The Merriest Debutante Season (Preview)

Prologue

Harriet sat with her head bent over her work, carefully embroidering a flower onto a piece of fine linen. She had chosen a fine white thread to embroider snowdrops, thinking it the perfect design for the time of year. It was a month before Christmas, and already the snow was starting to fall, a light dusting of it crisp on the lawn outside her home, Bromley Manor.

Her dark-haired head lifted as she looked up from her work as her brother, James, came into the room. He had been in the outdoors and he stood swiftly by the fire, holding his hands out to the warmth instantly. She tucked a strand of thick brown hair back behind her ear and smiled across at him. 

“It’s cold enough to freeze your fingers solid,” he said, grinning at her as he blew on his hands to warm them. His skin was flushed, his brown eyes sparkling in his handsome face. She grinned back.

“I’m sure it is,” she said. “Is Papa indoors?”

“He is still in the office, I think,” he said, gesturing into the hallway. Their father never seemed to be far from work – it was why he’d purchased this house near London, so he could be close to his clients. As a merchant, London was the place he had to be. Harriet could see everywhere how profitable his business was – their house was stunning, with a big garden and the latest furniture and wallpaper. She could have wished he worked less hard and spent more time with them, but she knew it was not like him to turn his back on work for a second.

“Has Mr. Westering checked the wood?” she asked, her mind still occupied with her family. She meant the supplies for the fireplace in the office – a blaze was what her father needed to keep him warm. 

“I’ll ask him,” her brother agreed instantly. “We can ring for some tea, if you like? I could certainly do with some,” he added, striding to the back of the well-appointed drawing-room. 

“That would be grand. Thank you, James.” She leaned on the comfortable velvet-covered backrest while her brother rang the bell for tea. She looked around the room. The furniture was all in high fashion, with beautiful carved wooden chairs – the latest in furnishings, with spindle-like legs – about a big wooden table. The other half of the room, where she sat, was taken up with upholstered chairs covered in dark velvet. She watched her brother settle down in a big chair by the fire, stretching his long legs.

“It’s snowing away out there,” he said, gesturing to the estate. Bromley house – recently renamed to reflect the transfer of ownership to her family – was not seated on extensive grounds, but it had a big enough garden, set back a little from the main road. They received post promptly here, being the last stop on the route to London. Harriet was glad not to have to live in London. She much preferred the tranquil countryside.

“I wonder if it will snow all day?” she asked, reaching for her sewing-things. She had a big box of colourful silks for embroidering, neatly wound around rolls of thick paper to keep them tidy. She selected a red thread and cut off a section, not looking up as her brother replied.

“If it does, we’ll have to get Mr. Lockford to clear the road in front of the house – it’s going to pile up thick out there.”

Harriet felt a little shiver of excitement, thinking of that. She was also a bit worried for Father – when no trade could get through, it was bad for his business. He had a warehouse in London where all sorts of imported goods piled up. If he couldn’t get them on the road to clients, he could lose profit. She pushed the thought away. They were well-off, and if James was untroubled, there was clearly nothing to worry about.

“If you could put the tea there? Thank you, Mr. Westering,” James said, as the tea-trolley arrived. She reached for the teapot, pouring them each a cup. The cups themselves were decorated with pink flowers, the finest imported porcelain. She sipped delicately, and grinned as someone strode into the room almost as soon as Mr. Westering had taken the trolley out again.

“Papa! There you are. I was just thinking of getting Lockford to clear the road,” James said.

“Capital!” her father said, grinning. He came over to the table, and his blue eyes sparkled as they rested on Harriet. “Grand! A fine day to be inside sewing, eh?” he asked. “Not much scope for parties, sadly.”

Harriet smiled. She was so fond of her father, who was so full of life and fun. But sometimes she thought that he didn’t know her well. James, who was six years older than her, might have known him better, but she was just twenty and she felt that, for most of those twenty years, her father had been working solidly. She sometimes wished she could know him more and felt a bit isolated here at Bromley House.

“That’s all right,” she said softly. 

“Parties! There’ll be so many parties in London, eh?” James said to their father. “I know I should support you at them, but frankly I’d rather be here with a copy of the Gazette and mulled ale.”

Harriet giggled. She thought James would actually be quite happy in London, though he always said he hated it there. He was far more contented attending salons and spending the afternoon talking about the House of Lords and their decisions and what he thought than he would be stuck in the house all day.

“I’ll send for more tea,” James said, jumping up to ring the bell. Harriet looked over at her father, who shook his head.

“James…you are always moving.” He teased his son gently. “I’m quite all right with what I have for the moment.”

Harriet chuckled as James sat down. “It’s the weather, Papa,” he said, grinning. “When it’s a bit colder outdoors, I always feel full of vitality.”

“Grand,” her father said warmly. “Well, I can’t speak out against that. Young blood, eh?”

Harriet smiled warmly at her father. He might be almost sixty years old, but nobody thought so. She was about to tease him about his own ceaseless working when the butler came in.

“More tea, sir? And there’s a letter for you, Miss.”

“Thank you,” Harriet said, frowning. She didn’t know anyone who might be sending her letters. She took the letter, pausing at the seal. She recalled it but couldn’t remember whose it was. She read swiftly down the page while her father and brother talked to the butler about the road, admiring the neat, flowing handwriting.

Dearest Cousin, she read. I am writing with the intention of inviting you to stay at Rushfield this Season. I would be delighted to invite you and to have your company here. We have so much room and so few people to fill it, and it would be so diverting to have you here. We could attend all the parties together. Do say yes. Your fond cousin, Jemma.

Harriet grinned. Her cousin, Lady Jemima, known to friends as Jemma, was the daughter of Baron Rushfield. She lived the life of a lady, and, while Harriet and her family were probably wealthier than Jemma’s own, there was a lot of society that was closed to them, since they were not of noble background. It wasn’t the thought of inclusion in her society that delighted Harriet, however. It was the thought of spending time with girls her own age. At Bromley, she sometimes felt so alone. Besides her maid, Dot, there was nobody to talk to who understood the things she wished to discuss.

It would be so much fun! She looked over at her father.

“A good letter?” he asked. His blue eyes teased. She looked down, her own brown ones shyly looking at the pattern on the mat a moment. She was sure her papa thought it was a suitor, not her youngest cousin.

“It’s from Jemma, Papa,” she said. “She wants me to stay at Rushfield.”

“Oh! Capital.” Her father grinned. “I’ll be sorry not to have you here, my dearest. But of course, you must go to Rushfield. There will be balls and parties and so many salons.”

Harriet smiled. She felt a little sad that her father didn’t guess at the real reason for her enthusiastic response. He believed diversion and fun were important to all young people, and she couldn’t blame him for not knowing her that well. She nodded.

“So, you say I can go?” she asked, smiling as he chuckled.

“Most certainly! A loud and fond yes. I shall send for Westering so you can discuss the trip with him.”

“Thank you, Papa,” she said softly. She felt a twist of excitement in her stomach. She was going to be at Rushfield for the Christmas Season, and she could not wait to spend time with friends her own age.

She imagined how much fun they would have, and she could not wait to pack and get ready for the journey. 

 

Chapter One

Harriet looked out of the coach, heart thumping. She could see the snowy landscape, the fluffy whiteness piled up to ankle-deep alongside the trackway. She was almost at Rushfield – they had been travelling since morning, and it was now mid-afternoon. The sunshine was already pinkish with evening, lighting the aching whiteness here and there with puddles of golden light.

She felt her stomach twist in excitement. 

She looked out of the window as the coachman turned the horses, taking the road slowly, as the frost had settled in the night and in the shadowed corners of the road it had not yet melted this afternoon. The road was slippery and there was danger for speeding horses. She was grateful that Lockford was so sensible, and that he had driven her here without pausing except for an hour to feed the horses – and themselves – along the roadside.

“Slow, there!” he called. She grinned as they turned along the road that would lead to Rushfield Manor. She had last been here when she was a little girl, and she could barely remember the place. The delight in her was almost overwhelming at the thought of being there for almost a month.

It was the best gift her father could give, sending her here despite the fact that they would miss each other.

“Here we are, Miss,” the coachman called through the door respectfully. He opened it and she nodded, taking his hand and smiling warmly as she jumped down. Her booted feet ached. It was so cold! 

“It’s icy out here, Mr. Lockford,” she said. “Please – take yourself and the horses indoors at once.” She drew in a breath, barely able to breathe. The difference between the freezing day outside and inside the coach was notable.

He chuckled. “It’s not so bad, Miss. I’ll get these fellows to take them indoors,” he added, indicating four stable-hands who had rushed out to help with their stay. The coach and coachman would stay the night, departing next morning for Bromley Manor.

Harriet was grateful, and inclined her head thankfully, glad that the concerns about the coachman were temporarily relieved from her mind. She looked over at the house. Tall sandstone-dressed walls rose from the bright snow, the building catching the late afternoon light and turning pale peach in the glow. She walked quickly up the stair, careful not to slip on the frost-covered ground that led up to the home.

She knocked and the door opened instantly.

“Good afternoon, Miss,” the butler greeted politely. Harriet glanced past him to see a girl with dark hair with an auburn sheen, dressed in a thick brown winter cloak. The girl caught sight of her and ran up.

“Harriet!” Jemma called, wrapping her arms around her. “Cousin! So good to see you! You’ll freeze out there. Come inside at once. You’ll need something warm.”

“I have my cloak,” Harriet commented, looking at the white cloak she had, which was trimmed with white silk and very pretty. 

“I know! But here in the countryside you need proper things! My cousin’s luggage is to be taken to the guestroom, Stowe. And see that the coachman is housed. The horses need to come inside at once.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Harriet ignored her cousin’s briskness. She was just flustered, she guessed, at having so much to coordinate. She looked at her and her cousin smiled.

“Harriet. My! You are so lovely,” she shook her head. “Look at you.” She stood back, studying Harriet, who blushed. She was not used to having people look at her. She felt disconcerted at balls and parties when people stared, and she felt uncomfortable now. She looked at her feet while her cousin looked at her, then Jemma chuckled.

“Harriet! It’s so good to have you here. Come on! Let’s go to your chamber. The men will bring the cases up straight away. And of course, Papa will want to welcome you. Come on and sit down. You must be tired.”

Harriet followed her, surprised by the fact that she didn’t feel exhausted. “Not really,” she said. “I had expected to be, but I really feel quite full of energy. It must be the surroundings.” She gestured out at the sparkling whiteness of the landscape, where a thin layer of snow coated the bushy hedges. 

Her cousin turned, smiling. “That’s grand!” she said happily. “I had thought you might be too tired to attend the ball tonight. But if you feel ready, we could go straight away! The ball starts at seven of the clock, just after dinnertime.”

“Now?” she stared at her cousin. It was past four already. That meant they would be going to the ball in a few hours! She felt her stomach twist with excitement, and thought that, though she was not normally over-fond of balls, this was something to truly anticipate.

She was going to a Christmas ball with her cousin. It was too exciting to even comprehend.

“Yes,” Jemma said, seeming unaware of the intense excitement engendered in her cousin. “Well, not exactly now, but in three hours’ time.” She looked blankly down at Harriet, who was on the ground floor.

“Cousin! That’s so splendid! I can’t wait! I would love to attend a ball,” Harriet explained, lest her cousin thought her question was from displeasure. 

“Grand,” Jemma said. Again, she didn’t seem to understand what the fuss was about, and Harriet thought perhaps her cousin didn’t get as excited about balls. Maybe for the nobility, they were commonplace. She straightened up, feeling a bit shy suddenly. “Now, Papa will be delighted to meet you. Do come up with me,” Jemma said, waiting on the top step for Harriet to catch up. 

“Of course,” Harriet agreed, hurrying up the steps. She had a cream-coloured day-dress on, made of muslin, the sleeves down to her wrists. It was warm enough in the house to be warm enough with a shawl on around her shoulders, she reckoned, and she was glad her maid would be arriving tomorrow to help her unpack. She raced up the stairs to keep up with her cousin. Her cousin led her to a large room across a tiled hallway. The drawing-room, she guessed.

“Father, look who just arrived,” Jemma said, approaching Uncle Gerald, who grinned at her warmly. He was a tall man with dark hair and a stern face, his eyes the same brown as his daughter’s. In many ways they looked very alike. He had huge shoulders, a build she guessed came from his time in the army.

“Niece! Delighted to welcome you,” he said. He reached out a hand and shook hers, formally. Harriet glanced at Jemma, who stood beside her, looking up at her father.

“Thank you for hosting me,” she said politely.

“Of course. I think it’s grand for my daughter to have a companion. I’m not much company for a young lady, I’m afraid,” he said. He smiled distantly. Harriet found herself thinking that he was so different to her own father, who might work hard, but when she saw him, she knew he loved her. This man was so hard to fathom.

“I am delighted to be here,” she said formally. She glanced at Jemma, who looked over at her.

“I’ll show her to her room, Papa,” Jemma said. “I was explaining about the ball tonight.”

“Oh! At Redvalethe home of the Earl of Redgate. Yes. I’ll escort you there tonight.”

“Thank you, Papa,” Jemma thanked.

“Of course. I believe the suite has been made up for Harriet. I have some reading to do upstairs, ladies. I’ll leave you to your company until suppertime.”

Harriet curtseyed as she and Jemma went into the hallway, the baron going upstairs. She thought Jemma seemed more peaceful the moment they were in the hallway and they hurried to the bedroom together.

“So,” Jemma said. “I suppose you would like to rest a while,” she said. She sounded as though she would much prefer to stay and chat, and Harriet also wanted her company. She had been looking forward to seeing Jemma more than any other aspect. She tilted her head expectantly.

“Mayhap you could stay and talk?” she asked. “I would love to hear about life here, and about your life since we last saw each other, when I was six and you were seven-and-a-half years old.” She giggled.

“Yes. It matters when you’re little, half a year, doesn’t it?” Jemma said seriously. They both giggled. “I was very sure I would be much wiser than you, being the much older cousin.”

Harriet smiled. “Well, I’m delighted to be here. Thank you for inviting me,” she said. She looked around the room, which was warm and cosy, the wallpaper the same tasteful flocked silk as was in the drawing-room and the bedcovers fine linen. It seemed very similar to her own bedroom at home. She settled in a chair and her cousin sat on the bed.

“It will be fun, won’t it?” Jemma said thoughtfully. “I am so excited about the ball. I hope you won’t be cross, but I had two dresses ordered – one that I think will suit you. Do say you’ll wear it? It would be so diverting!”

Harriet felt her heart ache. She was so moved by her cousin’s kindness. It was so thoughtful of her to have a dress made just for her, and she didn’t know what to say.

“Thank you,” she said humbly. “I would be more than delighted.”

“Well, then!” Jemma grinned warmly. “Come on! Shall we go and try our dresses on? Of course, if you want to rest for a moment, you must do so. Your clothes have been brought up already,” she added, gesturing at the trunk of clothes that had been brought with Harriet from Bromley House. She had not brought many clothes – just five day-dresses, two evening-dresses and a serviceable dress suitable for walking or riding long distances. She had brought short-sleeved dresses for evening, not expecting it to be as cold already as it was. She was grateful for her cousin’s offer of an evening-dress.

“I would be delighted to see it at once,” she said quickly. Jemma seemed eager to please, and she didn’t want her cousin’s feelings compromised. Besides, she was excited to see the dress and she was sure it would be beautiful.

“Grand. I had them both taken to my bedchamber. They arrived a few days ago, just in time. Mine is figured muslin – so modish. Yours is velvet. I thought it would suit you.”

“Thank you!” Harriet said. She could barely believe her cousin would be so kind. 

She followed her cousin up to her bedchamber. The room itself was lit warmly, the bed vast and covered in silk. The air smelled floral, lightly, and there was a vast wardrobe. Jemma’s maid was already getting her jewellery out when they came in, ready to dress Jemma that evening. Harriet sat down shyly on a chair, and the maid beamed at her.

“This is your cousin, my lady?” she asked. “Why! You can see she’s part of the family. Such a fine pair of young ladies you are.”

Harriet smiled and Jemma grinned. “Thank you, Grace,” she said. “Yes, this is my cousin. I wanted that we try on the dresses I had made.”

“Of course, my lady,” she said politely. “They are over there, still in the linen covers, as you said they should be for today.”

“Yes, thank you.” Her cousin went to the chaise-longue, where two packaged dresses were laid out. Harriet felt a knot of excitement in her stomach as her cousin passed her a package, which was wrapped cunningly. 

She unravelled the package and exclaimed in delight. “Cousin! This is…” she didn’t have words. The dress was red velvet, almost cherry-red, the skirt cut fairly wide, but hanging close because of the heaviness of the cloth. The overall effect was mature and bold and she felt her heart thudding. “Is this really mine?” she was almost in tears. It was the most beautiful dress she had ever owned. She could not possibly accept such a fine article.

“Yes,” Jemma said lightly. “Of course. I wanted us to wear something red – it is so appropriate, and the very height of fashion. We will look so grand, the two of us.” She clapped her hands. “I also wanted something you’d like,” she added shyly.

Harriet looked at the dress, unsure what to say.

“Come on!” Jemma said, grinning at her delightedly. “Let’s try them on. I know we’ll only have to get dressed again for dinner and then come straight back and put them on again, but I know I can’t wait to try mine.”

Harriet giggled. She held up the dress, unable to resist trying it on. The oval neckline was wide and a bit revealing – slightly more so than what she would usually wear – but it looked like the size was exactly right. She glanced at Jemma. Her cousin had a bit less of a bust than her – Harriet’s figure was compact and more curvaceous than her cousin’s – but other than that, they were almost exactly the same size. Jemma must have had it made to her measurements. She smiled at the maid who came over to help her into the gown.

“My! Look at you, my lady!” Grace declared when she was dressed. Harriet blushed and looked at the ground shyly. She couldn’t resist looking back at the mirror again, eyes drawn to her reflection in surprise. She looked truly beautiful.

She blushed, amazed at how lovely she looked. Her brown hair had tumbled down around her face, loose from its simple bun. Her dark hair was emphasized by the scarlet gown, her lips seeming redder and her skin paler. She smiled, looking at her neat, oval face and thinking that she truly looked beautiful.

“Cousin,” she murmured. “I cannot thank you enough.”

“I wanted you to like it. I’m so glad it’s right.” Jemma blushed.

Harriet felt her heart twist and she impulsively hugged her cousin, who, she thought, looked like an elegant stranger in the white dress with a small square print in deep crimson. The colour brought out her dark eyes, which were almost black, like her hair. Harriet thought she looked stunning.

“You look beautiful, too,” she said.

“Thank you,” Jemma said. “It’s very stylish, if I may admit so.”

Harriet giggled. “You may.”

They both changed out of the dresses and into dresses suitable for dinner. Harriet could barely wait until she could wear the stunning dress to the ball. 

She was so excited. 

They arrived at the ball after twenty minutes’ trip. The coach was slow, Jemma said, because the road was slippery with cold snow. She was sure they could have got their faster walking. 

“But I’m glad we were warm,” Jemma added as they alighted from the coach, her father helping them down. 

“Yes,” Harriet said. She drew her cloak close about her. “It’s cold out here.”

“It will be a cold Christmas, I reckon,” her father said, walking with them up the stairs. Harriet was grateful for the railing to lean on – it was so cold that the snow had iced on the steps. She clung to them and sighed as they stepped into the warm hallway.

“They might have cleared the path,” Lord Rushfield said as he shrugged out of his coat. Harriet was too busy looking around to pay his grumbling mind. She stared in amazement at the hallway, which was tiled, and the high ceiling that arced gracefully. She could barely see the ceiling it was so high. It was an old house, she thought admiringly, the architecture from an earlier period of historyperhaps two hundred years before, she fancied, when Shakespeare was alive and writing.

“It’s warm inside,” she commented to Jemma, as they both walked to the big doors that led to the ballroom. Jemma nodded.

“it is, very warm,” she said gratefully. They were both wearing long sleeves, but the hallway, with the open door behind them, had still been freezing. They walked into the ballroom.

Harriet stood in the doorway, feeling suddenly shy. The ballroom was big, and there were already other guests on the dance-floor, standing about in pairs or groups. She was sweating, she realized – not with heat, with nerves. She had always been scared of being the centre of attention, and so many people stared up.

“Shall we go down?” she whispered. Her cousin nodded.

“Yes. I was just looking who was around,” she said.

Harriet nodded and was glad when her cousin went down the steps, Lord Rushfield already on the dance-floor just ahead of them as they walked down the shallow stairs into the ballroom. There were five or six steps, and then a footman announced them. 

“Lord Rushfield, his daughter, and her cousin Miss Harriet Bromley.”

Harriet swallowed hard. She felt eyes on them and she looked away. She had never felt self-conscious about her lack of nobility – at events like the Assembly in London, there were many heiresses without title, so it didn’t look funny. Here, with her cousin and uncle with her, she felt sure that people would notice.

She looked down at her toes, feeling shy.

“Shall we go to the dance-floor?” Jemma suggested. “I think we arrived just in time for the dancing to start. And one thing about the earl whose home this is, that he is known for, I mean – is that he always invited fine musicians.”

“Grand,” Harriet said, a twist of excitement in her body. She felt as though she hadn’t danced for a while, though she had attended a few events during the Season this year. 

“I can’t wait to dance,” Jemma said, smilingly.

Harriet smiled warmly, agreeing with the fervent way she said it. She was looking forward to dancing too, though she had to admit to feeling a bit self-conscious. She was new here, and she knew nobody. She was aware of people turning to look at them, mild interest on their faces as they contemplated the cousins. She blushed and followed her cousin across the ballroom to where people were already standing about a cleared space of the floor.

Jemma’s father was standing nearby, talking to a man in army uniform. Harriet was glad he was there – suddenly being plunged into a group of people her own age was nerve-wracking. Usually, when she went to Almack’s, she had her brother close by. He introduced her to people and she had no idea how to go about it on her own.

“Ladies,” a man said, approaching them. He was tall with reddish hair and he bowed low, his eyes resting on Jemma. “Would you two ladies like to dance? My friend and I would be delighted to have the waltz. He’s over there. He’s shy.” He gestured, laughingly, at a tall man with black hair. The man was looking more disinterested than shy, and Harriet thought she would be dancing with him. This fellow already seemed intent on dancing with her cousin.

“Why, Harriet!” Jemma said, trying not to look at the man though Harriet could see she was interested. “Shall we dance?”

“Um, yes,” Harriet said, feeling awkward. The man bowed low.

“Thank you, my lady. I will go to fetch my friend, Lord Arnott. He’s shy.” He repeated the comment, grinning.

Harriet glanced at Jemma. Her friend looked as though she wasn’t too keen either. Harriet felt nervous – the fellows had approached them quite suddenly and she had a feeling they might not be proper. She could see Jemma thought the same thing.

“We should be able to find someone else to dance with soon,” Jemma said quickly I the silence while the fellow went to talk to Lord Arnott. “If we are seen on the floor, others will approach.”

Harriet couldn’t help being surprised. Her cousin clearly had a better ability to plan than she had. She would just have thought of an excuse, sat for the first waltz and waited to see if anyone she liked asked her. Her cousin, it seemed, thought differently to her, and she was surprised by that.

“That makes sense.”

Jemma looked as though she was about to say something, but then the two lords were with them and they were walking onto the dance floor.

“I am Lord Arnott,” the fellow with the dark hair introduced himself. He seemed terrified. Harriet felt sorry for him – she knew what it was like to be shy, but this fellow shook like a grassblade and he was clearly petrified of company. She was quite social in comparison.

“Good to meet you,” she said. She curtseyed and they walked to the dance-floor. He seemed too scared to stand with her for the music to start, and she was relieved when, just as the introduction started, he took her hand and they whisked into the dance.

It was awkward, and she did the best she could, but Lord Arnott was not a particularly practiced waltzer, and she felt as though it would be easier if she simply stood and let him haul her about the floor. She was relieved when the music changed and she knew they would be off the dance-floor quite shortly.

“Thank you for this dance,” he said. He bowed low and Harriet thought he would be pleased to get off the dance-floor. She stood while he bowed and hurried off.

Jemma came over to join her. “He seemed not too bad,” she said, her face glowing. “I think I might dance the second with him, too.”

Harriet giggled. She was pleased for her friend, but the thought of another dance was not too appealing to her in this moment. She looked around.

“I think I might take some air,” she said. It was fairly warm in the ballroom – the result of the many chandeliers and lamps. She could see a door that led out onto the terrace – it was shut, to keep out the cold air, but she was sure she would be able to go through.

“Take a shawl – it’s so cold,” her cousin said quickly. Harriet thanked her for the loan of a shawl and, bracing herself for the cold air, she hurried out towards the doors.

She stood on the terrace, drawing in cold air into her lungs. She could see across the garden, the white snow bright in the light that sprinkled across the grass from the ballroom window. She felt a twist of excitement in her body. It was so beautiful!

“So lovely,” she murmured to herself. She looked around the terrace, staring up at the big windows. The curtains in the hall were drawn, and only small slivers of light showed around them, casting bars onto the tiles around her. She looked at the windows, feeling oddly distant. There were so many people in there, but besides Jemma she didn’t know them.

She pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She was at a ball, and it was beautiful and there were so many opportunities for wonderful things to happen.

It was cold outside, and she thought about going indoors, but it was so quiet outside, and she was finding the music weighed on her soul. She probably should have remained behind while Jemma and her father attended, she thought – but she could not have missed this ball. Jemma would have been disappointed and, more to the point, she was excited about it too. If she just had more energy, she would be waltzing about with everybody else.

She leaned on the rails, looking out into the garden. It was so quiet out there, the cold seeming to at once intensify and dampen the sound. She could hear strains of music from the ballroom and she went to the door, thinking that she’d wait just a moment or two longer and then go within again.

---

“The Merriest Debutante Season” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Harriet Bromley, the daughter of a prosperous merchant, is thrilled when she receives an invitation to spend the Christmas holidays with her cousin Jemma, at her country house in Rushfield Manor. Having grown up only with her brother’s company, the thought of spending time with a girl her own age is simply irresistible. Upon arrival though, she is greeted by a generous-hearted but slightly distant cousin. As fate would have it, while attending a party where she hoped to bond with her cousin, she instead finds herself oddly intrigued by a vexatious Earl.

Will his frustrating gestures eventually subside so that she can see his kind heart?

Clayton Stockton, Earl of Redgate, has to leave London for the countryside, as retreating there seems like the only hope of circumventing a mysterious threat on his life. Despite his reluctance to meet new people, prompted by a friend, he throws an eventful party, where he encounters the stunning Miss Bromley. However, first impressions do not go as planned and he sets his mind on proving his true colours to Harriet. Little did he know that after some long walks together, in the freezing but jolly countryside, he would be the one to discover life’s richest and most magical colours.

Will their connection prove to be something deeper than a few fleeting gazes?

Clayton and Harriet both secretly wish to spend all their time together, but danger is prowling around them. In desperation, Clayton decides to take matters into his own hands, while Harriet is facing perils of her own. These spiraling challenges threaten to turn their magical affection into agony if a miracle doesn’t take place. With Christmas getting closer, can the two finally let their feelings for each other flourish beyond their uncertainty?

“The Merriest Debutante Season” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Get your copy from Amazon!