Section I, Next Section

Chapter 1

Posted on Monday, 5 January 2004

It would be difficult to say exactly when it all started. To be really, really thorough, I might begin a little more than five and twenty years ago, on the grand occasion of my advent into this bustling world. To keep this story as short as possible, however, I might begin with my arrival in London, which is when things really began to become interesting.

And I may do that, yet.

But really, there are a few things I absolutely must take care of first. An introduction, to start with: my name is Mary Elaine Bennet, third daughter of James and Beatrice Bennet of Longbourn House, Hertfordshire. While not exactly good ton, my father is a gentleman--the elder son of a landed gentleman and local baron’s daughter. My mother was the middle child of a mildly successful London merchant whose eldest daughter married a solicitor and whose son married another merchant’s daughter and carried on the family business.

Longbourn came to us through my paternal grandfather, whose uncle died without issue, entailing it along our line. Eventually, short of a divine miracle happening and my mother giving birth to a son this late in life, upon my father’s death the estate will be passed to William Collins, vicar of Rosings Park and a pompous fool, to boot.

Though I probably shouldn’t say that, should I? After all, he is my cousin (though distant).

But the thing is, I really can’t help myself. I’ve never been impressed with the man, not even when we first met him six years ago. He had come to our home that year in search of a wife--and probably to count the silver, too. He fulfilled the first half of that mission (and doubtless the latter half, as well), though not quite as he had intended. Instead of carrying off my sister, he was forced to make do with my sister’s closest friend, and was then only able to gloat over said sister’s unmarried state for the space of a year, at which point she married his benefactress’s rather wealthy nephew. Quite a let-down, really.

And yes, before you can ask, at one time I had been considering setting my cap for him, as vulgar as that sounds. But this is not an instance of the fox and his grapes, I assure you. It had merely been that my plans had not yet come to fruition at that point, and I had been in the market for a comfortable position.

But William Collins was not a shopper who looked for what he could actually afford, and lost his chance at a greater prize than even I had imagined. Though I suppose that, had I been married to him, my plans would not have worked out in quite the same way and I would have missed out on some of the most fun I had ever had.

So it probably was a good thing I didn’t marry the prosy old bore.

I found much better pickings than those sour grapes, though I had to wait several years and practically starved to death in the process. Figuratively, that is.

I was so incredibly lonely during that time. Three of my sisters--Jane, Lizzie, and my youngest sister Lydia--married in the year following the beginning of the Collins Capers. And in the year preceding Kitty’s marriage to her earl’s son, she spent most of her time split between London and her elder two sisters’ homes and studiously avoided coming home. So it was just my mother, my father, and me.

It was my own fault, really. In the way I had gone about protecting myself--a sort of self-preservation, if you will--I had alienated all of them. I had only myself to blame for the half-hearted invitations and pitying glances during my sisters’ visits home.

But I had secrets to sustain me and to buoy my spirits when they flagged, though I admit it was often very trying. Oh, very trying indeed.

It was all I could do sometimes not to tell my mother to fetch her own smelling salts, to tell my father not to worry about not leaving an old spinster daughter alone and penniless when he was gone, to stand up in the middle of the fish course and say, “I am the greatest actress in the world!”

I didn’t do any of those things, of course. Probably would have landed me in Bedlam. I fetched Mama her sal volatile and handkerchief like a dutiful daughter, kept Papa company in the library when he balanced the books, and commented mildly on how tasty the Mackerel was.

For three long years.

And then, four months after my twenty-fifth birthday and on the day after Easter, I set my plans into motion. It began with a letter.

“Why look! We have received a letter in the morning post!” cried my mother happily. “I will take that, Hill.”

“But Ma’am,” Hill said diffidently, with a curtsy, “the letter is for Miss Mary.”

I managed a feint look of surprise, accepting the proffered letter with only a moment’s show of hesitation. I gave it a cursory glance and then slipped it into my bodice for later perusal.

This action brought about a rather sharply dismayed cry from my mother: “But you must open it, Mary! Who is it from?”

“I did not think it proper,” I replied in my starchiest voice, “to open a personal letter at breakfast, in the presence of others. Miss Imelda Hutchinson states quite clearly that this is not polite behavior.”

“Oh, bah!” replied my mother with a wave of dismissal. “Whoever she is, what does she know about it?”

“Miss Imelda Hutchinson is a gentlewoman whose book, Every Lady’s Guide to Proper Comportment, has been recognized as the pattern book for feminine social behavioral norms since it was published some four or five years ago,” I said. “She is considered quite knowledgeable about the subject.”

My father dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and calmly rejoined to his wife, “She has you there, my dear.”

“She also,” I continued, “has in the past year written a very popular book called What the Well-Dressed Woman Should Know. I have not read it myself, but Lady Lucas tells me that it is quite the rage. Miss Hutchinson is highly regarded.”

Mother contented herself with a dissatisfied sigh, and returned to her plate. As I suspected, however, she just couldn’t keep it in for very long, and in less than a minute she was again cajoling me to at least discover from whom it was sent.

“I can tell you that quite easily, Mama,” said I, setting down my utensils with calm precision and turning my gaze to my distraught parent. “It is from Miss Althea Mulvaney. I recognized her handwriting immediately. It is quite distinctive.”

“But what does it say? Why should she be writing to you, of all people?”

I sighed and glanced at my father, who looked only casually amused. “She and I have shared a friendship these five years past, Mama, as you are quite aware; I visit her often enough. And though she has not often seen fit to write to me in the past, I assure you that it has never been cause for alarums before. Her news can undoubtedly wait for another quarter hour.”

She was not happy, which was more than apparent, but she was forced to be content for the nonce. We returned to our respective meals in silence. Several minutes later, however, she was off on a slightly different tack: “Miss Mulvaney has been in the neighborhood for many years now, hasn’t she? Let’s see...I think it was right around Lizzie’s birth...so twenty-seven years or so. She came from Kent, if I remember rightly. Did she have a sister?”

I gave in. “Yes; her sister married the late Earl of Woodbridge. They were identical twins. Daughters of the Baron Mulvaney.”

Mother nodded sagely. “I was quite sure of it. Perhaps the Countess will be visiting? Maybe her sons--although I believe the current earl is married.”

“I cannot believe it is my place to say,” said I quite blandly, nibbling on my toast.

“I’m quite sure of it.” She sighed. “Well, she does have another, I believe. In the army.”

“What is the surname?” asked my father. “I think you have told me this before.”

Though surprised, I readily supplied it: “Ryder; Colonel John Ryder is the name of the younger son.”

My father nodded and tapped the rolled-up paper beside his plate. “I thought so. Recall his name from the Vienna peace talks. Quite an able young man.”

“Well, we already do have one man in uniform in the family,” sighed my mother. “But two would not be amiss, I daresay.”

I closed my eyes, counted to ten, and then said quite evenly: “I am nearly five and twenty and as such firmly on the shelf, Mama. I have little hope of marrying now, even should I wish it.” I sighed. “But that is entirely beside the point. I have no reason to believe I will meet Althea’s nephew, much less inspire him to present any sort of offer to me, marriage or simply a glass of ratafia. I believe he has been in India since shortly after Napoleon was sent to St. Helena.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” said my mother, pursing her lips in disappointment. “But perhaps Miss Mulvaney is going to Brighton or Bath, and wishes you to accompany her. You should be put in the way of all sorts of rich gentlemen there.”

I glanced at my father, whose jaw clenched at the thought, though it been years since the incident of Lydia’s misconduct at Brighton. It had been rather tactless of Mother to have brought it up again, but for what else can we depend on her? “I am sure that is not it, Mama.” I paused, and then sighed dramatically. “But I suppose if you are only going to continue to speculate, and if Papa excuses it, I shall open the letter here and discover its contents for you, though I am sorely against the very notion of doing something so against common propriety.”

My father waved his hand in acquiescence of the plan, and my mother clapped her hands eagerly, obviously hearing everything but my stated scruples. I broke the seal with my knife and opened the page, then scanned the contents. “Well,” I said, surprise evident in my tone, “you were very nearly right, Mama. But it is not Bath or Brighton to which Althea is traveling; it’s London.”

“London!” echoed my mother in surprise.

“Yes,” I said, shooting a glance at my father, who merely continued to butter his toast. “And she wishes for me to accompany her. She will be staying with her sister, who has a townhouse, for the Season.”

“The Season...”

I shrugged in the Gallic fashion and slipped the letter again into my bodice. “I suppose I’ll think about it.”

“Think about it!” my mother exploded. She spluttered a bit, then caught hold of her words again: “You can’t simply think about it, Mary, you must go! Why, think of the balls, the routs, the dinners! With a Countess, no less!”

“Dowager countess,” I corrected. “And really, if I were to go at all, those would not be the attractions. Museums, libraries, and intellectual salons would hold much more interest for me. Even then, I’m not sure that I want to go.”

“You’ve not been to London before, have you, Mary?” my father asked me now.

I shook my head. “Not for lack of invitations, of course. Uncle and Aunt Gardiner included me in their invitations occasionally, and Elizabeth asked me just two years ago if I wished to be brought out with Georgiana.”

This came as a great piece of news to both of them, I could tell. I returned to my eggs.

“Why ever did you refuse, dear child?” cried my mother in consternation. “You would have had the chance to find an attractive town beau and been married and I could have...”

“Yes, why did you refuse?” asked my father more seriously as my mother continued in this vein. “And why didn’t Lizzie tell me of this?”

He looked hurt at that, and I felt my heart go out to him for the loss of his favorite daughter. It couldn’t be easy, I thought for perhaps the hundredth time, to lose the one person in the family to whom you really could connect. I was definitely not fit compensation. “I asked her not to tell you, Papa,” I replied gently. “I guess I didn’t want...well, this to happen,” I said, gesturing towards my mother. “I didn’t want to be brought out with Georgiana. Surely you can see why? I could hardly compare.”

My father was not perhaps the best of parents, but he occasionally did try to act like one. He smiled sympathetically at me, leaned over, and patted my hand. “You really aren’t such an ugly duck, you know. Behind the glasses and the ratty hair and the...uh, unfortunate complexion...and the tendency to lecture everyone in sight, you really do have a warm heart.”

The best response I could bring to that was a nervous smile, but he seemed satisfied. And a few minutes later, I made my escape. Somehow my father must have convinced my mother not to follow me to harangue me in my room, for I had nearly three hours of solitude in which I wrote a short note to Althea and began to plan the packing of my trunk.

For there really had been no doubt in my mind that I would accept the invitation. After all, I had been the one to suggest the trip in the first place. Althea and I had hatched a wonderful plan the last time I had visited her, and we were going to have the time of our lives in London. I was going to acquire a new wardrobe and a new hairstyle, go to routs and balls and soirees and salons, visit the museums and libraries and parks and Astley’s, and anything else we could possibly dream to do. We would stay with her sister at the townhouse until the end of the Season, and then we would both hare off to a fine estate in west Berkshire with rolling green hills and a large, glassy lake, all complimenting the large Tudor-style manor house that was Landrey Manor, to spend the rest of the year in quiet contentment until the next time we felt like tackling the town again.

But wait, you ask, why Landrey Manor? Whatever does that house have to do with anything? Well, that’s easy: because I owned it.

Chapter 2

Posted on Sunday, 11 January 2004

Miss Althea Mulvaney lived in a small, weathered brick cottage just a few miles west of the village of Meryton. It was two levels with a small parlor, kitchen, and study on the ground floor and three bedrooms on the first storey. Flowers grew in riotous profusion in front of the house, and a small garden in back boasted a few rows of peas and potatoes and several types of herbs.

There was a very small stable near the house, just large enough to hold two horses. One of them was a sweet, fairly placid mare named Palatia, the other a fiery roan gelding named Lysander. Both of them expected a good deal of exercise, and Althea and I were always eager to give it to them. She may have been pushing fifty, I always told my friend, but she was still a dashed fine horsewoman.

Wednesday morning, the second day after I received her letter, found us both riding across the fields and through the woods attached to the Netherland estate. After we had turned down a path by the gamekeeper’s cottage, tossing a friendly wave to the man’s wife, who was hanging the laundry, I addressed one of the concerns upon which I had been dwelling for the past few days: “When should I tell my parents my plans?”

When there was no answer to my query, I turned to look at Althea and caught her grimace. “You don’t think I should tell them before I leave, do you?”

“It might be best, my dear,” replied Althea. “But I suppose it all depends upon how much you are planning to tell them. Will you tell them that Landrey Manor is yours, for instance? Or how you made your fortune? Will you explain how you are suddenly not the same person you appeared to be for years?” She paused and chuckled. “Besides, it may come to be that you do not wish to live the spinster life with me, after all, and will have to explain everything, anyway. Even you could not fail to invite your family to such a special event.”

I granted her sly look with a disgusted one of my own. “If you are implying that I will find a husband in London and abandon all of my carefully-laid plans, I think you have missed the mark wide. Please do not join my mother in her delusions. Or I suppose if you wish to, I’m sure she would be nothing loathe to discuss them. But please, not with me.”

After shooting her another look, this one filled with laughter, I spurred Lysander into a cantor, and we shot forward into the bright sunlight. I could hear Althea and Palatia pick up their pace behind me, and I pushed Lysander faster into a full-out gallop. When we reached the creek by the vicarage, I allowed Althea to catch me up, and together we slowed both our mounts to a walk.

“We won’t be able to do that in London, you know,” said Althea as soon as she caught her breath. “It simply isn’t allowed.”

“Unfortunately,” I agreed with a laugh, then sobered and said quite seriously: “Miss Imelda Hutchinson declares quite unequivocally that a lady keeps her mount at a sedate walk, and rarely brings the horse to a trot. A cantor is suitable only for the country, and a gallop is never, ever acceptable for a well-bred lady to practice.”

“But then, one very rarely listens to one’s own advice,” Althea said, grinning. “And as long as no one discovers who you really are, I suppose you can be as great a hoyden as you wish.”

We continued to walk our horses until we came into sight of the cottage, where we dismounted and handed our horses to Jimmy, a village boy who came to tend Althea’s horses during the day. We then went straight to the drawing room where Mabel, Althea’s somewhat elderly maid, brought the tea tray.

“I do have to say,” said Althea as she poured the tea, “the timing of this is all quite perfect, really. Your buying the estate...my companion leaving to take care of her grand-niece’s children...the lease on this cottage coming up due...Alceste’s inviting me for the season...”

“She invited us at your request, Ally,” I said wryly as I accepted my cup.

She sniffed. “That’s beside the point. She could have said no.”

I laughed at that. “I highly doubt it, considering how many times you have declined to visit her in Town. Refuse to house you when you finally gave in? I think not.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, anyway. All I’m saying is that everything seems to be working out a little too...auspiciously, don’t you think?”

Never one to second-guess things when they finally began to go my way, I wasn’t about to agree with her. “Not if you mean to say that the bubble will burst soon. For that, my dear friend, I will not allow you to even contemplate. I have waited far too long for this, and I am not going to give it up to some vagary of fate and be resigned. If it is indeed some strange twist of luck, I am going to accept it as such and continue on. I shall not jinx myself by asking what horrible things are in future stored for me.”

“Very well,” Althea said, though rather reluctantly. “I suppose you make a good enough point. But since you have now routed me on that topic, I shall move to another: when shall I tell Alceste to expect us?”

We spent some time discussing the finer points of our trip to London, and when I finally took my leave, I felt we had had a very productive morning, indeed. The transportation matters had been decided to a nail’s head, and everything else, from wardrobe to servants, had been arranged.

We left early on Monday morning. The carriage hired to take us to London rolled into the court just after I had finished my breakfast, and I rushed (decorously, of course) out the door to meet it. Althea stepped down, assisted by the footman who had opened the door, and greeted me and my parents, who had followed me out of the house.

“I shall take particular care of your daughter, Mrs. Bennet,” she replied to one of my mother’s over-emotional wailings. “And of course my sister will, as well. You needn’t worry about that.”

“And when shall you be returning?” asked my father. I had avoided answering this particular query all week, and now, as my eyes met Althea’s, I worried about how to hedge the question again. But I need not have feared, for Althea can be quite as crafty as I.

“Oh, we haven’t decided yet. In fact, after the Season, we may take a trip out to Landrey Manor, in Berkshire.”

Both of my parents looked at me in surprise. “Mary hadn’t mentioned that,” murmured my father.

“Is Landrey Manor your own property, Miss Mulvaney?” asked my mother, a speculative gleam in her eyes.

Althea, bless her soul, shook her head and smiled. “No, it is owned by a very good friend of mine. But should we decide to travel there, Mary will no doubt write and inform you of it.”

“Of course,” said my father. “But we shouldn’t keep the horses standing,” (“Oh, no, that will never do,” agreed my mother), “and your trunk is already tied on, Mary.” He paused and, taking my hands in his, smiled. “We will miss you,” he said earnestly, and I felt a tear come unbidden to my eye as a strong feeling of wistfulness stole through me.

“Thank you, Papa,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. I kissed my mother, as well, and then followed my friend to the carriage. As soon as I had settled myself on the seat, and the door had been closed behind me, I leaned out impulsively and said in my usual, staid Mary-like tone, “I promise to write at least once in the next few months, but do not blame me if it is wholly devoid of anything worth knowing.”

My father laughed at this, though my mother looked slightly confused and only sniffled into her handkerchief. “Your father’s daughter, indeed,” said he. “A worse co-respondent there never was. Have a wonderful time, my dear.”

I waved to my mama, who was once again sobbing, and then leaned back in my seat as the carriage finally set off. When we had passed Meryton and now rumbled down the main toll road, I sighed and said to my companion, plucking at my skirts in disgust, “I shall be very glad to be rid of these rags at last.”

“It is a pity that you will have to arrive in them, of course,” said Althea, “but we shall have time to remedy the situation before the first ball.”

“Oh, but that won’t be necessary,” I said in all seriousness. “I had planned on wearing my serviceable brown frock. It is such a stunning gown.”

Althea laughed at that, and I joined her. “It is quite stunning,” she agreed. “Stunning that such an eyesore could actually be considered an article of clothing.”

I pretended affront. “I made that gown, you know.”

She only raised her brows in haughty disdain. “What? Am I sharing my carriage with a seamstress, then?”

“Not hardly,” I owned, acknowledging my lack of skill in the art of sewing. “But I had to keep appearances, you know.”

“I know,” said Althea. “It’s such a pity, too. And I have never quite understood the need. But,” she said, cutting off my quick response with a raise of her hand, “it is none of my business, and I shall keep my dainty nose out of it.”

“Dainty!” I echoed with an unladylike snort of laughter. “I don’t think anyone has ever had the nerve to call your nose dainty.”

She grinned, touching that rather large appendage. “No, I suppose not. Alceste and I were both beauties despite them, though. And my father always said that our noses gave us a sort of character.”

“Well, there’s plenty of room for more than one in there,” I said with a grin. “Why, you could have a whole novel’s worth stay for a night. Have you ever considered renting it out?”

“Actually, once,” she replied, not missing a beat, “but my ‘to let’ sign didn’t match my gown, so I abandoned the idea.”

We shared another bout of laughter, ending only when the carriage hit a rut and nearly bounced us off the seat. “My, my,” murmured Althea as she righted her bonnet on her head. “It seems the roads have grown much worse since my last visit to London.”

“And when was that?” I asked.

“Oh, I should say some twenty-seven years, or so.” When I arched a brow in surprise at this, she merely shrugged. “Well, as I’ve told you before, I didn’t really enjoy the four seasons to which I was subjected. So I haven’t been back.”

“In all these years?” I asked in some incredulity. When she didn’t respond, I sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised, since you never seemed to talk about London much. I didn’t realize you had taken it in such dislike, though. I never would have asked you--“

“Oh, no!” she cried, taking my hand in hers. “Do not for one second believe that you coerced me in some way into returning to London. I am quite willing to go. Truly,” she said at my wary look. After a moment, she released my hand to clasp her own in her lap. “It is just that this will revive so many memories I had thought well and truly buried. But sometimes these things had best be resurrected. They may remind me of other things I have forgotten over the years--happy memories, perhaps, that I have shelved with the bad. It’s time I faced my fears.”

I put an arm around her and embraced her warmly, knowing instinctively that she would appreciate the comforting gesture. She had been such a mother figure to me over the years, and I often longed to return the favor. I vowed then that I would do everything in my power to make this London visit the most memorable ever and, if possible, to dispel the haunted look that had entered her eyes a heartbeat before.

After another moment, I returned to my seat and sighed gustily. “I really am quite excited to be meeting your sister, Ally.”

“As I am eager to see her again,” she replied. “It has been too long.”

“Will the Earl be in residence?”

Althea shook her head. “Oh, no my dear. You know that Alceste and her daughter-in-law do not get along. Haven’t I mentioned that Richard was forced to purchase other lodgings to accommodate them this Season?”

“No, you didn’t,” I said with a laugh. “But I can well believe it. I recall how Alceste wrote that it was last year.”

“Oh, dear me,” she giggled. “There should have been murder this time around if the situation hadn’t changed. Lucille had no right at all to be trying to take over the running of Woodbridge House. It was left to Alceste, after all, not to Richard.”

I waggled my brows. “I would have given anything to have been at the Abby and seen the new Lady Woodbridge’s expression at the reading of the late earl’s will.”

She grinned. “It was quite amusing, I assure you. Although I don’t know if anyone else appreciated the humor in the scene. Why, my innocent offer of vinaigrette was rejected quite rudely!”

“Oh, Ally, you didn’t,” I laughed.

“Of course I did,” she replied. “I figured hysterics were imminent and kindly thought to prevent them if I could.”

“A totally selfless act, naturally.”

“Completely.”

We both erupted into uncontrollable giggles. When we had finally gotten control of ourselves again, we discussed other things, such as the many things we were going to do once we reached the city. And as the miles passed beneath our carriage wheels, I found myself growing more and more excited. I was journeying into the unknown, and I felt more than ever that my life would be changed forever by it. And though I didn’t know it then, I could not have been more right.

Chapter 3

“Thank you, Barton,” Althea replied with a smile. “It has been quite a journey.”

“I imagine so,” he replied. “Your luggage shall be conducted to your rooms. And if you would follow me, my lady has been awaiting your arrival in the drawing room.”

He led us to a set of double doors, which he opened and announced us. An older woman, tall and elegant in her silvery blue dinner dress and pearls, stood at our entrance, a wide smile creasing her lips. My companion hurried over to be enveloped in a warm embrace, and I stood silently just inside the door, enjoying the sight of such sisterly love.

There was a bout of happy cries and joyful tears, until at last they parted. Both turned, as one, towards me with identical smiles on their faces. “It really is amazing,” I said almost involuntarily, “how similar you two look.”

“Even in all of our wrinkled glory, you mean,” laughed Alceste.

“I will point out that it was you who said that, not I,” I replied.

“Not that it really matters,” said she. “I am quite content to be past my days of beauty. With two sons all grown up, I don’t feel the need to be the belle of the ball anymore.”

Althea grinned. “Which doesn’t mean that you are not. In fact, I have the feeling that you still attract a following. What is it I have heard about you and the Marquess of Thornfield?”

Her sister patted her graying hair in a conscious fashion and said, “He is an acquaintance, I admit.”

“Mmm...I’m sure.”

“But you are causing me to neglect my guest, Thea,” Alceste said reprovingly.

“As I have neglected to introduce you?” Althea said with a brow raised. “Very well. Ceste, this is Mary Bennet, my neighbor in Hertfordshire. Mary, this is my sister, Alceste Ryder, Dowager Countess of Woodbridge, Baroness Thurston.”

I curtsied deeply, and the countess laughed and waved her hand in dismissal. “None of that, please. You are my guest, and as such, family. But I am sure that both of you are quite exhausted from your journey, and would like a brief respite from my company. If you would like, however, you may join us for dinner. It is set to be served at eight, and you needn’t worry about your dress, for we shall dine en famille.”

“That sounds delightful,” Althea replied. “But we shall both need to wash off the dust of the road before we sit down.”

Alceste smiled and pulled a burgundy and gold twisted cord, saying, “Of course. I will have Mrs. Hoskins show you to your rooms, and we shall meet here again in half an hour.”

So Althea and I were bustled out of the drawing room and up the stairs to our respective suites. As I was shown into my appointed room, I nearly gasped aloud at the elegance, but didn’t, managing to preserve my dignity in front of the housekeeper so much as to keep my jaw from dropping and my tongue from rolling halfway across the floor.

The bedchamber itself was extremely elegant, with green-and-gold draperies partially obscuring the large, four-poster bed in the center of the room, a fireplace in the corner, flanked by two easy chairs, and a window seat overlooking the garden in back of the house.

One door led to the dressing room, which had a beautiful mahogany wardrobe, a dressing table with a tall mirror, and a very costly-looking, full-length bath. The other door led to a sitting room that contained a sofa and two chairs and an elegantly wrought writing desk.

When I had finished examining the rooms, I returned to Mrs. Hoskins, who was apparently awaiting my reaction. I nearly forgot myself to much as to question whether these rooms were, in fact, intended for me, but instead said, “This is perfect, Mrs. Hoskins. Tell her ladyship that the rooms are perfectly situated.”

She nodded in response and said, “I shall send Flora to you, Miss, if you wish.”

“Flora?’ I asked in surprise.

“Why yes,” replied Mrs. Hoskins. “The maid that her ladyship instructed me you should require, as your own must remain in the country.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Thank you.”

I watched her leave, closing the door behind her, and turned around to gaze in wonder at my surroundings, no longer inhibiting my awe. I couldn’t believe that this was all for me. Insignificant me. I don’t think I had been accorded such respect in all my life.

I ran a hand thoughtfully across the back of one wing chair, marveling at how I had ended up here, wondering what would have happened to me had I not met Althea Mulvaney those many days ago in the woods near Longbourn.

It was eight years ago, shortly after my seventeenth birthday. Ally had been riding Palatia across the countryside when she had come upon me, sitting on a log in the snow and feeling heartily sorry for myself. I had just been rebuked soundly by my mother for having allowed myself to get spots and possibly spread the contagion to my sisters, whose beauty could not be marred.

Of course, Ally had told me, there was nothing to any of this, and related a story of her getting a spot on her nose the day before her come-out ball. Even if it was completely untrue, she had me laughing in a matter of minutes, all of my previous worries forgotten. She then took me home, gave me hot tea and a willing ear, and asked me why I cared so much about what others wanted for me than what I wanted for myself.

And from that moment, our friendship was formed and solidified. Over the years, she proved herself a stout friend, time and again, and I have the feeling that I would have been truly lost without her.

But these maudlin reflections were none too soon interrupted by the arrival of Flora, who clucked over my misshapen dresses, and tsked over my hair even as she unpacked my sad-looking gowns from my traveling case.

“I really don’t want anything done with my hair tonight,” I told her as she hesitantly came at me with a brush. When she then seemed discouraged that she wasn’t going to have the dressing of a fine lady, as she had thought, I patted her on the shoulder and said, “Just wait until tomorrow evening, Flora. You’ll have the making of me, yet.”

So she fetched me warm water and helped me change out of my traveling dress into an equally ugly dinner gown. And as I left my room, I pushed my spectacles further up on my nose and smiled in eager expectation of the coming interview.

From what I knew, Ally had never told her sister any of my secrets. I was rather curious to find out how soon she would discover them.

But I shelved these thoughts abruptly, smoothing my expression as I entered the drawing room, where both Althea and the dowager countess and a third woman were waiting, drinking sherry. I was offered a glass and accepted it with grace.

“We shan’t have any escorts this evening,” Alceste said with a laugh, handing me the crystal, “but I really don’t feel that is such a horrible thing. I shall finally have my chance to lead the apes into the dining room, if not into hell.”

Althea shook her head with a sad smile. “What language, Ceste!”

“It’s nothing worse than you’ve heard before, Thea,” her sister replied. “Roger always declared that had he but known that his wife was a fishwife, he would have gone to the wharves to have met me sooner.” She laughed merrily, then turned to where I had taken a seat and said, “I do beg your pardon, again, Miss Bennet. I really do not mean to neglect my duties as hostess, but sometimes I am simply that rude. You have to learn to forgive my transgressions, or I fear I shall always be offending you.”

She turned towards the older woman who was seated on the sofa to my right and said, “This, Miss Bennet, is my companion, Mrs. Margaret Townsend, widow of the late Arthur Townsend of Maple Grove and a very dear friend of mine. Maggie, meet....you know, do you mind if I call you Mary?” she asked me. “You may call me Alceste, of course. Or anything else that comes to mind.”

I could not refuse, naturally. Despite the fact that we had never met, I felt as though I had known her my whole life, so many times had Ally talked of her. I had been calling her Ceste in my head since I was twenty. “That would be very agreeable, Alceste.”

“So now that everyone is on intimate terms,” Alceste continued, “we can discuss our spectacularly royal Prince and how big--“

But I never discovered exactly what big thing she was going to suggest for a discussion, for at that very moment Barton entered and announced dinner, and we proceeded to the dining room with due haste, Althea and I for the fact that we had not eaten since much earlier on the road, and Alceste and Maggie for the fact that they had to keep up with us.

After the first course was brought out and all the servants save two footmen retired, Althea began the conversation, commenting, “You know, Barton still looks as he did forty years ago. Except for the white hair, of course; I’m fairly sure he did not have that when he was upper footman. But I simply can’t understand how he kept his youthful good looks.”

Alceste looked thoughtful as she sipped her soup. “I think he eats children for breakfast. Good for the liver, I’ve heard. But I recall that you once had a fancy for him, Thea. When was that? Our fifteenth year?”

“I did not have a fancy for him,” Althea said primly. “If you will but recall, that was you. I fancied George.”

“Ah, yes! The groom!” Alceste laughed. “The reason you became such a good horsewoman.”

Maggie shook her head and smiled. “The two of you were hellions back then.”

“And you weren’t?” countered Althea. “If I remember rightly, your father had to scold you every time you came home covered in mud.”

“That you pushed me into. And besides, vicars always have to be proper like that. Their flock expects it of them. What you never saw was that he treated me to biscuits and tea as soon as you were gone, consoling me for having such bullies for friends.”

They continued to reminisce fondly of the days of their youth, and I sat quietly, soaking in the convivial atmosphere. It sounded absolutely wonderful the way they told it, and I envied them the friendship they shared. Sometimes Life was simply not fair.

After the sweet course, Alceste rose, and we all rose with her and returned to the drawing room, where Maggie immediately went to the pianoforte and, sitting down and opening a piece of music, began playing softly. Alceste sat in the chair she had occupied earlier and indicated the opposite sofa for me to sit. I did as she bade, and Althea sat in the chair to my left.

“So, Mary Bennet,” Alceste began, smiling brightly, “I hear from my sister that you are here to get a bit of town bronze before heading out into the country to become lost in the realms of obscurity.”

“I suppose that is one way to say it,” I said. “We shall be going to Landrey Manor, in Berkshire.”

Alceste nodded. “Thea tells me that you own it. But really, if you will pardon my saying so, you don’t look the part of a wealthy landowner.”

I smiled. “That is very true.”

She glanced at her sister, but as that party had picked up a book lying on the table beside her and was leafing idly through it, she returned her gaze to me. “Perhaps you would like to tell me how this owning of an estate came to be?”

“There isn’t really much of a story,” I said. “I had never intended, in the beginning, to own an estate. I thought merely to make a bit of money that would help support me once I gained my majority. A modest income that might let me take a cottage somewhere, perhaps.”

“Like my sister.”

I nodded. “Very like. I even thought that perhaps she would accompany me.” I paused. “My father is not extremely well off, and I did not expect much to come from him at the time of his death, which, God willing, will not happen in the near future. Therefore, I undertook to earn a bit of money for myself in the publishing of a book. Althea helped me by arranging to have it sent to a publisher through her solicitor, Mr. Goodwell. The thing was rather easily done, at no expense to me.

“The book, published under a pseudonym, did extremely well--better than any of us had thought. I earned what I thought was near a fortune, though Althea disparaged it at the time as a mere pittance. So, through her solicitor again, I arranged to have some of that money put into Consuls.”

I stopped my narrative as Mrs. Hoskins entered, directing the tea tray. When once we each had been served, and Maggie was again sitting by us, sipping her bohea, I resumed: “The next part was a bit of luck, really. I can’t even begin to explain the chance involved. It was right about the time of Waterloo--though of course I didn’t know it at the time--that I gave instructions to Goodwell to buy consul at any price. I told him that I would be willing to take any losses, so long as they did not exceed the rest of my income.

“He went to purchase consul on what was probably the most fortuitous day possible. He purchased at a ridiculously low price--everyone had been selling quickly, due to the rumor that Wellington had lost to Napoleon and that Rothschild was selling out. And just as Goodwell was going to sell again, worried about how he would have to tell me that I lost nearly everything, news spread that we had won the war, and the price of consuls shot through the roof. I had multiplied more than twenty times my original capital. I was suddenly a very wealthy woman.”

Alceste and Maggie were astounded, much as I had expected them to be. After all, truth was often stranger than fiction. “That is incredible,” Alceste said, setting down her cup and saucer. “You must have the most extraordinary good fortune.”

“At the time,” I qualified, “it appeared so. But I felt that it was only Providence’s way of making up for the many times it abandoned me in my youth.”

”Even so,” said Maggie, “your story is astonishing.”

“Perhaps,” I said, taking another sip of my tea. “But that is not quite the end. I then proceeded to take some of the money I had earned and put it into a shipping venture I learned about. That, too, multiplied my income. And with the printing of my second book, I found that I had more money than I knew what to do with. I put some of it into trust funds for my nephews and nieces about which they shall learn upon their majority, or my death, whichever comes first. And at the beginning of this year, I decided to put some of the rest of my money into land.

“I set Goodwell to looking for a suitable property, and a short while ago--not more than a month--Landrey Manor fairly landed into my lap. Apparently, the previous owner had been forced to sell it due to gambling debts, or some such nonsense. Goodwell looked at the estate for me, told me it was in prime condition, and made an offer upon my direction. It was speedily accepted, and now I own it.”

Althea nodded. “We shall be moving out there once we are finished with the Season.”

“And until then you shall be staying with us, attending festivities?” Alceste asked.

I nodded. “I need to purchase a suitable wardrobe first, of course.”

“That is easily done. I know of the perfect modiste,” Alceste murmured, giving me a thorough scrutiny. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully after a moment, and she asked, “You sewed that dress yourself?”

“I did,” I responded.

She continued to inspect me, and her gaze traveled up to my face, then stopped. I glanced to my left, at Althea, but she merely shook her head, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Suddenly, Alceste’s lips twitched into a half-smile. “May I see your spectacles?”

I tried my best to contain my grin as I took off the offending article and handed them to her. She held them up and looked through them, letting out a bark of laughter before handing them over to Maggie, who was looking thoroughly confused. “And I suppose your hair is not nearly so thick and ratty as that? Nor do you have spots?”

I dipped my handkerchief in my tea and wiped away one of the smudges of paint on my chin. “May I ask what gave me away?” I asked.

She nodded. “When you turned your head just now, I saw that the lenses on your glasses were not reflecting the candle light behind you as they would had they been real. After that realization, I took a closer look at the rest of your more negative attributes. Very clever; I’m just surprised that no one noticed these things before now.”

“No one has looked at me for as long as you have,” I said. “And think of it this way--would you have noticed if you had not been scrutinizing me as you were?”

“I suppose not,” she admitted. “But why go through this charade at all?”

I sighed. “I guess it started as a sort of self-defense. My sisters were very beautiful, you see; they still are. And talented: Jane was a wonderful artist, painting beautiful watercolors; Elizabeth was talented at singing and playing the pianoforte, and was so incredibly witty; Kitty was very good at needlepoint, and made some of the most gorgeously embroidered handkerchiefs and samplers; even Lydia, who often was said to have many faults, had style--an incredible way with her dress, her hair, and those other little facets of her appearance that made her so captivating to the other sex.

“I was always the one who never quite made their standard,” I said. “I couldn’t paint or sketch; anything I drew looked the same as my last effort, no matter if I had changed subjects from a horse to a house. My skill at the pianoforte was mediocre, at best, and I sang like a drunken cat. My samplers looked as though they had been attacked haphazardly with thread by a pair of apes. And I had never had anything resembling flair, no matter how much help my sisters or our maid offered me. After a while, I realized that no one expected any better of me. In fact, they almost demanded it.”

“So you lived up--or down, as it were--to their expectations,” said Maggie.

I nodded, setting down my empty teacup on the tray. “I found that it was easier to be the person who could be looked upon to set a low standard, to make everyone else look better. Oh! I am not trying to say that they did this intentionally,” I said, reading the expressions on Alceste’s and Maggie’s faces. “No one ever realizes these things. And besides, it wasn’t so bad, from my point of view. Sure, occasionally I was made to look rather foolish by my poor performance on the pianoforte, or by my mismatched dress. I accepted these moments with grace, and continued on as before.”

Alceste half-smiled. “Quite the martyr.”

“I think it’s a personality trait,” I said. “And in some ways, I almost enjoyed it. One of my true talents has always been reading--I have an excellent memory, and can remember the most trivial things. So I employed that talent by reading as many religious and philosophical tracts on which I could get my hands, and then pulling out my knowledge at the most opportune times. After a while, I began to really enjoy myself.”

Althea nodded, taking over the narrative: “And eventually, all of this knowledge came in handy. Around her nineteenth birthday, Mary came to me and asked me what I thought about putting together a book on social behavior.”

“Social behavior?” Alceste repeated, her eyes beginning to twinkle.

“Yes,” I said. “A lady’s guide to proper comportment.”

Maggie gasped. “No! That was you?”

I nodded in pride. “Believe it or not, I am Miss Imelda Hutchinson. And trust me, there shall be moments when you shall be hard pressed to believe it. I am occasionally quite free with my manners when not in polite company, as Althea will attest. However, on a different note, I have made great strides in my knowledge of fashion. When my publisher contacted Goodwell, suggesting that a follow-up to my first book would be an interesting development, I was forced to do a lot of research for ‘The Well-Dressed Woman.’ Quite enlightening.

“But really, I’ve made great strides in most of the areas in which I was so deficient six, seven years ago. With so much time to myself, I practiced the pianoforte, my singing, and my artistry so often that I became quite proficient. Althea helped me, as well, to learn French and Italian, and together we struggled through Spanish and German. Although,” I said with a self-deprecatory grin, “I must admit I still can’t sew a straight stitch, so that is one thing that hasn’t changed.”

“Which shall not be a problem,” Alceste said decisively, “as you shall be making no more of your own clothes. We shall visit Madame LeClere tomorrow, and make you up a magnificent wardrobe. We shall soon be parading you about until someone falls madly in love with you.”

“Oh, no!” I said quickly. “No, that’s not how I wanted it to be.”

Maggie was confused. “But why not? Isn’t that what you came to Town for?”

I shook my head. “If I had wished for a come-out I could have made my bows a few years ago. But I did not wish for one. I was plain, non-talented, and poor. Who would have married me? I would have stood next to the wall and planted roots.

“No, I came to London to have a good time. I have never been here before, and wanted to kick up my heels a bit before I settled myself for good in the country. Yes, I shall obtain a new wardrobe, and yes, we shall go to as many entertainments as we can possibly, but I will not set myself up to look like a fool of an old maid, desperately seeking something she was not meant to have.”

Alceste nodded. “Then you will not. Instead of insipid pastels, you shall be a woman of mature years, and dress in jewel tones, as anyone with your coloring were meant. You shall wear a lace cap, but the most flimsy, most fashionable cap that ever graced a woman’s hair, or leave it off entirely! You shall be grace personified, and the men will all fall at your feet and follow you around like puppies on leashes, and you can scorn them all!” She laughed. “Oh, this will be so much fun. I always wanted to play the siren, but at least now I can watch.”

We all joined in her mirth, and I felt the tension I had felt since the beginning of this interview ebb away. Everything was going as it should, and the darkest cloud I could see on the horizon was merely the fog rolling into London. Ah, if only I had known.

Chapter 4

Posted on Friday, 23 January 2004

“Mary? Why, Mary Bennet!”

Althea and I had just come from my appointment with Madame LeClere, where we had purchased more gowns and other trappings than I had owned in my life. We were on our way to the draper’s to select material and then to other shops to purchase gloves, hats, slippers, and all of the other trimmings, when the cry came from behind me, freezing me to the very marrow.

It didn’t matter in the least that I was dressed, as usual, in an ill-fitting gown of insipid color and poor style (a fact that had surprised Madame LeClere incredibly, prompting her to offer some pre-made gowns to be delivered later that evening after slight alterations, taken from the wardrobe of a lady whose husband had failed to pay). The idea of someone recognizing me was frightening in and of itself, and I wondered if I was skilled enough in the art of diversion to avoid revealing any of my plans when a portion of them--though a small portion--were not ten feet from me, hidden in the boxes held in the hands of a footman wearing blue-and-gold striped livery. And then I shook myself mentally, remembering that I had been doing this for the past seven years with nary a problem.

I turned slowly, and found myself facing a tall, willowy goddess in a pastel pink creation. A frothy white parasol dangled from one hand; the other clutched a beaded reticule. A broad-brimmed chip bonnet with pink ribbons graced her blonde curls. She smiled at me, a warm light entering her deep blue eyes, and said: “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, Mary.”

I felt that a few more years wouldn’t have hurt, but decided not to mention it. “Yes, it has. How are you, Georgiana?”

“I am doing very well, Mary. And you?”

“Very well. Are you in town for the Season?”

“I had planned upon it, of course,” she replied, “but there was a slight change in plans due to a recent...discovery.” She put one hand to her stomach, a blush suffusing her cheeks.

It took me only a moment’s reflection to realize what she was saying. “Oh, how wonderful for you, Georgiana. I am sure your husband is delighted.”

She laughed nervously. “Oh, yes, but Matthew absolutely insists that I return to the country. He believes that the London air would be harmful to me and to the child. So he is sending me back and will follow us in a few weeks, when he completes his business.”

“And have you told your brother?” I asked.

“I haven’t had the chance yet, I’m afraid.”

“Are they not in town, then?

“They are in town for the Season, but I have not seen them in the past week, except during morning calls, but it is impossible to speak privately there.” Georgiana paused and glanced down at her parasol, then back at me, her brow crinkling slightly. “But this is a surprise to see you! I think your sisters will be very astonished to hear that you are in London, at least. Neither Elizabeth nor Jane had mentioned that they were expecting you, last time we met. Are you staying with the Gardiners?”

This was becoming a bit awkward. “Jane and Elizabeth are not expecting me, because I had not written them. Neither does Kitty know. I...I had been planning on calling if I discovered they were in town.” I leaned towards her slightly, lowering my voice confidentially. “I had thought to make a surprise of it. I don’t think my sisters ever would have imagined I would come to London on my own power.”

“I suppose not,” she said, biting her lip charmingly. “If you really don’t want me to say anything to them...”

I nodded briskly, straightening. “I think it might be best. After all, a secret is a thing of exquisite beauty when kept in silence. A woman of good virtue and inner strength must have the fortitude to withstand the urge to gossip.”

Georgiana’s brow furrowed in thought, and she opened her lips to say something, but was forestalled, for at that moment Althea reappeared in the shop door. “Oh, there you are, Mary! I wondered where you had gotten off to--oh!” She broke off as she noticed my companion. “I’m sorry; I hadn’t realized you were speaking with someone...” She shot me an expectant look. I responded promptly.

“Althea, this is Georgiana Ferricks, Countess of Doncaster and Elizabeth’s sister-in-law. Georgiana, this is my particular friend Althea Mulvaney, with whom I’m staying in London.”

Althea’s eyes flickered to my face briefly before she held out her hand to Georgiana. “It is very nice to meet you, Lady Doncaster. I, of course, recall your husband’s father. I can only imagine his son would be just like him.”

“The late viscount was a wonderful gentleman,” Georgiana concurred, before turning to me with a surprised expression. “Then you are not staying with your aunt and uncle?”

“I am to blame for that,” Althea said gallantly. “I invited Mary to come to London with me, to stay with my sister, the dowager Lady Woodbridge, for the Season. Or ought I to say I coerced her? It wasn’t easy, I must admit.”

Georgiana giggled at that. “I can well believe it. When I had my come-out a few years ago, Elizabeth tried so hard to convince Mary to be brought out with me. It seemed, though, that nothing would be able to budge her from Longbourn.” She blushed at being so outspoken.

“It took four horses and a liberal application of the whip,” Althea said promptly, a reply which sent the two of them into rapturous laughter, of which I naturally did not share. There’s just so much self-deprecation I can take.

“It was wonderful seeing you again, Georgiana,” I said when it seemed as if they were returning to relatively the same orbit as me, much less the same planet, “but Ally and I really must be going. We have so much shopping to finish today. And time is not something one should waste.”

She nodded. “I understand completely. I, too, have been out collecting more useless parasols and bonnets and gloves this morning,” she said, gesturing towards the footman behind her, laden with boxes and bags of various sizes. “But I should like to call on you before you leave London--or would it be more convenient for you to call on me?”

I glanced at Althea. “Perhaps the latter. When are your at-home days?”

“Oh! Tomorrow is my next, but it may be easier if you come at another time, so that we may actually speak to each other. Perhaps on Tuesday? I shall be leaving on Thursday next, so we must meet sometime before then. ”

“Then next Tuesday it shall be,” I said. “It was very pleasant seeing you, Georgiana.”

She smiled. “As it was seeing you. And I am very pleased to have made your acquaintance, Miss Mulvaney.”

“Yours, as well,” Althea murmured.

Georgiana ducked her head shyly and with another smile in my direction, moved off down the sidewalk. I gazed after her a moment, watching the footman and maid glide along in her rather inconsiderable wake, then turned to find Althea looking at me shrewdly.

“I can see why you opted not to have your come-out here in London,” she said. “That was five years ago, wasn’t it?”

I pursed my lips and nodded. “She’s only become more beautiful since then. Perfect manners, perfect face, tall and graceful--everything that I’m not. Well, some of which I am, but wasn’t before. Or pretended not to be... ” I broke off speaking when I saw Althea’s raised brow.

“Not that it really matters anymore!” I cried in some exasperation. “Besides, haven’t we anything better to do than stand here on the sidewalk, discussing such weighty topics as these, blocking these poor pedestrians from getting where they must?”

“Of course,” she replied gently. “Why don’t we go find those gloves you need.”

I ought to have felt satisfaction at her capitulation, but I didn’t. I knew what was going on her mind, the way she was trying to figure things out, the way she was analyzing me. I could countenance that sort of behavior when it was directed at anyone else, but when I was the object, it irked me considerably.

“Just because I’ve changed, Ally,” I said to her later, once we had reached the privacy of our carriage, “doesn’t mean that I have forgotten how I used to be. I wasn’t always a fraud. And being a fraud doesn’t mean that some elemental part of myself was not threaded through those lies. Smoke is not a product of thin air.”

“I know that,” she said. “And I recognize how much your role hurt you.”

I felt myself perilously close to tears, a weakness I couldn’t stand. I hadn’t cried since I was eighteen, on the evening after the Netherfield ball. And even then, it was only in the solitude of my room. I never cried before anyone who might pity me.

Not that Ally would. Pity me, that is. She was much too sensible for that sort of thing. It was more likely that she’d pat me on the back, say a few words of commiseration, then begin to talk nonsense about whatever came to mind--anything to get a smile out of me.

And that’s the way I preferred it. But at the moment, it wasn’t what I was looking for. I was looking for vindication.

“It would have only hurt me more had I accepted my sister’s invitation all those years ago. I could not have been comfortable, being who I was, and being compared all of the time, by so many people, to such perfection. It was my choice not to come to London five years ago. And I made the right choice...didn’t I?”

Althea sighed. “Really, Mary. Do you think I can answer that? I know you need reassurance, but I can’t give it to you. What’s done is done. But I do have to say, had you come out five years ago, you would have been the poor relation, just up from the country. Now...” she paused, and with a dramatic movement, pulled from the box on her lap an elegant black beaver with a jaunty green feather tucked in the black satin band, matching the riding habit I had just ordered. “Now you are a woman of means, a woman of mystery.”

I smiled, back on solid ground. “Which is just what I want to be.”

“But,” said Althea, her grin fading, “I see now that we will probably have to do something about your sisters, if we are going to have any chance of pulling this off. It just would not do for Jane, Elizabeth or Kitty, or any of their assorted husbands to suddenly come across you at a ball and make a scene.”

“You are too right,” I said, disheartened. I hadn’t thought of this complication earlier, when we had been planning the escapade. And now, I was worried that we hadn’t planned enough.

But suddenly, a thought occurred to me. Of course, I’d have to discover if it were even possible, but it was such a brilliant plan that I felt for sure that it would work.

“What about a spy?” I asked, excitement threading my voice. “Someone in the household who would be able to discover what invitations were accepted, so that we don’t attend the same parties.”

Althea thought for a moment, then nodded. “It just might work. I could have Barton send ‘round a footman, when we return to the house, to talk up one of the housemaids at each of your sisters’ houses, and find out if there are any positions open.”

“But what position would be best? I’m fairly sure that a scullery maid wouldn’t have a chance in the world of discovering the kind of information we need.”

“We’ll come to that problem later, and only if we need to,” Althea said as the carriage pulled up to the townhouse and the footman opened the door. “In the meantime, let us show Alceste all of the wonderful things on which we’ve spent the money from your bottomless coffers.”

Alceste and Maggie were quite thrilled with the few purchases I had brought home--though they were in no way my complete wardrobe, which would not be finished for at least a week, despite the copious amounts of grease applied to our transaction--but no one was more ecstatic than Flora, who gasped and cheered over each article she hung with loving care.

Two days passed in which I further prepared for my coming presentation to society. There were countless details to be taken care of, and I was kept hidden from the people who called, not wanting to ruin the surprise. Naturally there was curiosity, of course, for Alceste had given some hints that she had a young houseguest staying with her, but who I was or where I came from or any other details about me were kept quiet. Which, of course, only whetted their appetites.

And then Thursday came. When it was time to dress for the ball that evening, my first ball in London, held by the Marquess and Marchioness of Symington, friends of Alceste, Flora held reign in my dressing room as she primped and prepared me for my coming trial.

I had taken a bath earlier, and still felt the relaxation I had gained from the warmth of the water, scented by lavender oil. I sat calmly at my dressing table as Flora hovered around me, artistically twining my hair this way and that and altogether making me presentable. And after she had helped me into my gown and done up the buttons in back, I was finally given a view of the final product in the full-length looking glass--a luxury I had never expected to have--that stood in one corner of the dressing room.

It took me a moment to recover from the first shock of seeing the woman looking back at me from the plane of the mirror, and even then I doubted my eyes. The reflected woman was tall-looking, her height enhanced by the high waist of the gown of emerald green, the skirt fallen back to reveal the satin under slip of shimmery changeable black. A ribbon tied under the bodice, matching the jet black ribbon and lace at the hem and sleeves. The gown was cut surprisingly low, revealing quite a bit more décolletage than I was accustomed to seeing, and left her shoulders bare. The sleeves were puffed and fell gently over her upper arms, and emerald-colored satin gloves covered the rest of her skin from elbow to fingertips. A single glossy curl fell over one shoulder from the elaborate coiffure Flora had arranged, curled and dotted with small emerald pins that winked in the candlelight, and its sable darkness set off the pearly whiteness of her skin. Finally, around her neck hung a beautifully wrought emerald necklace that was decidedly costly looking without being garish, an accessory Althea had said a lady could not do without.

She was beautiful, from her creamy skin and the bright flush that warmed her cheeks to the way she held her shoulders and head. She was sensual, exotic, fascinating, and beautiful. Utterly beautiful.

No, this woman was not me, I thought, meeting the eyes turned green in the mirror. I could not remember ever looking like that. But oh, how I wished to be her.

Reluctantly turning away from the vision, I put on the green embroidered dancing slippers Flora handed me and picked up my green silk fan, woven Kashmir shawl, and beaded reticule. I took one last look in the mirror, marveling at the stranger there, and then hurried out into the hall.

Chapter 5

I had nearly reached the bottom of the stairs before they noticed my approach, and immediately the gentleman came over to hand me down the last few steps. When he held my hand a bit longer than necessary, a twinkle in his steely grey eyes, I looked in confusion at Alceste, who stepped forward with a laugh and said, “That is quite enough of that, David. Pay no attention to him,” she said to me. “He’s a harmless old man.”

“Harmless?” the gentleman repeated with a captivatingly boyish grin. “No one has ever called me harmless before, Ceste. I’m charmed.”

She shook her head with a smile. “You are incorrigible. David, this is Althea’s neighbor, Miss Mary Bennet. Mary, this is David Trenton, the Marquess of Farrington.”

A marquess! Wonderful, I thought, curtsying deeply. Just what I needed to make me even more nervous than I already was.

But he chuckled and held out his hand to help me rise, saying, “There’s no need for that. Any friend of the Mulvaneys is a friend of mine. Tell me, are you related to the Staffordshire Bennets?”

“Not that I am aware, Lord Farrington,” I replied.

“I am pleased to hear it,” he said with a smile. “A greater parcel of dimwits I never saw.”

He paused and turned towards Alceste, who was being helped into her wrap by Barton. Lord Farrington quickly excused himself from me to take over that office, though not for Althea, who avoided his help by quickly taking her wrap from the butler herself. And once we were all bundled warmly (though fashionably) against the chill of the early springtime night air, we proceeded out to the waiting carriages.

Alceste and Maggie were handed into the first carriage, and Althea and I were left to the second. After I had been handed in, the marquess entered behind me and sat across from us, in the seat facing backwards. He grinned charmingly at me and then turned his twinkling eyes toward my companion, who said, reprovingly, “You were meant to accompany my sister.”

“I know,” he said as the carriage was set in motion. “But how could I have passed up the opportunity to renew my acquaintance with you? We hardly had a chance to speak inside the house.”

When Althea only pursed her lips tightly in response, I took the opportunity to ask, “So you and Althea have known each other before?”

Lord Farrington quirked a brow at Althea, who turned her face towards the window. The silence grew until finally he said to me, “Yes. Althea and I...we have known each other. Very well.”

“When she was in London all those years ago?”

He nodded. “It’s been nearly thirty years. Twenty-eight, if I remember correctly. It’s been a very long time.”

“Not quite long enough, David,” Althea said quietly but firmly as she gazed out the window at the passing houses.

This caused a frown to form momentarily between the brows of the man opposite me, but his expression cleared instantly as he turned to me and said, “Why don’t you tell me about yourself. You are something of a mystery; Alceste refused to tell me anything when she invited me the other evening to escort you.”

I saw from the corner of my eye Althea’s hand clench into a fist on her lap, but decided to ignore the problem until I could speak with her later. “Alceste really didn’t know anything about me before I arrived,” I demurred.

“I see...” he said. “And you shall leave me not knowing anything, either?”

I hesitated. Really, I wasn’t sure how much I should be telling people; I wouldn’t wish to have my sisters hear about me through acquaintances. It was inevitable, really, that it would come out, but I wanted to delay that dénouement. After all, it wasn’t as if we were traveling in the same circles.

“My name is Mary Bennet,” I said.

“I know that,” he said with a slight tilting of his lips. “What of your family--your parents? Do you have any siblings?”

I nodded. “I do have siblings. Four sisters, to be exact. My father owns an estate in Hertfordshire.”

He waited for more, but when I did not offer any, he sighed and asked, “Are your sisters still at home, or have any of them married?”

“All of them are married, my lord,” I said.

“Well,” he said after the pregnant silence following my pronouncement, a wry grin creasing his lips, “it is apparent that you have no wish to tell me anything. So I suppose it is best that we are arriving at our destination, or the lack of conversation would have gotten quite wearisome.”

The carriage, indeed, was just now stopping in front of a large house with lights blazing from every window, the strains of music filtering out into the street. Several people were entering the front doors, where footmen stood at the ready.

I followed Althea out of the carriage, handed down by Lord Farrington, and we joined Maggie and Alceste, who had just exited their carriage, as well. “Well, Mary?” Alceste asked me with a smile. “Are you ready for your first London ball?”

“First London ball?” Lord Farrington said, looking at me in surprise. “Is it really?”

“It is,” I said. “My first visit to London, as well.”

“Then we shall make it memorable,” he replied, offering one arm to me and the other to Alceste. We proceeded up the stairs, followed by Althea and Maggie, and entered the house where we were relieved of our wraps.

As we were then waiting to join the receiving line in front of us, a gentleman approached us, saying, “Alceste! I was under the impression that you were not going to be attending tonight.”

Alceste smiled and said in response, “It was merely a figment of your imagination, Michael. I never gave you any cause to believe I would not come.”

“But you did not send me a note, requesting my escort...oh. Good evening, Farrington,” he said coolly, noticing that gentleman standing behind us and giving him a slight bow of the head.

“The same, Thornfield,” replied Lord Farrington with equal tone and gesture.

The two continued to size each other up until Alceste interrupted, saying, “You recall my sister, Althea, do you not, Michael?”

“I do,” he replied, raising that lady’s hand to his lips in a rather practiced gesture. “It is a pleasure, Miss Mulvaney. I presume that it is, indeed, still Miss Mulvaney?”

“It is,” she said with a disarming smile, the first I had seen on her tonight. “I haven’t yet decided to hunt myself a husband.”

“I am only surprised they have not been hunting you,” he said smoothly.

Alceste here gestured to Maggie and said, “And you know Mrs. Townsend.”

He nodded, bowing over her hand before turning to me for an introduction. “This is Miss Mary Bennet. She is here with my sister for the Season. Mary, this is Michael Winslow, Marquess of Thornfield.”

I made my obeisance and he took my outstretched hand in his, raising it to his lips, a gesture which caused me to raise a brow at his familiarity. “I am enchanted, Miss Bennet,” he said. “Will you be staying the whole Season?”

“Such is our plan,” I replied.

He smiled and requested that I save him a dance, then included everyone in his description of an amusing event that had occurred in Hyde Park that afternoon that had all of us ladies laughing. Fairly soon we were at the front of the line, and we gave our respects to the host and hostess. Lord and Lady Symington were everything that was charming, but I could see that they, too, were curious about this newcomer to their midst.

Althea brushed aside their questions by saying that I was a neighbor from Hertfordshire, and that we were staying for the Season before retiring to my estate in the country. The countess’s eyes lit at that, and as I came to make my curtsy, her gaze went straight to the jewels around my throat. “I am sorry,” she said, with what appeared to be true regret in her eyes, “that my son is not here to greet you. But when he arrives I shall be sure to introduce you.”

I smiled and murmured something proper, and we moved on. At the doorway to the ballroom, we paused to give the majordomo our names, and as we waited for him to announce us, Althea said to me quietly, “You can relax now; you did very well.”

I felt the tension ebb out of my body at her words, and I nodded. “I was rather nervous, I suppose.”

And that was the honest truth. It’s true that I had been to many balls to that point, but never was I in such exalted company. As well, I had never been the object of any attention. I had always before been able to slip through the door and into some corner where no one would notice me but the few gentlemen from the neighborhood who had felt it was their duty to dance with everyone, including the poor wallflower.

Over the years, I had grown inured to such treatment, and now that my status had changed, I was a bit at sea, no matter how I prided myself on being able to cope with any and every situation with ease. I felt almost naked, knowing that my usual defenses had been deprived of me. I suppose I simply had to create new ones...

A sudden silence followed by an excited murmur running through the assemblage below us distracted me, and I realized that we had just been announced. Lord Farrington offered us his arm and I took it gratefully, though Althea subtly refused, and we proceeded down the stairs. The crowd parted for us as we made our way across the room, following Alceste, Lord Thornfield, and Maggie.

It wasn’t long before I noticed the looks directed both at me and at my two companions. I knew that those for me were of curiosity; I was an unknown quantity. But I was unsure of the others, and they only made me more eager to find out from Althea what had happened between her and Lord Farrington to have inspired such looks of surprise on these people’s faces.

At last we reached the side of the ballroom, where we collected ourselves. “What a gauntlet,” said Alceste. “But I suppose it must be done.”

Lord Thornfield laughed. “You know that you adore the attention, Ceste. I can’t even imagine how you would react if they all ignored you.”

She patted her hair consciously. “As if that would ever happen.”

“I’m sure it would not,” he responded gallantly. “And since I am one of your adoring number and could not ignore you if I wished, I must beg of you now a dance.”

She granted him one, as did Althea, but Maggie refused, saying that she was not here for the dancing. He then turned to me and filled in his name beside the promised dance on my card before excusing himself to speak with someone he had seen.

He had barely moved off into the crowd before a gentleman approached, seeking from Alceste an introduction to my humble self. I granted him a dance, then turned to be introduced to yet another gentleman. In but a few moments, I was surrounded by gentlemen all vying for my attention. All of the usual dances on my card filled shortly, and when the music started, I was led out by my first partner.

After all of the years of watching my sisters and neighbors perform these steps and practicing them in the solitude of my room, I was quite adept at the art and acquitted myself ably. I smiled and was charming to my partner, and when the dance was ended and my partner returned me to where Maggie and Althea were standing, I found more gentlemen waiting to be introduced and to request dances, which I unfortunately had to refuse.

The night passed quickly, and I barely had a moment to myself. It felt so strange, being on this side of the room, on the dance floor, and I found myself feeling so incredibly guilty, especially as I looked at the young ladies among whom I used to number, who stood at the edge of the ballroom, waiting for dances that would never come.

I felt my heart breaking as I caught glimpses of their wistful expressions, and knew that I was looking at the new generation of spinster aunts and cousins, forsaken by the world for their inability to be born stunningly beautiful, wealthy, and well-connected...or at least two out of the three.

I was still mulling upon this thought as I and my partner, a young gentleman (he didn’t seem much more than twenty) named Fredrick Godfrey, younger son of the Earl of Chesney, circumnavigated the room. I had been weary of dancing for the moment, trying to keep up an unflagging enthusiasm with every partner, and had asked him if we could instead promenade. He agreed quite nicely, and so we made our way through the crowd surrounding the dance floor.

Just as we reached the terrace doors leading out into the gardens, an acquaintance of his approached and engaged him in conversation. As they talked of something or other that I did not quite catch, I moved towards the doors and looked out, breathing in the fresh, cool air, so refreshing after the stifling heat of the ballroom. It was a moment before I realized that there were two people quite close to me, just outside the door, in conversation. I began to move away, not intending to eavesdrop, when I heard something that arrested my attention.

“...Landrey Manor. Mother will be furious.”

I was surprised, to say the least, to hear someone discussing my new estate. After all, it wasn’t as if either Althea or I had mentioned the name to anyone. And I didn’t recognize the clear baritone voice at all. But another man’s response, delivered in a higher tenor, cleared up the reason for my estate’s place in their discussion:

“I still can’t believe you sold it to pay off debts. Couldn’t you get a loan? Or an advance on your allowance?”

“No,” replied the first man bitterly. “I had already been forwarded a bit to restore the fire damage at the stables at Balksley. And after my investments went south in November, everyone knows my pockets are to let. I couldn’t get a loan if my life depended upon it, except from maybe the cent-per-centers, and then my life really would have depended upon it.”

“Perhaps you ought to explain to your father--”

“Explain to my father?” echoed the baritone with a bark of laughter. “Oh, I can see how well that would go over. ‘I sold off the Berkshire estate you entrusted to my care--mother’s dowry, in fact--in order to cover a few piddling gambling debts.’”

“It wasn’t just to cover your debts of honor,” argued the tenor.

“No, but would that matter to him? Not a whit. He would also conveniently ignore the fact that this is the first time--and only time--I’ve gambled in the past three years. It’s not as if I don’t know how incredibly unlucky I am. But how could I be so churlish as to refuse to gamble even a bit at Reggie’s party?”

“So what will you do?”

“I don’t know,” said the baritone. “The problem isn’t money right now; I just received word from my man of affairs, telling me that my recent investments have paid off, so I would have enough, possibly to repurchase the manor. The problem is that I’m a month too late--I tried contacting the solicitor with whom mine had dealt, hoping that perhaps the new owner might be amenable to selling it back, but he refused. So I asked him the name of the man who bought it, thinking that perhaps I could go to him and explain the situation, but the solicitor--a man by the name of Goodwell--refused again. I’ve been roundly trounced and flogged, Max. Flogged by my own incompetence.” He cursed soundly, and I grinned at his rather versatile use of the words.

It had been a while since I’d had the chance to hear such inventive language. I used to listen to the stable boys at Longbourn have their way with some of the most interesting words I’d heard in ages. It had been rather fun, sitting up in the loft so that they were unaware of my presence, and writing down all of the fascinating phrases that turned up. Not that I had ever used them, of course. But it was nice to know them should I ever wish it.

Suddenly, I saw movement in front of me, snapping out of my reverie, and I looked up to see a gentleman standing in the doorway, coming from the terrace. He was of middling height--only a few inches taller than me--but well-built, lean yet still muscular. He wore fashionably tailored clothes that fit him to perfection, fawn-colored breeches below a black jacket and silver waistcoat, and his pure white cravat was tied in what I’ve heard referred to as the Ballroom knot, a diamond stickpin winking amidst its folds.

From his clothes my gaze traveled to his face, taking in the strong, lean jaw and lips curved in a slightly sardonic smile. Reading this last feature’s expression, my eyes flew to his, surprised by the vivid green color behind the spectacles but, even more, embarrassed by the realization that he had not only caught me eavesdropping on his conversation--for I had no doubt that he was one of the two gentlemen on the terrace--but now he had caught me surveying him like a horse at auction.

As if in retaliation, his eyes left mine to travel down to my slippers and back up, studying what seemed like every inch of me. I knew that my face was flaming by the time his gaze caught mine again, amused and unrepentant, and I opened my mouth to say something withering in response to this blatant rudeness but was forestalled by Freddy Godfrey’s voice behind me: “Miss Bennet! I do apologize. I did not intend to leave you like that.”

The man in front of me whipped off the spectacles and tucked them into a pocket, then straightened his waistcoat. With a few more steps, Mr. Godfrey came to stand beside me and saw the man in the doorway. “Oh! Hullo, Trelawny. Didn’t see you there. Have you been here long?”

“Not long at all,” that gentleman replied in the thrilling baritone voice that convinced me of his identity in the discussion outside. “In fact, I have only just arrived. Haven’t even had a chance to greet my mother. Planned on sneaking in and pretending to be here all along.”

“Clever. But your mother’ll be glad to see you, anyway,” young Mr. Godfrey said. “She was looking for you just a little while ago, in fact.”

“Then I beg you will excuse me; I had best find her.” He bowed to me and went past us, disappearing into the crowd.

Mr. Godfrey held out his arm, apologizing again for abandoning me, and returned me to my companions, where I was quickly claimed by my next partner. But no matter how charming Mr. Elliott Hardaway was, I simply couldn’t keep my attention focused on his conversation. My mind kept straying to my rather embarrassing conduct with the unknown Mr. Trelawny, and I kicked myself--mentally, of course--over my idiocy.

I was still kicking myself a short while later as Mr. Hardaway led me back to where Maggie, and this time Alceste, were standing. Beside them stood not only our hostess, Lady Symington, but also the gentleman from the terrace, still sans spectacles. My steps slowed noticeably, and when the young man beside me glanced down, confused, I realized that I was behaving like a ninny. There wasn’t anything here to frighten me. Really.

“Oh, here she is, Lady Symington!” said Alceste brightly, holding out her hand to draw me beside her.

“Thank you, Mr. Hardaway,” I said to my dance partner who, after bowing, replying that the pleasure was his, and briefly paying his respects to those present, melted away into the crowd. I then turned to the others in our group expectantly.

Lady Symington looked at me with an indulgent smile. “I do hope that you are enjoying yourself, Miss Bennet.”

“Thoroughly, my lady,” I replied. “You were graciousness itself to have invited us.”

“Of course,” she said. “Now I would like to introduce you, Miss Bennet, to my son, Lord Peter Trelawny. Peter, this is Miss Mary Bennet. She has come to us from Hertfordshire, and at the end of the Season, if she is not taken by one of her many admirers, of course, she says she is to retire to her estate in...where was it you said your estate was, Miss Bennet?”

I hesitated, not liking the direction of this conversation. Of course I hadn’t said. No one had said. She was hoping to pry more information from me for who knew what reason--rather vulgar curiosity, possibly, or to discover my worth--but there was nothing I could do, really. “Berkshire, my lady,” I supplied rather reluctantly.

“Really?” she said. “In what part?”

“The western half,” I replied, hoping that my vagueness would give her the hint that I wished the subject dropped. My first inclination, of course, had been towards falsehood, but I knew that I could not supply those here. After all, I was making my first intrusion upon the ton, and so naturally I was under suspicion. Any hint of an untruth, and I would be out on my bottom quicker than I could say “bob’s your uncle.”

I couldn’t do that to Alceste and Althea, after they had been so nice to me.

But I needn’t have worried, because at the moment that Lady Symington opened her mouth to ask more, the musicians struck up the notes to the next set, and my partner arrived to take me away. I had barely placed my hand on Lord Bancroft’s arm when I noticed, from the corner of my eye, Lady Symington poke her son in the side with her fan, eliciting a faint groan from the abused gentleman.

“Miss Bennet,” Lord Peter said quickly, arresting my and my partner’s departure. “Miss Bennet, I was wondering if you had any more dances free.”

I smiled wryly, hearing the note of reluctance that still threaded his voice, and said, “No, I am sorry, Lord Peter, but I do not.” I paused, a sudden mischievous imp taking over. “Well, actually I do. A waltz. But as I have not been granted permission...”

“That is no impediment,” he said with a slight smile, reaching for the dance card dangling from my wrist and writing his name next to the waltz. “Until then, Miss Bennet.”

As Lord Bancroft and I went to take our places in the dance, I wondered exactly what he had meant by it being no impediment. Were we to promenade the room, then? I couldn’t imagine anything else.

Not that the thought was all that reassuring. He no doubt meant to take me to task for eavesdropping on his conversation, or perhaps for behaving so impolitely upon my first seeing him.

But I had no intention of taking such a tongue-lashing lying down. No, I never again had to keep my lips sealed and not say a word, allowing others to browbeat me, I thought, holding my head high as I passed through the line, meeting Lord Bancroft in the form. His startled eye met mine and he smiled in response to my expression.

“So you really are enjoying this ball, Miss Bennet?” he asked.

“Of course I am,” I replied. “I cannot recall when I last met so many fascinating people and had such a delightful time.” When he only smiled more widely, I said: “What? Oh, I beg your pardon; I forgot myself momentarily. In truth, Lord Bancroft,” I drawled, “I have seen this all so many times that it only fills me with an ennui so deep I can hardly feel my fingers for the numbing boredom that is stealing through my bones.” I finished it off with a haughty toss of my head.

He stifled a chuckle and said, “You could not have paid Lady Symington a greater compliment.”

I looked at him askance and replied, “On the contrary; I might have said that I could not move for the crush of people, or that the punch is agreeable, or that I find her decorative arts most interesting. I daresay she would have fallen at my feet in gratitude for my effusive accolades. Or at least nodded in acknowledgment of them,” I amended.

Lord Bancroft let out a bark of laughter that drew the eyes of the others in our set. “In addition to being a diamond of the first water, Miss Bennet, you are quite an Original,” he said as we met again. “I must say, your humor is quite refreshing. You are a fresh summer breeze through our stale company.”

“Why, thank you, Lord Bancroft. That is the most charming and inventive thing I have heard yet tonight.” I smiled at him warmly, and we continued through the dance.

By the time that the set was over, I felt that my spirits had once again lifted, and I was ready for the waltz, which was next on my card. Lord Bancroft delivered me back to Maggie and Alceste, and this time Lord Thornfield. The five of us chatted amiably for a few minutes until Lord Bancroft left, and I turned to Alceste in concerned curiosity. “Where is Althea?”

Alceste looked around then, an odd expression flitting across her face. “I’m not quite sure, Mary. I haven’t seen her since two or three sets ago, I think. She was with Lord Farrington.”

Lord Thornfield raised a brow. “You let the two of them go off together, Ceste? Isn’t that simply courting disaster? I mean, I was rather surprised when I discovered that he escorted you here, but...”

He broke off and looked up suddenly, his gaze coming to rest over my shoulder. “Well, good evening Trelawny. Sally.”

I turned to find Lord Peter and a distinguished-looking brunette of about Althea and Alceste’s age behind me, waiting. The woman looked highly amused by something, and a small smile played over Lord Peter’s lips, as well. “Good evening, Thornfield,” said the lady. “I hear I should congratulate you on your racing abilities.”

“Oh, Michael, you didn’t!” cried Alceste, turning to him with an expression of exasperation. “You promised me you wouldn’t.”

The man had the grace to look at least a bit abashed. “It was just a short distance, Alceste. No one got hurt.”

“That is not the point, and you know it,” she countered. “For heaven’s sake; you’re fifty-two years old. You ought to at least begin to act like it, instead of a green cub barely out of university.”

“It was only a bit of a lark,” he replied repressively.

Alceste gave a very unladylike snort, saying, “A bit of a lark!”

A discrete cough brought the argument on the moralities of curricle-racing to a close, with Lord Thornfield looking slightly annoyed and Alceste glaring angrily at him. Lord Peter coughed once more, then presented his smirking companion to each of us in turn, ending with me. “Miss Bennet, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to Lady Sally Jersey? She is one of the patronesses of Almack’s and a revered and incomparable member of our society. Sally, this is Miss Mary Bennet.”

“Why, Peter, this is the girl you asked me to approve for the waltz?” she tittered slightly, making me feel a bit on edge. “I hardly think she is coming out for her first Season, are you, my dear?”

I shook my head, feeling a little insulted by her insinuation that I was decrepit and leaning on a stick. “Not precisely, my lady. This is my first time in London, it is true. But I am merely taking in the Season as a bit of diversion before I’m off to the country again this summer, not for any more essential reason.”

“There now, you had nothing to worry about,” she said, tapping Lord Peter on the arm with her fan. She turned again to me with a smile. “But I do find your modesty in refusing him the dance quite becoming in a lady your age. One must never be too circumspect in protecting one’s reputation. Just the sort of advice Miss Imelda Hutchinson would give. I assume you’ve read Miss Hutchinson’s book?” she asked, raising a brow.

I heard Maggie turn a bark of surprised laughter into a cough, and tried my best to keep my expression serene. “I have read her, indeed. I am most fond of her second book, as well.”

“Oh, yes!” said Lady Jersey. “I found What the Well-Dressed Woman Should Know delightful, also.” She paused as the musicians struck up the first notes of the waltz. “But perhaps we might speak of this at length some other time; I would not wish to prevent you and our dear Peter here from enjoying your first waltz. I shall call on you. You are staying with Lady Woodbridge?” She smiled at that lady.

“Yes,” said Alceste. “She and my sister, Althea Mulvaney--you must recall her--are staying with me for the Season.”

Lady Jersey nodded. “Then perhaps tomorrow. But you two,” she said, shooing at Lord Peter, who had just offered me his arm, “you two go dance.”

And taking her advice, Lord Peter led me out onto the floor and, holding out one hand in which I were to place my own and setting the other lightly on my back, he smiled politely at me and we began to waltz.

Continued in Next Section