Chapter 1Bathampton, Gloucestershire 1798
Dashing down the stairs, clutching a book in her hand on her way into the parlour, Charlotte Grenville caught sight of herself in the hall mirror. The dull and shapeless clothing and smothering mob cap had become a familiar sight in her time as a ladies’ companion, but what made her hesitate was her utterly extinguished expression.
As she stared at herself, transfixed, she realised she could be any one of the army of harried, dependent spinsters between the ages of twenty and sixty, anxiously hanging onto their jobs for survival. It was a frightening glimpse into a bleak future. But I’m only twenty-three, she thought with a tinge of despair.
“Grenville, what’s keeping you? And where is my novel?” came the petulant cry from the parlour.
Charlott
