Page 1 of The Dare Before Christmas

Prologue

Dear Emmeline,

Thank you so much for coming to stay with us. I miss you already. Dot, Emily and little Izzie were so sad and are expressing their displeasure by being as annoying as possible. Do come back and save me from them soon. Ridley is also sorry you have gone, though he would never say so, being ‘a boy’ and an older brother too. He’s horrid ninety percent of the time anyway so it’s hard to tell when he’s stomping about what the problem is. I think he’s sweet on you, though, not that he will admit such a shocking thing. To be fair, he’s sweet on any pretty girl in his vicinity. Papa says it is normal and I’m not to tease him so, but it’s rather irresistible. I have promised to try.

Our piano misses you most of all. I don’t think I shall ever be as proficient as you, no matter how I practice. I never heard such lovely music before in my life.

Have a wonderful Christmas, dear Em, and send your family much love from us all. We shall hope to see you again in the New Year.

―Excerpt of a letter to Miss Emmeline Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight) from Lady Rose Carmichael, age 13, (daughter of Phoebe and Maximillian Carmichael, The Countess and Earl of Ellisborough.)

5th December 1844, The Duchess of Bedwin’s Christmas Ball, Beverwyck, London.

Lady Victoria Adolphus looked out over a sea of colourful swirling silks, each one revolving around the ballroom in the company of an elegant sweep of black-and-white as the men guided their partners. Viewed from above, her mother’s famous Christmas ball was a dazzling affair. Everyone who was anyone was here, the cream of the ton. It was the event of the season and, no matter where people were or what commitments they had, no one would miss it. Beverwyck, already a magnificent backdrop, was dressed in splendour for the festive season. Vast swathes of greenery studded with red berries and apples and thick scarlet ribbons wound around the vast marble pillars of the ballroom, the fresh scent of pine and bay and rosemary perfuming the air.

Torie ought to be down there. Right at this moment, she ought to be dancing with… someone. She couldn’t remember who. It didn’t matter, anyway. The only man she wanted to ask her to dance hadn’t and wouldn’t, and she didn’t know why. Barnaby Godwin was simply the nicest man in the world. He was handsome and kind and sweet, the kind of man who would never let you down, never forget your birthday, and never leave you standing in a corner of the room whilst he went off to enjoy himself elsewhere. Yet Barnaby Godwin didn’t like her. Every single man in this room who was not a close friend or related to her vied for her attention. Men fell over themselves to dance with her, flirt with her, or fetch her refreshments, all hoping to marry the daughter of a duke with a vast dowry. It was rather depressing to accept that she had all but begged Barnaby to court her, and he had run a mile.

“Are you hiding?”

Torie jumped as a deep voice spoke close to her ear.

“Oh, Jules!” she protested, scowling at her big brother as he appeared beside her shoulder. “You startled me.”

He shrugged, looking unrepentant, and leaned against the wall, staring down at the party as she had been doing.

“Shouldn’t you be dancing?” he asked, taking a drink from the crystal glass he held. It wasn’t the champagne everyone else was drinking; the tawny liquid suggested he’d opted for brandy instead.

“Shouldn’t you?” she retorted.

Jules smirked at her and raised the glass. “Touché.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Up here they were hidden from view, the private balcony shadowy and unlit and only accessible from the family wing of the grand house.

“Why aren’t you down there, dancing and having fun, then?” Jules asked.

Torie looked up at him, seeing concern in her brother’s eyes. For all his teasing ways, he was a good brother, kind and caring, and never too busy to spend time with his younger siblings. Torie knew he was gaining a shocking reputation, something over which he and their father were increasingly at loggerheads. Yet it was hard to align the wicked Marquess of Blackstone who was forever in the scandal sheets with the man before her. They seemed entirely different people.

She shrugged in response to his question, uncertain how to answer. She would have to return to the party before Mama missed her too and began asking the same thing.

“I don’t know. I’m just not in the mood for dancing, I suppose.”

Jules quirked an eyebrow. “I bet your dance card is fit to bursting.”

Torie snorted. “Well, that’s hardly an astonishing feat of deduction, is it? I bet you’re hiding up here from all the marriage-hungry young ladies eager for you to dance with them.”

“You would be right,” Jules replied dryly.

“How long do you think we’ve got before Mother comes to fetch us?” Torie asked.

Jules leaned over the balcony and sighed. “About five minutes. I think she’s on her way up.”

Torie groaned and hurried to the door. “Come along. If she finds us up here, we’ll be in the basket.”

Jules pushed off from the wall and followed Torie as she made her way back to the main staircase so they could return to the party.

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong, sis?” Jules asked.

Torie glanced over her shoulder and gave him a sad smile. “Nothing anyone can do anything about. But I’m not giving up yet.”