England, 1867.
The chandeliers of Hobart House cast a warm golden glow across the grand ballroom, illuminating the faces of London's most distinguished aristocrats.
At the center of attention stood Lady Anne Hobart, her long golden hair elegantly styled with pearl pins, her cerulean gown complementing her fair complexion.
She smiled graciously as guests offered congratulations on her engagement to the Duke of Westmere, a match that promised to elevate the already respectable Hobart name to new heights of prominence.
"My dearest sister," exclaimed Marie Hobart, approaching with outstretched arms.
Unlike Anne's golden beauty, Marie possessed striking raven hair and penetrating dark eyes that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.
"How splendid you look tonight. The Duke is most fortunate indeed."
Anne embraced her younger sister warmly.
"Thank you, Marie. Your support means everything to me."
From across the room, Charles Blackwood, the Duke of Westmere, observed the sisters with a measured smile. Tall and commanding, with chestnut hair and aristocratic features, he was the most eligible bachelor in three counties.
The union had been arranged primarily by their fathers, though Anne had been pleased with the match. The Duke was handsome, wealthy, and possessed a certain charm when he wished to display it.
"I dare say your sister seems particularly delighted this evening," remarked Lady Pembroke, an elderly countess with a reputation for keen observation.
Anne smiled.
"Marie has always been my greatest champion."
"Indeed," the old woman replied, her eyes narrowing slightly. "How fortunate you are to have such a devoted sister."
Later that evening, as the celebration continued, Marie slipped away to the terrace. The cool April air provided relief from the stifling heat of the ballroom. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, trying to quell the bitterness that had taken root in her heart years ago.
"Miss Hobart, are you unwell?"
Marie turned to find the Duke of Westmere standing in the doorway, concern etched across his features, or what appeared to be concern.
"Your Grace," she curtsied. "Merely seeking a moment of respite. The excitement of the evening has been overwhelming."
He stepped closer.
"I understand completely. These affairs can be rather suffocating."
"I would have thought you'd be accustomed to such attention, Your Grace."
"Charles, please," he said, his voice softening. "At least when we're away from prying eyes."
Marie raised an eyebrow.
"That would hardly be proper, sir. You are to marry my sister."
"Yes," he replied, his gaze lingering on her face. "A most fortunate arrangement."
"Anne is indeed fortunate. She will make you a fine duchess."
The Duke stepped closer, close enough that Marie could detect the scent of his cologne.
"And what of you, Miss Hobart? What fortune awaits you?"
Marie turned away, facing the darkened gardens.
"I shall remain as I am, the devoted sister, the dutiful daughter. Always in the shadow."
The words struck her like physical blows. He had articulated the very thought that had tormented her for years.
"I must return," Marie said abruptly. "Anne will wonder where I've gone."
As she moved to pass him, the Duke gently caught her wrist.
"Meet me tomorrow in the gardens at Aldridge Manor. Two o'clock."
Marie pulled her hand away.
"Absolutely not. It would be improper."
"To discuss my concerns regarding your sister. Surely a brother should be able to consult with his future sister-in-law."
Marie hesitated.
"What concerns?"
"Tomorrow," he repeated. "The maze garden at Aldridge. Two o'clock."
Before she could respond, he returned to the ballroom, leaving Marie alone with a dangerous seed planted in fertile ground.
The following afternoon found Marie pacing nervously near the entrance to the hedge maze at Aldridge Manor. She had told herself she came only out of concern for Anne, to hear whatever worries the Duke might harbor. Yet deep within, she recognized another motivation entirely.
"You came," Charles said, appearing suddenly around the corner of the hedge.
Marie startled.
"Your Grace."
"Charles," he corrected. "We are to be family, after all."
"What concerns do you have regarding my sister?" Marie asked directly.
The Duke's expression shifted subtly.
"Walk with me," he suggested, offering his arm.
Against her better judgment, Marie accepted, and they entered the maze together.
"Your sister is a remarkable woman," Charles began. "Beautiful, accomplished, everything a duchess should be."
"Then what troubles you?"
He paused at a stone bench nestled within a small alcove of the maze.
"Please, sit."
When they were seated, Charles continued.
"I wonder if you might help me understand her better. She seems distant at times."
"Anne has always maintained proper decorum," Marie defended. "If you mistake propriety for distance..."
"No," he interrupted. "It's more than that. When I look at her, I see a woman playing a role. But when I look at you..."
His voice trailed off as his eyes met hers.
Marie felt her heartbeat quicken.
"Your Grace, this conversation is most inappropriate."
"Is it?" he asked softly. "Is it inappropriate to acknowledge that I may have proposed to the wrong sister?"