Prologue & Chapter 1
Josephine first met the man in her father’s study. His desk was long, oak, and separated them not only through spacing, but also emotionally. She had been given one hour’s notice to wash, dress, and make herself agreeable. Her mother chose pale blue and told her not to argue.
“Stuck in your midsection…” her mother muttered behind her as she tightened the corset. Josephine looked at herself in the mirror and decided she looked acceptable enough. Pretty enough. Presentable enough. Nobody asked whether she wished to meet him.
The gentleman arrived shortly after four. He was broad in the shoulders and red through the face. Not handsome. Not ugly. His presence filled the room before his voice did.
He laughed loudly. Too loudly.
When he kissed her hand, she noticed the smell before anything else. Wool. Horse. Sweat. Like wool left damp too long.
Josephine smiled politely and excused herself. She stood in the garden for several minutes and wondered whether women had always suffered these things quietly or whether someone had simply forgotten to tell her.
At supper, he spoke mostly to her father. Her dowry. His land. Children. Josephine counted three occasions on which he referred to her while she sat beside him. As if she were an empty shell, absent within herself.
He referred to her once as spirited. Once as young enough to settle. Once, as though she were already this man’s wife.
Josephine gulped loudly and stopped eating.
Dessert arrived, and her father announced that discussions would proceed in the men’s lounge.
Josephine looked at her mother. Her mother looked down, vaguely ashamed.
Earlier in the day, Josephine asked her father privately whether this had already been decided. Her father looked confused by the question.
“You are twenty-three, Josephine.”
She waited for the rest.
Nothing came.
She asked if she had a choice.
Her father folded his hands and said she had responsibilities. Josephine understood immediately.
Josephine snuck into the stables, carrying a crudely packed bag slung over her slender shoulder. Her red locks hung in a loose braid, brushing against her exposed neckline.
Josephine walked over and rested her forehead briefly against the horse’s neck.
“You smell better than that bloke does.”
The horse smirked and shook its mane.
She saddled quietly. The stable boy caught her halfway through and looked at her for a long moment. Then he looked at the house and stepped aside.
By dawn, she was gone. She lasted six days before being found at an inn a few towns over.
Her boots were muddy.
Her coat was ruined.
She refused to leave.
Her father appeared from the shadows and grabbed her by the hair. He said very little.
“You disgrace yourself, child..”
Josephine looked at him, then at the carriage, then back again.
“No..I refuse to marry him, Father, him, or any other man for that matter!”
He raised his hand to land a violent strike.
Josephine flinched from the hateful blow.
The silence filled the carriage and lay over them like a thick blanket.
Three days later, he wrote a letter. Every generation of Josephine’s family seemed to leave a daughter behind at Bellgrave.
No more proposals.
No more discussions.
She was sent north.
To Bellgrave Manor.
To stay with an old family friend.
Mistress Lenore Vale.
A woman no one seemed to know, and yet her name appeared in conversations the way old stains appear on linen.
Chapter One
Bellgrave was not a manor.
Josephine decided this before the carriage had fully stopped. People called it a manor, the way people called wolves large dogs and wars disagreements. The carriage passed through iron gates and continued for several minutes before the house properly appeared.
Then it continued appearing.
Stone. Windows. Towers. Another wing.
The carriage stopped near the stables rather than the entrance.
A stable boy opened the carriage and greeted her politely enough, though with the expression of someone who had been employed against his will.
Josephine stepped down and immediately noticed the smell.
Not a horse.
Not rain.
Something else.
Roses. Amber. Red wine. Cinnamon. Something warm and dark and difficult to place. Not strong enough to announce itself. Just enough to feel misplaced.
Josephine looked around.
Nobody.
Strange.
The stables were larger than expected. Dark wood. Iron fixtures. Everything unusually orderly. Not wealthy, clean. Intentional clean. Every horse appeared brushed and settled except for one stall at the far end.
Josephine stopped.
A horse stood inside.
Massive.
Entirely black.
It lifted its head and looked directly at her.
Its eyes looked red.
Josephine stared.
Then blinked.
“Do not feed him.” Mumbled the stable boy.
Josephine looked at the horse again. The majestic creature tapped its hooves against the ground and reared up.
“Whose is he?”
The boy crept closer and adjusted a lantern.
“Mistress Vale’s.”
She followed the servants toward the house. The doors opened before they reached them.
That scent again.
Roses.
Amber.
Wine.
Spice.
Josephine stopped walking.
The servant carrying her trunk stopped too. She looked around.
“I smell burning herbs.” She mumbled under her breath.
The servant blinked and shrugged.
Josephine frowned but continued.
The entrance hall was enormous. Portraits covered the walls. Families. Horses. Men in uniforms. Women posed beside gardens and children. Her eyes moved lazily over them until they stopped.
One portrait. Dark hair. Pale face. Black dress. Not smiling.
Josephine stepped closer.
“Who is that?” Josephine asked softly, in awe of the portrait.
The servant glanced up.
Something shifted in his expression.
“Mistress Vale.”
Josephine looked back. The portrait felt familiar. Not because she knew the woman. Only because she felt she should.
The servant shifted her trunk.
“Your room is prepared.”
Josephine swiftly entered her chambers, where she would spend the next 19 days.
