“The trial?” Fanny repeated. Her gaze darted between them in a way that made Emily uneasy.
“Oh, but Prudence, you can’t,” Liza murmured.
“I most certainly can.” Prudence’s tone held firm. “It would be cruel not to tell her. No one will dance with her. We shouldn’t even be speaking to her, but it is her first ball.”
“Not speak to me?” Emily repeated, confused. She focused on the three girls. Fanny and Liza both looked worried, Prudence despairing. “I’ve never heard of any trial. I don’t understand.”
“It’s just a little thing.” Prudence shrugged. “Although, what with your father’s passing and your come out being delayed, I’m sure no one will hold you to it. It’s a silly rite of passage, really. Forget I said anything.”
Emily stared, unsure what to say. Did she really have to prove herself worthy of being danced with and spoken to? Was that how one ended up a wallflower, by not passing a secret trial?
“Although…” Prudence frowned. “Maybe they will hold you to it.” She gave a mournful shake of her blonde curls. “I’m sorry, Em, but we simply can’t take that chance. We’ve been charitable enough already. We don’t want black marks on our names.” She looked at Fanny and Liza. “Come, ladies, let’s sample the punch.” Prudence turned and walked away.
Fanny and Liza exchanged a look. Fanny shrugged. Liza opened her mouth, then shut it again. She looked to Fanny.
“By, Em,” Fanny said, and they both pivoted to follow Prudence.
Emily turned in a slow circle. Prudence was right. No other young people stood near them, just mothers and other chaperones, chatting. She was an outcast. Was that why Devon hadn’t come to find her?
“Wait.” She hurried after the retreating girls. “Prudence, wait.”
They stopped as Emily reached them, turning in a swirl of skirts.
“Yes?” Prudence’s smug expression was nearly too much to bear. It was almost a relief when her features shifted to condescension. “Really, we’ve already done all we can by speaking to you. You can’t ask us to give up our chances to make good matches just because we attended school together.”
“Please, tell me what the trial is. I will do anything.” Emily couldn’t bear the thought that some silly test might stand between her and a dance with Devon.
Prudence stepped closer to Emily. Fanny and Liza flanked them. “It’s a little thing, really,” Prudence whispered. “You simply need to go to the library. The libraries in all the great homes have murals on the ceilings, and a saying is hidden in the mural. To prove you’re of the first water, all you must do is report to us what that saying is.”
“You mean, I need to sneak into the library?” Emily asked, horrified. To go off unescorted, to wander uninvited through Devon’s home, would be monstrous. What would he think of her if he found out?
Prudence shrugged. “It doesn’t matter how you learn the saying, only that you do. Fanny learned it from a duke, for the price of a kiss.”
“Prudence!” Fanny’s face reddened.
“Don’t worry. Emily won’t tell.”
Emily shook her head. “I won’t.”
“However you get it, I’d get it before you miss the dancing,” Prudence said. “Punch,” she all but ordered the other two, and sailed away.
Fanny, her face still flushed, followed Prudence. Liza opened her mouth again, but snapped it closed. She gave Emily a little shrug and fled after them.
Emily looked about, weighing the odds that Prudence was lying. Emily couldn’t deny the ring of emptiness about her, though the room was stuffy with people. Even her mother hadn’t given her a second glance since entering the ballroom. Instead, she stood off to the side, in deep conversation with their hostess.
Emily pressed a hand to her heart, aware of a building pain with each beat. She simply had to see Devon. If this saying Prudence spoke of was the key, Emily had to find it.
If she could sneak out and back in unobserved, no harm would be done. No one would know. With a final glance around, she started toward the opposite side of the room. She navigated the press with ease, her slender form flitting between guests. No one seemed to notice her.
Reflecting that sometimes it was good to be small, Emily slipped from the crowd and into an empty corridor. She drew in a deep breath, relieved to be away from the stifling air and riotous chatter of the ballroom, and hurried down the corridor. She’d never visited Devon’s London home, but most houses were laid out similarly.
She glided down the hall in a whisper of fabric, her slippers nearly soundless on the marble floor. Halting before what she hoped was the correct door, she looked up and down the hall. She was quite alone in the flickering candlelight. She eased the door open and peered inside. Triumphantly, she inhaled the musty smell of books.
“Emily?” A long form peeled itself from one of the large leather sofas.
Emily froze in the doorway. “Devon.”
