Page 4 of The Rake’s Convenient Bride

Poor, sweet Amy, with her cheeks brilliant red and a look of hopeless shock in her large brown eyes. Her mouth opened, and closed, and opened again.

Elizabeth shook her head, not wanting her friend to sign. Amy was destined to be a mother, pouring all that love she had into children who would adore her with equal measure.

“You don’t have to sign,” Hannah said, echoing Elizabeth’s own sentiments.

Amy squared her shoulders. “And abandon you lot of spinsters in that manor without someone to properly look after you?” She reached for the book and added her own signature, one she had practiced to loopy perfection. “Besides, I should like to bake confections in a kitchen without judgement.”

“Then it is done.” Jillian snapped the book closed, sat back on her heels, and beamed at them all. “None of us will ever marry.”

“Wallflowers to the end,” Hannah declared triumphantly and took one final swig from the bottle.

And so it was…their fates were sealed.

1

February 1817, London, England

Elizabeth held the leather journal in her hands, that blasted book from all those years ago when she and her friends—who affectionately referred to themselves as the wallflowers—had vowed to never marry.

Except now Hannah was not only wed, but also in a delicate way, and Elizabeth had drawn the bit of paper declaring she was next to break the oath.

Of course, Hannah had looked radiant with her skin glowing with good health and her eyes bright with undeniable happiness, hand resting on her swollen middle, as though she could caress the child within.

Elizabeth did not want that life, one with children she would embarrass and a husband who would likely roll his eyes at her clumsiness.

But her friends were not the only ones who had an eye toward Elizabeth finally marrying. Her sisters had been nattering on for the last three hours about a ball being held by Lady Gentry, her first of the season. They’d been speaking louder and louder, their gazes intentionally wandering toward Elizabeth. She was no fool—she knew what they were on about.

Elizabeth sighed and closed her book, trying to ignore the burgeoning dread filling the pit of her stomach. After all, she couldn’t exactly concentrate with their antics. She eyed her sisters. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Grace asked, batting her lashes innocently.

“Maybe she wants to come to the ball?” Kitty suggested hopefully. She was the youngest of the three sisters, and eager to participate as this was her first season.

“Are you so eager to be married off?” Elizabeth teased.

Kitty’s cheeks flushed, setting off the warmth in her brown eyes and brown hair. “I should like to flirt first.”

“Kitty,” Grace chided even as Elizabeth laughed at their younger sister’s cheek.

“Well, you just want to attend so you can see Harold.” Kitty drawled out the last word, letting it drip from her lips with a honeyed tone, then she placed the back of her hand on her brow and pretended to swoon.

“Yes, well, Harold means to propose if someone would finally set herself on finding someone to marry.” Grace looked pointedly at Elizabeth.

It was true, Viscount Scorbridge had been courting Grace for the past year, occupying her entire attention through the season and expressed his intention to do so again this year. There had been comments made when he attended dinner, of his plan to propose when ‘the right opportunity presented itself.’

‘The right opportunity’ being Elizabeth clearing the way for her sister by becoming engaged herself.

Elizabeth brushed off the complaint. “I simply haven’t found the right man yet.” Her guilt, however, was harder to set aside.

Besides, her statement wasn’t a lie. She hadn’t found the right man yet. Whomever she married—if she did—would have to love her, the way Darcy loved Elizabeth Bennet or Romeo loved Juliet. She wanted a man who loved her exactly for who she was, who wouldn’t roll their eyes or offer a deprecating remark at her clumsiness. Every woman deserved that, and she was no different. And she wanted a man she could love in return, one who made her burn with a fierce passion, who made her crave every second she spent with him. Perhaps even one who handled her direct questions and even read the occasional novel so they might discuss the characters and stories together.

Likely what she wanted would never exist, and so she was perfectly content to be exactly who she was on her own.

Grace crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ll never meet anyone if you don’t attend balls.”

“If I don’t attend balls, there will be no one to see me trip,” Elizabeth countered.

“You could join us for just this one at least…” Now Kitty was the one trying to feign innocence, her hands clasped behind her back as she twisted side to side, her gaze imploring.