Page 1 of The Rake’s Convenient Bride

Prologue

January 1, 1810, Devon, England, Lady Finch’s Finishing School

Oh, how Lady Elizabeth Ashbrook hated resolutions for the new year. Those promises to better oneself were a source of turbulent frustration. At least to her.

Perhaps if she could control her own actions, they would not be so loathsome. But when one’s faults stemmed from being clumsy, how was one supposed to endeavor to be fixed?

Elizabeth couldn’t exactly wish away the various pavement cracks, loose nails, or errant drips from her life.

And yet here she was, amid her dearest friends just after the daunting chime of midnight, with their resolutions hanging over them like something heavy and ominous.

Hannah held the journal in her hands, her cheeks flushed almost as red as her hair with excitement to record all their intentions for self-improvement. She glanced at Lucy’s empty bed and smothered a laugh. “Clearly, Lucy’s resolution will not be punctuality.”

Elizabeth joined the others in a good-natured giggle. Lucy was always running late. Not due to a lack of attention, but due to a lack of care.

Lucy was bold like that. Confident to the point of being enviable. Never in her life did Lucy seek approval or care if the rules were being followed.

Perhaps it was why of the five, Elizabeth was closest with Lucy.

Where Lucy was carefree, Elizabeth was obsequious, following rules within every narrow line and margin. Where Lucy took chances, Elizabeth stayed within the confines of expectation and propriety. Where Lucy was a vibrant of character, Elizabeth was dull—shy, quiet, and demure.

Perhaps Elizabeth’s resolution ought to be to allow herself to become more like Lucy.

But no, for all intents and purposes, Elizabeth was doing what she should be by the standards set for an earl’s eldest daughter. Emulating Lucy would not improve her character. Not to the outside world, at least.

“Maybe she’s with Lady Alison, selecting ribbons for class.” Jillian pinned her dark waves with a pinch of her fingers as if it were a bow, innately artistic with the deft movement of her fingers. She gave a wry twist to her lips and rolled her eyes.

The very idea of Lucy spending a moment of time with the likes of Lady Alison was preposterous.

Hannah erupted into laughter, the clear bell of her mirth ringing out in the small room. If Lucy was vibrant, Hannah was incandescent. Her voice was always the loudest in the room, her joy uninhibited in a way that always brought a smile to Elizabeth’s lips.

Hannah clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide, as though the volume had surprised even her.

But Lucy was taking a terribly long time. She’d vowed to bring a treat to make the resolution party memorable. It didn’t take much to deduce she likely intended to smuggle the bit of brandy that old Jones kept hidden behind the sofa.

“Hopefully she didn’t take a tumble.” Elizabeth looked toward the closed door, earnestly regretting having told Lucy about the stash of liquor in the first place. The poor harassed butler was always pausing by the immensely pink and frilly sofa. He went so often, in fact, it did not take long for Elizabeth to catch him slugging back a draught from the bottle one afternoon amid his irascible grousing about the girls and their antics.

What good could possibly have come from divulging such a secret to Lucy?

“I’ll wager she’s up to no good.” Amy frowned, her maternal side matching that of Elizabeth’s concern. But then, the two of them had always been the ones to look after the others. Elizabeth, from a place of imagining every catastrophe that could befall those she cared about, spurred on by her own impossible clumsiness, and Amy, from a place of craving the warmth of a family.

She would make an excellent mother someday with all that love and care in her heart.

Hannah giggled and pointed to Amy’s head where her silky blonde hair was tied up in rag rolls that bobbed about when she spoke.

Before Amy could chide Hannah, the door swung open and Lucy sauntered in, a triumphant smile on her lips. She tossed her head back to clear a lock of dark hair from her hazel eyes and grinned at them. “I thought our resolutions could be a little more interesting.” From behind her back, she withdrew a corked bottle.

Elizabeth had been correct. Poor Jones would find his secret stash nearly empty the next morning, if not gone entirely.

Hannah leapt to her feet, abandoning that journal Elizabeth loathed so greatly, and ran toward Lucy with a high-pitched squeal.

“I don’t think we should have that.” Even as Amy spoke cautiously, she slid from her bed to examine the brandy bottle.

“From ol’ Jones’s private stash that he keeps behind the sofa.” Lucy wiggled the bottle, sending the liquid sloshing about. “And don’t fret…” She looked pointedly at Elizabeth. “I left him a few coins to cover a new bottle of an even finer vintage than this.”

And this is why Lucy was so easy to envy. Despite her carelessness, there was still a deep consideration for others. One that sometimes made Elizabeth wonder if Lucy was truly as indifferent as she appeared—or if it was all a ruse for something deeper.

Elizabeth beamed her approval at Lucy, winning a proud smile from her friend in return.