Cordelia beamed. “Excellent! I love a good adventure.”
Hazel gave her a flat look. “This is not an adventure.”
“Of course it is,” Cordelia insisted, already turning toward the hall. “All scandals are, that is, until they become disasters. Then they arememorableadventures.”
Hazel groaned softly at that. She had had more than her fair share of those, and she was not looking for more. But she lifted her skirts and followed, because Cordelia was right about one thing. This was absolutely the beginning of a disaster.
After about fifteen minutes, Hazel’s mind sharpened with dreadful clarity.Of course,her sisters were not among the guests. They would have heard a whisper of this absurd dare and run toward it with the enthusiasm other girls reserved for lemonade.
She turned to Cordelia. “I must check the Duke’s bedchamber.”
Cordelia’s eyes widened. “Oh, that sounds wonderfully dangerous.”
“It is not supposed to bewonderful,” Hazel hissed. “It is supposed to be mortifying. And I will not have Chastity and Patience ruining themselves over some childish challenge.”
Cordelia nodded, though mischief still sparkled in her eyes. “Very well. What shall I do?”
“You,” Hazel said, pointing firmly, “will stay here. If you see either of my sisters, do not let them go anywhere. Keep them contained.”
Cordelia pressed a hand to her heart, as if touched. “Hazel, dearest, no one in England can contain your sisters butyou.”
Hazel paused. “I hate how correct that is.”
Cordelia grinned. “Go. I will perform reconnaissance from this location. Quite heroically, I might add.”
Hazel gave her a narrowed stare that implied Cordelia was being ridiculous, but that ridiculousness was, unfortunately, appreciated. Then she lifted her skirts just enough to walk briskly and slipped out of the drawing room.
The corridors of Lady Winfield’s home were quiet as Hazel moved with determined purpose. It was humiliating. No, it wasinfuriatingto sneak through another woman’s house like some lurking thief simply because her sisters might be behaving like fools.
I ought to be in the drawing room,she thought bitterly.Drinking tea. Having a pleasant, respectable afternoon. Instead, I am hunting my sisters through a stranger’s home like a governess chasing escaped children.
She turned the corner toward the west wing, toward the Duke of Callbury’s assigned chambers, and her jaw clenched.
Greyson Thornhill, the Duke of Callbury.
He was a man whose stare alone could freeze a ballroom into silence. If he returned to find a pair of meddling debutantes rummaging through his possessions… Hazel felt a full-body shudder. Her sisters would not recover from such a humiliation. Nor would she.
She reached the hallway outside his chambers and heard footsteps. Hazel froze. A pair of servants approached, speaking in hushed tones. They were far too close, and she had nowhere to go except… the curtain.
She darted behind it with a speed that surprised even herself, while holding her breath painfully tight. The fabric smelled faintly of lavender and dust, and she pressed as flat as possible against the wall. The servants stopped right in front of her.
“If His Grace returns early,” one said, “the fire is lit. He likes the room warm.”
“Aye,” replied the other. “Cold as he is, one wouldn’t expect it.”
Hazel nearly snorted. Yes, what a revelation, but she swallowed it.
The servants finally moved on, their voices fading down the corridor. Hazel waited another moment before exhaling, then she lifted the curtain edge. The hallway was empty. She stepped out, feeling her cheeks burning.
Thisabsurditywas precisely what she had spent her entire life doing: covering for others, protecting them, cleaning up their chaos. And here she was, twenty-eight years old, hiding behind curtains, skulking about like a criminal, simply to keep her sisters from ruining themselves.
She straightened her spine. Her fists tightened at her sides.
“When I find them,” she muttered under her breath, “I will wring their pretty little necks.”
Hazel turned the handle as quietly as possible and eased open the Duke’s bedchamber door. The room was elegant and dark, heavy with masculine lines and rich wood. A fire crackled low in the grate. And in the middle of this entirely inappropriate setting stood her two sisters.
“Chastity! Patience!” she hissed.
