Lady Evelyn Whitman stood at the edge of the glittering ballroom, her gloved hands clutching the delicate lace of her ivory gown. The grand chandeliers overhead cast a warm glow on the sea of elegantly dressed men and women waltzing across the marble floor. Her hazel eyes, flecked with a hint of defiance, swept across the opulent surroundings of the Harrington estate.
At twenty-one, Evelyn was the embodiment of grace and poise, but her spirit yearned for more than the constraints of society. She longed for adventure, for a love that transcended the suffocating expectations of her station.