Mayfair, London

Spring 1822

The key to a successful marriage,” Lord Vickers pontificated, “is to stay out of the way of one’s wife.”

Such a statement would normally have little bearing on the life and fortunes of Miss Annabel Winslow, but there were ten things that made Lord Vickers’s pronouncement hit painfully close to her heart.

One: Lord Vickers was her maternal grandfather, which pertained to Two: the wife in question was her grandmother, who Three: had recently decided to pluck Annabel from her quiet, happy life in Gloucestershire and, in her words, “clean her up and get her married.”

Of equal importance was Four: Lord Vickers was speaking to Lord Newbury, who Five: had once been married himself, apparently successfully, but Six: his wife had died and now he was a widower, and Seven: his son had died the year prior, without a son of his own.

Which meant that Seven: Lord Newbury was looking for a new wife and Eight: he rather thought an alliance with Vickers was just the thing, and Nine: he had his eye on Annabel because Ten: she had big hips.

Oh, blast. Had that been two sevens?

Annabel sighed, since that was the closest she was permitted to slumping in her seat. It didn’t really signify that there were eleven items instead of ten. Her hips were her hips, and Lord Newbury was presently determining if his next heir ought to spend nine months cradled between them.