Chapter One
London, April 1814, The Willoughbys’ Ball
Lady Georgiana Chadwick flung open the door to the ladies’ retiring room, slipped inside, and leaned back against it as though she’d just narrowly escaped the jaws of a lion. In truth, she might have preferred a lion. Lions, she suspected, did not leer quite so openly, nor leave one feeling quite so much like a horse being bid upon at Tattersall’s.
Her pulse hammered in her ears as she pressed her back harder against the door. Her hands trembled against the soft violet-papered panel, and she took a deep breath of the cool air. The scent here was mercifully subdued—lavender water and lemon polish—unlike the crush of rosewater and beeswax in the ballroom beyond. No footsteps followed her, no sound of a cane tapping the marble. At least not yet.
Safe. For now. She exhaled a long breath.
One would think that a young lady engaged to be married should be smiling prettily at her betrothed, not crouching in a corner, plotting her escape. But then one would also think an engaged young lady’s betrothed might be less than forty years her senior.
Georgie pushed herself off the door and let her eyes adjust to the dim light. The retiring room was smaller than she remembered—though perhaps that was because of its other occupant. A young woman sat primly on the chaise, stiff-backed, her blond hair gleaming in the soft glow of the single candle on the side table. Her chin was tilted at a rather impressive angle of disdain. Her gown cost more than Georgie’s entire wardrobe.
“Oh,” Georgie blurted before she could stop herself. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t realize?—”
“It’s quite all right,” the young, blond lady replied, her voice as dry as last week’s toast. “And now that you’re here, you may as well close the door before someone thinks better of barging in.”
Georgie complied at once, pressing it shut with an audible click. Silence stretched for a beat before the other young lady turned her gaze back to the pad of paper in her lap, muttering something under her breath as she scribbled furiously with a stub of pencil.
Georgie tilted her head curiously. “Are you…drawing?”
“No,” the girl said without looking up.
Georgie frowned. “Yes. You are.”
“I’m not.”
Georgie caught a glimpse of the paper—sharp, dark lines forming the unmistakable silhouette of a gentleman with a great many embellishments that did not flatter him in the least. One eyebrow arched as she dared to inquire, “Is that…Lord Nicholas Archer?”
The pencil froze. The blond girl’s gaze snapped to hers. “You know him?”
“Well,” Georgie hedged, “it does resemble him. That brow is rather…unmistakable.”
The young woman sniffed and snapped her small notebook shut before tucking it discreetly under her arm with more force than strictly necessary. “It is none of your concern. I have every right to…to record my observations. If my drawing happens to resemble a pompous hypocrite, that is hardly my fault.”
“I see,” Georgie murmured, though she didn’t. Not entirely. “Well, don’t worry. I’m not here to judge. I’m here to hide.”
The blond girl lifted her chin. “That much was obvious.”
Georgie blinked, unsure whether to be insulted or relieved. Before she could decide, the door burst open again, banging against the wall and admitting a third young woman who skidded to a stop, skirts askew, cheeks flushed.
“For heaven’s sake,” the newcomer moaned, “she nearly climbed atop the refreshment table again.”
Both Georgie and the blond girl turned to stare at her. The young lady slammed the door shut and leaned heavily against it, her pretty red hair slightly mussed from her flight.
“Oh. Oh no,” the newest girl said, throwing an arm across her face. “You saw, didn’t you? Everyone saw her antics.”
Georgie pressed her lips together as though trying not to laugh, while the blond girl simply raised an imperious brow.
“I saw nothing,” Georgie finally said, sensing the poor redhead was already at her wit’s end. She did not want to upset her further.
The red-haired girl groaned. She moved away from the wall to sink deeply into a chair. “It was dreadful, wasn’t it? Please say it wasn’t as dreadful as I think it was.”
The blond girl set down her pencil. “If you’re referring to your mother’s impromptu…display earlier, then yes, I saw it. And it was dreadful.”
The red-haired girl sighed dramatically. “Well then. Perhaps if I never leave this room, I can die in obscurity rather than infamy.”
“An admirable plan,” the blond girl replied dryly.
