Her lungs were in a vise, and they burned. Ironic really, given how freezing the temperature in the room was. Rosamunde lay in her bed for a moment longer wishing summer had arrived. Anything but this bone-chilling cold. Remaining burrowed beneath her thick blankets, she gave herself a mental shake.

As bad as I have it, I’m not as bad off as those women and children on the streets.

Shame flushed through her even as she tugged the heavy bedding up over her face, desperate to retain the minute bit of warmth she had. And to stop seeing her breath on the air. She had to get up, take care of her morning ablutions and dress in layers. At least it would be warmer downstairs.

Bitterness chased the shame and she sneered. Her father, always about putting on a front for those members of peerage. Not that they stopped by to visit, no, her father would go meet them at clubs. Where it was warm and opulent.

Even so, she didn’t want to leave the comfort of her bed. Kind of comfortable. The mattress was well used and heck, she even had extra drapes that were layered over her, adding to the heat. Not on top, that wasn’t something her mother could find out. Not that the woman would lower herself to come to her middle child’s room. But if a rumor of Rosamunde doing such a thing ever got out, she would feel the woman’s wrath for a long time.

Especially when I’m such a massive disappointment.

Massive in multiple ways if one were to believe her parents. And, she did, as she’d heard the disparaging remarks her entire life. How fat she was. How stupid. Useless. A waste of space. And those were the nicer ones.

Clenching her jaw against the chill she knew wasn’t avoidable, Rosamunde tossed back the heaped forms of bedding and hopped out of bed.

“Eep.” The room was colder than she’d anticipated, despite having seen her breath. Normally she was prepared for the shock of the cold but not this morning. Her entire body shook as she stripped off the heavy woolen dress she slept in for additional heat. Standing by the bowl on her large faded and chipped armoire, she lifted the small wooden hammer she had there and tried to break the layer of ice covering her cleansing water. When she realized it was a futile attempt to make a decent sized hole, she did the best she could.

By now she was a professional at this and washed quickly before dressing in layers. Not as warm as she had been, but again, she was on her way to the main floor where there would be a fire in the grate.

Propelled ahead by the thought of not freezing, she hurried out of her room and to the stairs. A third of the way down the dingy—when she had been younger, it was always highly polished— staircase, her threadbare footwear caught on an exposed edge of wood.

Pitching forward, she muffled her scream of surprise and threw out her hands, searching for something to save her. The railing did. Tears sprang to her eyes at the lancing pain of a wooden sliver shoving deep into her palm.

“Are you okay, milady?”

Startled and a bit embarrassed anyone had witnessed that incident, she lifted her chin and gave the older gentleman—one of the few members they still had on staff, the butler and her father’s valet—a small smile. Hiding her injured hand behind her back, she followed that up with a wobbled nod.

“Good morning, Richards. I guess I’m a bit of a bumbler this morning.” With as much grace as she could manage, she navigated the reminder of the stairs.

He gave her a nod and carried on his way. Opening her palm, she winced at the blood pooling there. She had never been a fan. Unwilling to head back up to the frozen northland of her room, she continued toward the sitting room where there would be a bit of warmth, so if her father got any visitors it wouldn’t take long to fill the room with enough heat to maintain that illusion he desperately sought.

Stomach growling, she worried her lower lip in her teeth before sighing with resignation. She needed to eat something. Bypassing the sitting room, she headed for the dining room and took a fortifying breath before entering.

Her mother, the viscountess, sat in her usual spot, her mug of tea piping hot, as evidenced by the steam curling up from it in a warm, beckoning tease.

Cool blue eyes, not the same as hers, no, Rosamunde had her grandmother’s green eyes, lifted as the typical sneer unfolded across her face when she realized who was before her. A familiar thought of why she didn’t have any of her mother’s features dashed ever so briefly though her mind.

“Really, Rosemunde? Food? That’s the last thing you need.” She waved a thin, bony hand around. “Perhaps once you take it upon yourself to lose two to three stone it would make sense for you to join us for the morning repast.”

Pain spiked through her but she ignored her mother’s comments as best she could. She’d heard them as long as she could recall. She made her way to the sideboard, picked up a bowl and lifted the lid on the porridge.

Her stomach growled as she ladled herself some of the thick meal. Normally her mother didn’t like to have such a thing in the house, claiming it was for those less well off than a viscount, but personally, she loved it. Especially how it warmed her from the inside out.

A small snort escaped. They were far less well off than her parents were determined to have the other members of the ton know. What they had here was much thicker than some she saw those on the street eating, and she had stuff to put in it to sweeten it up a bit.

Carrying her bowl to the long table, she claimed a seat at the far end, away from her family, kept her head down and lifted a spoonful to her mouth. Her father, Bradford Fletcher, Viscount of Barberaton, strode in the room, pulling her gaze from the polished tabletop and white linen beside her bowl.

While her father was still a tall man, she could see how the past few years had taken their toll on him. His hair no longer remained jet black but had more than a light sprinkling of gray in the strands. Belly no longer flat, her father carried a bit more weight than he used to as well. Didn’t stop him from being an intimidating figure.

The man skimmed the room, lingering over her as she slowly ate another bite of food before she lowered her gaze once more. Conversation moved around her that she didn’t pay any attention to. She wasn’t exactly one that her family tried to include in discussions.

It’s more about berating me and criticizing my weight.

“Rosemunde.”

Her mother’s sharp tone stopped her as she had begun to rise. “Yes?”

“Where are you going?”

Suspicion flared but she kept her expression calm. “My walk.”

Blue eyes narrowed on her. “Your father has something to discuss with you.” A frivolous wave of her hand. “Rather, something to inform you of.”

At that, her siblings—two sisters and a younger brother—all rose and walked out of the room. Even the servants, how few there were, vacated.

“Tell her, Bradford. Tell her or I will.”

Sliding her stare from her scowling mother to her father, whose face looked to have been set in stone, she blinked. Waiting.

“You’re engaged.”

Her breath shot out and she coughed before pulling herself back under a false sense of control. “I’m what?” She fisted her hands, ignoring the pain lacing the one with the injury.

“You should be grateful any man is willing to put up with you,” her mother pointed out. “Especially with you being so fat.”

“Harriet.” Her father didn’t have to raise his voice. Never had. Again, he was intimidating.

“Not like it isn’t true, Bradford. You’ve said it enough yourself.” She sniffed with indignation.

The fact her father felt that way when he used to treat her like his princess cut away further at her floundering heart.

“It will be official when he arrives in a few months.” Her father’s tone left no room for discussion on the matter.

She moved her mouth but words wouldn’t fall from her lips. Surely she’d misheard. Swallowing multiple times, she licked her lips and tried once more.

“I don’t want to get married. And who am I supposed to be marrying?”

Her mother huffed. “At this age, what you want is irrelevant.”

My wants have been irrelevant for as long as I remember.

Her father lifted his chin. “You’re marrying Castor Adimari.” He raised his fork. “The exchange will be good for the family. Not that you need to concern yourself with such things. It is time for you to move on and have a life outside this house.”

Inching back to the door, she ran the name over in her head. Not one she knew, but she didn’t make it a point to know all of the people her parents had dealings with. They never deigned to share anything with her.

“He’s expecting a wife with good behavior, so until he is here, I expect you to behave in a manner appropriate for the daughter to a man of my station.”

Grinding her jaw, she stepped out of the room, mind whirling. Beyond insulted that nothing she ever did or how she looked was good enough for her family. Hurt that he felt he needed to pawn her off on someone to get her out of his hair.

“She didn’t look happy, Harriet.” Her father’s voice reached her.

“Bradford, it’s not about if she is happy or not. The money that old man will give you will take care of the debt your gambling put us in.”

“Not just my gambling, Harriet. Don’t pretend like you don’t have an issue as well.” He cleared his throat. “We have other daughters and can actually offer doweries for them.”

“They each deserve to have their season. Rosamunde is a fat girl who never had any prospects. This is the one chance to get something for her, don’t squander it because you are starting to feel ashamed for your behavior.”

“She’s your daughter.”

A haughty sniff. “Don’t remind me.”

A sob slipped free unbidden and Rosamunde clasped a hand over her mouth as tears burned without escaping. I will not let them fall. At least not until I’m out of this house.

Thankfully, because her father desperately wanted to maintain his image of having zero money issues, her coat was nice and thick. Not bothering to wait for a maid, because, well, she no longer had a lady’s maid for daily things, she shrugged into her coat and opened the door. If any of the family went out, they typically pulled from the household’s meager staff.

“Milady?”

Without a word to the butler who approached, Rosemunde walked outside, the cold winter air smacking her with a lot less pain than hearing those cutting words from her parents.

Be a good daughter.

Be a daughter who understands her station and what it means to have a viscount as a father.

Don’t do anything to embarrass the family name before he arrives.

Granted the last one had been said today right after she’d been informed she’d been sold to a man to help her family. While she wasn’t a genius, she did understand what her father meant by the word exchange. The follow up conversation he had with his wife, only solidified that knowledge.

She firmed her lips and fisted her hands. If she wasn’t good enough as the quiet, obedient daughter, why continue to behave in such a manner?

I’m about to be married off to some man I never met all to pay off my parents’ gambling debts. No clue about him as a person, and he could force me into worse conditions than this.

She needed to find a way to get out of this. Fast.

* * * *

“Bryn, come down here.”

He paused when his mind instantly reacted to the sound of his mother’s voice. It didn’t matter that he was over twenty, she spoke and he listened. Hurrying, he closed his bedroom door behind him and hustled down the curved, polished staircase in the family town home. The scents of beeswax and lemony mint filled his nose as he moved.

He hated that her tone was stressed even though he knew why—she flat-out didn’t like London. Didn’t like the crowds, the smog, the coal billowing into the air, especially now that winter had fully arrived and dumped plenty of snow, for here anyway, on them. Most of all, his mother didn’t have any lost love for the tittering of the ton.

Brenden understood, for he experienced the same shite she’d gotten. He wasn’t dumb and got that his father’s name bought his acceptance in most places. They were all smiles and kindness to his face but he heard them call him “The St. Clair Mutt” or simply “The Mutt” when his back was turned.

“Yes, Mama?”

She walked back and forth in the sitting room. Bryn frowned. His mother didn’t typically show emotions like this. Entering, he grasped her arm and pulled her close for a hug before walking her to a seat. After ensuring she had settled, he strode to the fireplace.

“Everything all right?” He reached for the iron poker and stabbed it into the flames, sending multiple sparks up the flue.

“I’m worried about your sister and I need you to go look for her.”

He stood tall and pivoted back toward his mother. This woman he loved more than anything in the world didn’t typically sound so panicked.

“I thought Keely was with friends, in the country?” He crossed his arms and rested a shoulder against the brick of the fireplace.

She flattened her lips and flicked a hand down the soft purple of her dress. It wasn’t easy for him to keep his emotions off his face, especially from the woman who had given birth to him, but he had mastered it.

“I am not sure. She has been”—a pause as his normally together mother seemed to search for the right word—“distant.”

A spark and a pop from the burning wood had him stepping away from the hearth, making sure he hadn’t caught fire. With the tongs, he picked up an ember that had hopped out and dropped it back amongst the glowing others.

“I’ll head out now.”

Her smile made the world right. “Thank you.”

Bryn canted his head to the left before striding over the pristine floor to drop to his knees before his mother. Grasping her hands in his, he pressed a kiss to the back of each as he squeezed them.

“Are you okay, Mama?” He spoke in the language of his African grandparents.

Her eyes glistened but nary a tear fell. Her smile, while slow, came as she tightened her hold on him.

“I’ll be fine, my son.”

A shift in the doorway snagged his attention and he flicked his gaze over his mother’s left shoulder to land upon his father, Lucien St. Martin. Dark hair now threaded through with silver and gray, his old man still cut a dashing figure. Not to mention an imposing one.

“Papa.”

Worried eyes dropped to Ciara before moving back to Bryn, who gave a small nod, letting his father know without words he understood the showcased concern.

Sure steps moved his father over the floor to behind his wife. Bryn pushed to his feet as his father dropped a kiss to his mother’s forehead. He stepped back even as something foreign flashed through his chest.

That’s what he wanted. A love like they had. What he’d grown up seeing since he’d been about eight. Even before that he’d never heard his mother say a bad word about his father. But once they’d crossed the ocean to get to England, he’d seen their love grow.

He’d had a front-row seat to witness the ups and downs of their journey. Even when they fought, and they did fight, they never stopped loving each other. Bryn knew the couple he’d grown up around were different than the majority of those in society. Not just by looks, but by the fact theirs was a love match and not just a status symbol.

“I’ll ask around some places and see if anyone has seen her.” And he would do so with stealth. While his father was the son of a duke, Bryn still didn’t want to bring any shame to the family and definitely didn’t want to have his sister’s reputation sullied. “Falcon’s in town, I’ll have him help as well.”

His mother tipped her head up, an honest smile on her face. “Tell him to come by for dinner one night. I miss seeing him.”

“Of course, Mama.” A nod to his father. “Sir.”

Striding from the room, he paused at the front door to shrug into his heavy wool coat and tug on his fur-lined gloves. Then he stepped outside into the cold winter weather as more wind and snow whipped around him.

His initial destination not being that far away, he waved off any carriage from the house, not needing his staff to be outside in this when he was simply going to be inside another house shortly.

He ducked his head to block the wet, stinging snow that blew with a vengeance. There weren’t very many out and about other than servants. He dodged them best he could and kept from slipping in the slush.

It was going to get nasty the later in the day that it got—all of this was going to freeze. Reading the weather was something he’d learned at a young age. Regardless, the cold already bit into his skin and he was grateful to see his destination ahead. He jogged up to the door and rapped with one black-gloved hand.

The door swung open and he found himself face to face with the Morgan household butler, Joby.

“Good morning, my lord.” The man stepped back, allowing him entrance.

“Joby,” he replied with a smile as he unbuttoned his coat so the man could assist him off with it. “Falcon up yet?”

“I believe Master Garrett has begun to break his fast.”

With a grin and a smack to the elder’s shoulder, Bryn struck off down the hallway to the room he knew his friend would be in. His stomach growled at the succulent scents wafting out of the doorway the closer he got.

I could always eat a bit more.

“Morning, Falcon.” He walked in without hesitation and made his way to the sideboard, which teemed with food.

His best friend in the world lifted his gaze, staring at him from behind the thick brown locks that tumbled over his forehead. One hand gripped a fork, which was paused partway to Falcon’s mouth.

“Mother kick you out?”

With a rude gesture, Bryn loaded his plate and walked to sit beside his friend, as opposed to taking a chair across the table from him. He didn’t feel like yelling his reasoning for being here so early.

“Something like that. She needs me to find Keely.”

White skin popped beneath the tan of his friend’s knuckles as he tightened his grip. Bryn wasn’t sure what to make of that so he let it go. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true, he did know what to make of it but wasn’t going to think about it, especially since the two of them seemed destined to ignore what was in front of them. It wasn’t his place to help them see their futures.

“Thought she was with friends in the country.”

Bryn picked up the mug of his warm drink. “That’s what I said to Mama, but she’s not so sure.”

Falcon lifted his head and met his gaze, lips flattening. “Your sister doesn’t need us to find her and save her. She’s more than capable of taking care of herself.”

And would likely geld them both if she realized what they were doing.

“Of course she is,” he agreed without a pause. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to do as Mama wishes. Are you up for traipsing around in the cold with me?”

Falcon shoveled food into his mouth, a scowl etched on his features. “Do I have a choice?”

“No,” Bryn said easily. “Just giving you the chance to come across as magnanimous.”

An eye roll. “I’ve been that since the day we met, you arrogant prick.”

“I’m the grandson of a duke, what did you expect?”

“You to lord it over everyone you’re an earl. It’s okay to actually say those words, you know.”

Stretching out his legs beneath the large table, Bryn sighed heavily and shook his head. “This is why it’s so hard to mingle with the common people. I was trying to make it easy for you to understand.”

The gesture came from Falcon this time and Bryn smiled as he dug into the piping hot food with relish. They would eat then tackle the cold. He wasn’t positive he was going to find his sister in town. However, he had promised his mother he would look, so he would.