Prologue
London, England 1872
“He’s perfect!” Miss MillicentDavies blinked back tears as she stared into a pair of beautiful blue eyes that looked right back at her as if he knew her every secret. Her every wish. “Absolutely perfect.”
Her heartbeat pounded in her throat, her palms were damp, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath as she studied his handsome features. The moment nearly overwhelmed her physically and emotionally.
“Isn’t he just?” Phoebe Stanhope, the Countess of Bolton, broke the spell by agreeing about her new son, admiring him over Millie’s shoulder.
Millicent, or Millie to her friends, looked up from the baby to smile at Phoebe, who positively glowed with happiness. “Yes. He’s adorable. So precious.”
“May I hold him?” Lady Tabitha Shaw, better known as Tibby by the league members, asked eagerly.
“Of course.” Though Millie was reluctant to hand over the warm bundle in her arms, she did so anyway. She had no doubt every member of the Mayfair Literary League wanted to hold the baby before the end of their monthly meeting, hosted by Phoebe for convenience.
They had yet to discuss the book they had read in preparation for the meeting, but no one seemed to mind.
Millie pressed a hand to her still pounding heart. What had come over her just now? She’d held numerous babies, including her own nephews and nieces, over the years. As the youngest of four daughters, she was now an aunt to five boys and girls of varying ages. Babies were nothing new.
Perhaps it was the realization that, at the age of six and twenty, her chances of holding her own baby were growing slimmer with each month that passed.
She was an aunt. Frequently a chaperone. Not a wife, and certainly not a mother. If she weren’t careful, spinster would be added to the brief list.
It was April, and the Season was just beginning. Yet already she found herself accompanying one cousin or another to watch over them rather than simply attending events as a guest. How could she refuse when she’d had more than her share of opportunities to catch a man’s notice?
All for naught.
At least, no one with whom she would consider spending the rest of her life.
Her advantages were few, it was true. She was pleasant looking, though not especially attractive. Her body was more straight than curved. She had no title and a rather modest dowry. The latter was not a surprise since she was the youngestof four daughters. And then there were her bookish tendencies, which greatly concerned her mother.
All in all, she didn’t compare favorably to the new wave of debutantes who entered Society each year.
“You look wonderful, Phoebe,” Harriet, Viscountess Garland, said as the ladies continued to take turns with the baby.
“Indeed, you do,” Frances Sinclair agreed.
“Thank you.” Phoebe heaved a contented sigh, then sank into a chair and adjusted her skirts. “Becoming a mother has been the most challenging and rewarding endeavor I have ever undertaken.” She sniffed as she glanced at her son, now held by Lady Winifred Godwin. “And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
“I am so pleased to hear that,” Tibby said, her grin infectious. “Because Michael and I are expecting come late summer.”
The ladies all gasped in surprise, immediately swarming Tibby to offer hugs and congratulations. Millie was the first to do so as she sat next to her, thrilled by the news. Rebecca and Winifred quickly joined her.
Then Millie stepped back to allow her other friends the same chance, her attention returning to the baby. Her heart ached with longing as she watched him raise one tiny fist in the air, the sweet gesture causing her to press a hand to her chest at the pain there.
The time had come to make some decisions regarding her future. Did she continue the path to spinsterhood, content with chaperoning her cousins and being an aunt to her nieces and nephews? Or did she allow her father to find her a husband, and hope it was someone who would provide companionship in the years to come?
Her father had arranged husbands for all three of her older sisters, and they were content with their lives, at least for the most part. After all, “no marriage is perfect” as one of her sisters liked to remind her.
Yet as Millie looked around the room at her friends, she noted they all had marriages that appeared nearly so.
She was the last single member of the original book club. Lady Marian had moved from London to live with her sister in the Cotswolds. Lady Lucinda and her sister, Lady Jane, were spending a year in Italy with relatives. Phoebe had received a letter from Lucinda which stated they were enjoying it immensely.
Millie was the only unattached woman in the room.
That was not what she’d envisioned when Phoebe had first proposed theFor Better or Worseagenda two years ago.
The agenda was meant to push them out of their comfortable existence and into making a bold move—nothing untoward, of course—to catch the notice of their secrettendre.