talked. Really talked. And that was so rare. Impossible even. To find someone with whom she could have an actual conversation that didn’t treat her like an ignorant child was something she had never been able to accomplish. And now she felt her happiness over the evening vanish in a flash of a name and a title.

“Is that a problem, my lady?” he asked her calmly. He was curious about her total change in attitude toward him. She had been so excited and animated when they had been talking together and now that she knew who he was she wanted nothing to do with him. For most women, they wouldn’t want anything to do with him until they found out who he was and how much money he was worth. He was one of the most eligible bachelors in Europe and he very well knew it.

“A problem? Why, no, your grace. I simply find it odd that when you introduced yourself to me you failed to mention it.”

Anastasia’s father was looking back and forth at the two of them, confused. His face was still red, but less with anger than embarrassment and some confusion as to what was transpiring before him. The more he thought, the more he realized that his daughter had just spent several hours on a balcony with the duke and no chaperone. Surely if Anastasia didn’t know better, Wetherby did. Her reputation could not withstand much more gossip, he knew. She was teetering on the edge of being an outcast and he knew that her beauty was the only thing keeping her in any kind of social circle.

“Anastasia, will you please go inside? There are several people who would like the chance to dance with you still.”

Anastasia knew he was trying to get rid of her and nodded her head in acquiescence. She did not look at the duke as she took her leave of him and reentered the party. As soon as she was through the doors the buzzing throughout the room ceased to dead silence. Everyone stared at her. Anastasia felt her face redden with anger. Why did it have to be this way, she wondered. She had just had a most amazing conversation with an amazing and handsome man who it had turned out was not a man but a duke and now the entirety of the party wanted to judge her for it. Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes and she made her way quickly through the throng to the ladies room.

As she passed through the crowd, the whispers began again. She shut the door of the powder room and sat down on the closest chair she could find. Luckily the room was empty and she was left in peace. She put her head in her hands and thought about how she was doomed, ruined. Her reputation was, finally, soiled. She had spent time alone with a man and had done it when there was a party going on inside her own house. What had she been thinking? She didn’t worry for herself. She had never really wanted to get married anyway. She was sure she was ideal spinster material. She would be perfectly happy to hole up with her books and live out the rest of her days in quiet solitude. It was her father she was worried about. It had been so important to him that she marry and that she marry well. It was his life’s ambition to see her properly wed. He wanted this out of love for her, she knew, as he did not really understand that a man could never make her happy. At least not any of those men who were out there now whispering about her. They were the same ones who had wanted to wed her only a few hours earlier. Now they would shun her and ridicule her because that is what they did. They were all sheep. Weak and incapable of any thought independent from that of the masses. It hurt her so badly that these were the people with whom she was surrounded.

There were many days she wished they had been poor so she could do as she pleased. The lower classes did not have the strict rules of the upper. She envied them. She would trade all of her fancy dresses for her freedom from this rigidity.

She looked up from her tears, then, as a thought formed in her head. An impossible idea, to be sure. A smile spread slowly across Anastasia’s face as she rose from her chair and made her way out of the powder room and up the stairs to her chambers. She knew she would have to be quick.