CHAPTER 1 LADY JANE FITZWILLIAM

Lady Jane Fitzwilliam was a rebelious young woman whose fiery spirit burned as fiercely as her lush waterfall of chestnut brown curls. At 14 years of age, she already had the presence of a force to be reckoned with. Her emerald green eyes gleamed with a mischievous intelligence, and her full lips were often caught in a wry smirk, hinting at the sharp wit that laid beneath her exterior. No mere delicate flower, Lady Jane Fitzwilliam was a wild blossom, blooming in her own way. Young Lady Jane was not destined to be a paragon of grace and decorum. From the moment she was informed of her arranged marriage to the Duke of Wellington, she resisted her mother's efforts to mold her into the perfect noble wife. Etiquette classes were a particular bane to Lady Jane's existence. Her lessons in propriety and nobility seemed like a never-ending display of silliness and nonsense. "And now, Lady Jane, if you would just lift your pinkie finger slightly while holding the teacup. There, that's it." The etiquette instructor's voice was as precise and prim as her own porcelain tea set. "Oh, is this a teacup?" Jane feigned surprise, tilting the teacup upside down to examine the underside. "I thought it was a fashionable new hat. Silly me." The instructor's face contorted into an expression that could only be described as "high society shock," but Jane was undaunted. "My dear Lady Jane," the instructor said, recovering her composure. "It is imperative that you master these refined social graces if you are to assume your rightful place as the Duchess of Wellington. Now, please hold your shoulders back." "Like this?" Jane responded by rolling her shoulders forward in a rather ungainly fashion. "I'm sorry, it's just so difficult to concentrate on my shoulders with all the butterflies dancing on my dress." She plucked at the fabric of her gown with mock concern. The instructor looked like she might faint, but Jane was only just getting started. "Come now, Lady Jane," the instructor admonished. "If you persist in this behavior, I fear you may never be able to converse with the Duke without scandalizing him." June smirked. "Oh, I do hope so. I hear the fellow could use a good scandal. His hair has probably turned grey from boredom at all those stuffy royal gatherings." She winked conspiratorially at the instructor, who looked like she was about to swallow her own pearl necklace in horror. "I fear your humor will be lost on the Duke," the instructor said gravely. "Well, if I'm to be the Duchess of Wellington, I'll certainly need to keep the poor fellow entertained. Perhaps I'll wear a hat made of teacups to our wedding. That should liven things up, don't you think?" The instructor could only stare, mouth agape, as Jane proceeded to conduct an imaginary orchestra with her teacup and saucer, twirling and humming a merry tune that was decidedly not in keeping with the mood of a formal tea party. "My lady!" Victoria Fitzwilliam swept into the room like a storm on the horizon, her dark brows knit together in disapproval. Mary followed close behind, a look of envy in her eyes as she took in Jane's antics. "Jane! What in the name of Queen Elizabeth's lace collars do you think you're doing?" Victoria demanded, her voice as frigid as an English winter. Jane's mock conducting came to an abrupt halt, and she turned to face her mother with a disarmingly innocent smile. "Oh, nothing at all, Mother," she said, setting down the teacup with exaggerated care. "I was just ensuring that my future husband, the esteemed Duke of Wellington, would not find me entirely dull upon our first meeting. I'd hate for him to think I'm the sort of woman who can't conduct an imaginary orchestra with a tea set." Victoria's face grew as red as the roses in their garden, while Mary stood by, a small smirk playing on her lips. "You… you foolish, foolish girl!" Victoria exclaimed, clutching her pearls so tightly it seemed they might crumble to dust in her grasp. "You will not, under any circumstances, conduct imaginary orchestras at your wedding! You will be demure, elegant, and most importantly, dignified. You are a Fitzwilliam, for goodness' sake. We are not the sort of family that condones such behavior!" Jane rolled her eyes. "Oh, but Mother, you forget that I am the Duke's bride-to-be. Surely I should have some say in the matter?" "Jane Fitzwilliam, mark my words: if you persist in this behavior, I will have you locked away in a convent, where the only music you will hear will be the clanging of the convent bells!" Victoria warned, her voice as sharp as a diamond tiara. "And don't think I won't do it. Your father will be appalled when I inform him of your mischievous ways." Mary, who had been a silent observer until now, piped up timidly, "Perhaps... perhaps I could be of help? I could stand in for Jane at the etiquette classes while she… "...learns to conduct herself with a bit more, shall we say, aplomb?" Mary finished, her eyes darting between them. Jane scoffed. "Oh, yes. I'm sure you'd just love to take my place, wouldn't you, Mary? Begging pardon, Mother, but I suspect my dear sister has an ulterior motive. She'd gladly take on the role of future Duchess of Wellington if given half the chance." "Jane, I will not have you sullying your sister's good name with baseless accusations," Victoria said, shooting Mary an apologetic glance. "Mary, you are to mind your own lessons in decorum. As for you, Jane, you are to be sent to your room for the rest of the day. Perhaps some quiet contemplation will help you remember the importance of your upcoming marriage." Jane huffed and rose from her seat, teacup still in hand. "I'd rather be sent to the guillotine than spend another minute learning how to be a dainty little aristocrat. "Mother, I believe my etiquette lesson for today has reached its conclusion," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I shall retire to my chambers and reflect upon the errors of my ways." Victoria looked at her daughter skeptically, but dismissed her with a wave of her hand. "See that you do. And don't even think about leaving the house. I'll have the servants keep an eye on you." With a curtsey that could only be described as borderline sarcastic, Jane turned and swept out of the room. She made a beeline for the stables, the clink of her dress and the patter of her feet echoing through the hallways. The fields opened up before her, a vision of rolling green hills and wildflowers swaying in the breeze. The stifling walls of the Manor, with all its rigid rules and expectations, faded into the distance as Jane leaned low over Whisper's withers and let the wind whip through her hair. Her skirts, once so pristine and perfectly pressed, were strewn with grass stains and smudged with dirt. She didn't care, however, for she was finally free, at least for a few precious hours.