Stealing Annabelle

Chapter 1: Annabelle
April 1822
It was a truth universally acknowledged that an impoverished debutante must be plagued with a meddlesome aunt. Annabelle Greene cursed her misfortune of being born without a fortune after suffering through yet another ton event wearing slippers that pinched while her aunt dragged her through London on a fruitless quest to snag the slipperiest prize of the season–the unattached aristocrat. She threw herself onto the bed and screamed into a pile of dusty rose pillows.
Winston was not impressed. The orange tabby froze midlick with its hind leg pointed into the air. Its notched ear twisted once, before it resumed its nightly bath.
“You realize that if I am not wed by season’s end, I must return to Hampshire. Do you know what that means?” The bath continued as the cat gnawed at a tuft of fur. “You will be kicked outside to live in the gutter. No more pillows for sleeping and plates of fish,” she said. A fat tear splashed upon the silk bolster pillow. She chided herself for crying, where had it ever gotten her before?
The frustration of an unsuccessful start to her only season wore on her tattered nerves. The stakes were too high. The consequences should she remain unmatched were too dire to contemplate, but continuing the rigmarole required of a debutante was exhausting.
Winston stretched, then bumped its head against Annabelle’s nose. She buried her frustration in its soft coat until its purrs worked their feline magic, calming the urge to shout down the roof. The cat collapsed next to her, pawing at the loose fringe of her cotton nightrail.
She straightened the tangle of bedding and reclined against the smooth oak headboard. The bed curtains remained open, allowing the final remnants of the fire in the hearth opposite her to cast the room in a golden glow. Unfortunately, the sputtering flames did not provide enough light for reading, leaving her with only thoughts and no other distraction save for the cup of chocolate cooling on the bedside table.
Residing with Aunt Silvia did come with advantages. Cups of chocolate being the primary. Silvia’s generosity funded the cost of the season, there was no complaint there. It was simply that what constituted a suitable match did not align.
Annabelle desired an amiable husband, who made her feel both wanted and appreciated. Aunt Silvia was interested in income, breeding, and desperation–not exactly the virtuous qualities to tout in an ideal spouse. It might also explain her aunt’s penchant for her own short-lived marriages, all four of them.
The husband hunt would be expedited if Annabelle had a dowry attached to her name or if she were a remarkable beauty like her mother. However, no dowry and being a touch too plump and too short with topaz-colored eyes instead of blue meant she was anything but de rigueur. At least her bloodline was solid, being the granddaughter of a well-respected viscount. Whether it was enough bait to lure a man into a matrimonial trap, remained to be seen.