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Excerpt: We are halfway through our visit to the British Isles. Papa has stayed back in London to conclude his business and will join us in April when we set sail for home. I do not look forward to the end of this journey since it means I will be that much closer to becoming a bride. My betrothal to Preston should not have happened. The honor should have been bestowed on my older sister. She is a much better match for Preston than I. Mother says I was the one who caught his eye and not to worry about Pearl, that she will find her compliment one day. Perhaps while we stay in Ireland and visit Mother’s distant relatives, those who cannot make it to America for my wedding, Pearl will be fortunate enough to find love. I know she is unhappy I am to marry before she does and it pains me to see her without suitors, but— A knock sounded behind her. She placed her fountain pen beside her journal, closed the leather-bound book and turned. The heavy oak door creaked open. One of the inn’s maids stood in the open doorway. “Miss Cora?” The young brunette pulled on the sides of her gray uniform and curtsied. The ruffled-edge cap on her head slipped. She righted it and smoothed her hands on her white apron. “Your mum has asked that you join them in the dining room.” “Thank you, Brina. Please tell them I will be down shortly.” “Yes, Miss.” The girl bowed again and left. The door clicked shut. Cora rose from the mahogany writing desk and padded on stocking feet across the wide planked hardwood floor to the window. Her white linen dress with its ornate embroidery and lace, swished against her legs. No petticoat for her. She wanted to be as free as she could be on this trip. She would have preferred to go without a corset, too, but had lost that battle with her mother. Upon reflection, she realized her mother had been right. She would not have fit into her clothing without the undergarment. She moved the lace curtain back and rested the side of her head against the window frame. Down below, some people hurried into and out of shops, others leisurely strolled along and a few groups of idle chatterers dotted the sides of the street. The scene reminded her of the hustle and bustle of her home in New York City. A languid sigh escaped her. Home meant Preston, a marriage she did not want, a life of servitude to a man who acted like he was entitled to whatever struck his fancy or empowered to receive anything he set his gaze on. A man leading a horse toward the inn paused in the middle of the street and looked up. His dark-eyed gaze bore into hers. He smiled an irresistibly handsome grin. A tingling in the pit of her stomach tickled her. Ah, finally, the two will meet, a man’s voice whispered.
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