Imperfect: Disappeared, #1

Prologue

Fireflies flickered in the darkness like sputtering candles. The man slept deeply in the treetops, unaware of anything but the sweetness of his dreams. Great clouds of mist swept along the ground, rolling in like a silent storm. The fog did not rise to his level, so he was unaware of its chill.

The man turned over under his quilts, smiling reflexively in his sleep. Far away, at the fringes of his world, a wall of mist quivered and pushed in. Another inch of his world swallowed. How sweet is the sleep of innocence when we can block out the worst of existence for a brief moment.

The mist paused on the ground under his tree as if listening. It gathered around the trunk and tried to rise but something pushed it back down. It shimmered with deep frustration and then, unable to do anything else, it crept on.

Not today. But soon.

1

Helenshire, England

1813

What do you want, Theo? Cecilia said irritably. Don’t you know it’s impolite to stare? She put down the letter she had been reading with rapt attention only a moment earlier, her rosebud mouth pursed.

Theodosia had been watching her covertly while eating a cup of strawberries and cream. The family was gathered at the long table in the sunny breakfast parlor. She was wondering, for perhaps the millionth time, how the two of them could possibly be related. Cecilia was pink and white and blonde and, even at fifteen years old, a perfect model of decorum. Theodosia was three years older and tall and curvy with strong shoulders, an awkward demeanor, a famous temper, and a wild tangle of dark brown locks.

She’s probably thinking about rolling about in the mud like she always does, said George, their eldest brother. He ran the estate with their father, Lord William Stafford, Earl of Helenshire, and always wore a cravat that looked a shade too tight.

Henry, a gingery boy of twenty who was fond of vice and not much else, leaned in toward her and sniffed. She doesn’t stink this time, at least.

Theodosia glared at him. I don’t stink. Shut your mouth. You’re both swine for the way you treat me. All your education and for what? Neither of you has a shred of decency.

Cecilia’s china-blue eyes widened. I could say the same. Your manners are simply disgraceful. I’m surprised you’re not hem-deep in mud and smelling of sheep. I know you’ve been out again this morning even after Papa told you not to.

Theodosia shot her sister a sharp look. Her father had strictly forbidden morning walks, as he thought such early wanderings unladylike. Still, Theodosia was irrepressible and went out anyway, as she had that very morning.

Her father, a stout man with a reddish face, low shaggy eyebrows, and a prominent nose, usually ignored their banter. But at the mention of Theodosia’s defiance, he immediately put down his paper and fixed her with a severe look.

Theodosia, you know I expect better from a lady of this house. You are the daughter of an earl, not a milkmaid. Have you no sense of dignity?

She knew better than to argue with her father. Any answer that wasn’t perfectly meek would earn her days confined to her room. I do, Papa. I didn’t go far. I find my room awfully stuffy, you see, and I thought if I just got a little air—

You may take your walk later, the earl interrupted. Your duty in the morning is to get dressed and be at breakfast on time. You have no business wandering about the countryside at dawn. It’s unseemly.

Theodosia sighed deeply, willing herself not to answer, her eyes fixed on her strawberries. It seemed her father never talked to her except when he was angry. She always hoped that he would smile at her lovingly or pat her hand, as he did with Cecilia. Yet this was rarely the case.

The earl stared at her a moment longer. We don’t want Lord Merton’s son to hear that you’re prone to strange behavior.

She felt a sharp pang in her chest. Please, not this again. Her mother had decided at some point that Lord Merton’s heir and oldest son, Edward Merton, would be a perfect match for Theodosia. It was easy to guess why, and not just because the two families were good friends. It was because Lord Merton had a sizable estate in Derby. His son received a handsome income that would only increase when he inherited his due. Her family would benefit from such a connection.

I don’t see how Mr. Merton would hear of my behavior, Theodosia said, unable to help herself. He seems far more interested in London society. I hear he’s almost never at the estate.

Cecilia sighed dramatically. "And so he should be. Papa, I can’t see why I can’t marry Mr. Merton. Emma wrote to me last week from London and said that he is the wittiest man in town and always dresses in the latest way."

Cecilia, you have not yet been formally introduced to society. You must wait until then, her father replied, smiling at her fondly. Next year, you shall be feted properly and find yourself a handsome suitor, you mark my words.

The last time Mr. Merton saw Theo, I swear he looked as if he wanted to run a million miles away by the swiftest horse in his stable, put in Henry.

He did not. Hold your tongue, thundered their father.

Henry shut up, though he and George exchanged knowing smirks. Theodosia knew both of them thought her useless: unable to sing, dance, or paint, unattractive and dull besides. Hurt bloomed in her heart. It was an unhappy thing to have your own family think you worthless.

Theodosia had always felt like a changeling, as if she had accidently been handed to the wrong family at birth. She had always felt out of place, though she didn’t know where she really belonged. Her only clue was the feeling of connection she had with the gorgeous green hills and forests of Helenshire. Escaping to them early in the morning, before she made to dress and act like an earl’s daughter, was her only bit of respite. The only time when she felt at all like herself.

2

After breakfast, Theodosia raced up to the nursery to rescue Louisa. In the morning, she was expected to stay in the sitting room where she usually whiled away her hours re-reading favorite novels such as Mary Brunton’s Self-Control and Frances Burney’s Evelina. She preferred her younger sister’s company though, and smuggled her in whenever possible.

Louisa sat in a corner of the nursery trussed up in a pink dress with puffed sleeves, her embroidery in front of her and the sour old nurse at her side. Upon seeing Theodosia, the little girl threw her work aside and raced to hug her waist.

The older sister hugged her back and kissed her riot of gingery curls. The nurse, a stout woman who had a rule for everything, frowned.

Miss Louisa is to practice her stitch this morning, my lady.

Theodosia rolled her eyes and cupped the little girl’s chubby cheeks. Doesn’t that sound horrid, my pet? I don’t think you’d like that, would you?

Louisa shook her head vigorously. I would hate it, Thee. I shan’t do it, I shan’t!

Then you won’t. Theodosia took her hand and looked up at the nurse. I’m taking her down to the morning room. She’ll be back in time for lunch.

The two of them headed downstairs together, the little girl prattling on about a new butterfly she had spied the previous day. She was obsessed with butterflies and always wanted to go out to hunt for them. She loved nature just as much as Theodosia and hated to be cooped up indoors. Their mother despaired over Louisa because she wasn’t an obvious beauty. She was carroty with a rash of freckles and plain features, though Theodosia knew her to be smart as a whip, funny, and compassionate. And all this for a girl of only eight years old!

They entered the morning room, a long space with floor-to-ceiling windows on one side that were decorated in yellow silk curtains. Cecilia was already sitting on a little settee by the fireplace and working on embroidering pink roses onto a little cushion. She looked up as soon as they came in.

Theo, really, she said, putting down her work. Louisa belongs up in the nursery. We can’t have children running around here all morning. I have so much correspondence to get through. I simply can’t suffer the distraction.

Louisa ran off to sit at the windows and look for butterflies. Theodosia sat opposite Cecilia. She hardly makes a peep. Don’t be so uppity.

Better to be uppity than to have no manners, Cecilia said, blue eyes flashing. You were disgraceful at breakfast this morning. Can’t you hold your tongue?

Theodosia stared at her. You certainly didn’t help! It’s all I can do not to say anything about Mr. Merton. And you deliberately try to provoke me. I know it. Papa’s already at his wits’ end with me.

Cecilia sniffed and picked up her embroidery again. As he should be. Mr. Merton is the best match you’re going to make. He could have his pick of beauties, but he knows you come with rank and money.

Kind words. Thank you, Cecilia. I’d forgotten what a toad I am. Theodosia felt her face flush hot. I can’t wait to marry Mr. Merton and have him despise me all our lives.

Cecilia sighed impatiently. You won’t have to see each other often. And you’ll have plenty of time to go on with your reading and wandering so long as you don’t make a fool of yourself. It’s a position, nothing more.

And could you accept the same? A position without love or respect for your husband?

"I’ll marry for love and position, her sister said with a sunny smile. But I can afford to."

Theodosia had to restrain herself from clobbering her sister on the spot. The nerve of her! Theodosia so wished they could be allies instead of enemies. Until Louisa had been born, Theodosia had been miserable. Cecilia and her older sister Charlotte had always excluded her when they were in the nursery together. She had learned to play by herself early on. Her rich imagination had been good company, but that hadn’t prevented the long moments of loneliness.

At least Charlotte had made an excellent match not long ago and moved to her new husband’s estate a couple of counties over. It was a relief to deal only with Cecilia now, though that was difficult still.

Her sister tossed her blonde curls prettily. Oh Theo, I simply do not understand you. You speak as if you don’t even believe in love. And with Mr. Merton, what an easy thing that would be. I know I should love him in an instant. And imagine marrying him in a beautiful dress trimmed with yards of French lace and being mistress of his astonishing estate! Could there be anything better?

Theodosia had never been in love — not even half in love. True, she had read scores of books that detailed just what the feeling was. Something to do with butterflies in the stomach, sweaty palms, and a feeling as though you might faint at any second. To her, that sounded like reason to call the doctor, not get engaged.

She got up and began to pace. First of all, courtship lasts what, a month? All that excitement certainly isn’t going to last forever. Second, you barely know the man, and anyway, he is likely to change within the year and drive you half mad in another. Third, most of the men we meet are nothing but fashionable copycats with not an ounce of sense in their heads. So how am I supposed to fall in love?

What terrible things you say! You’ve scared me half to death. Cecilia was pinker than normal and her eyes were angry. Leave me be, Theo. You’re nothing but an awful grump who can’t be happy for half a second. I won’t be ruined by your scandalous opinions.

With that, she began to work on her embroidery with renewed dedication. Theodosia turned away with a huff and walked over to where Louisa sat at the window, eyes glued to the scene outdoors. The tall windows of the morning room provided an impressive view of the estate’s grounds. Theodosia sat in the window seat next to her little sister and gathered her close.

Thee, I’ve seen ever so many butterflies! the little girl said, turning around. A red admiral, a common blue, and lots of green-veined whites.

Theodosia kissed the top of her head. "How did