London: January, 1802A lady should never run, but Arabella Wilbanks lifted her skirts and positively sprinted up Cavendish Street toward home. “There must be some mistake,” she panted at Ralph, her footman, who was doing his best to keep up. “My uncle wouldn’t dare do such a thing!”Ralph nodded and responded, “Mistake,” but his worried eyes told another story. So did the butler, when he opened the door to Arabella’s frantic peal of the bell.She swept into the entrance hall, out of breath and furious. “Have you heard about this—this preposterous announcement of my engagement, Chalmers?”The butler, her oldest and dearest ally in avoiding marriage, nodded in sad-eyed sympathy. “Your uncle informed me of the impending nuptials only ten minutes ago, Miss Arabella.”“He didn’t see fit to inform me!” she cried. “He simply put a notice in the papers without as much as a by-your-leave!” She paused to catch her breath. “I already told him, several times, that I don’t wish to marry Sir Reginald Rotherton.”“I’m very sorry, miss, but—”“I had to hear the news from a mere acquaintance,”
