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She looked at her reflection in the mirror and reset several loose pins. Standing up, she ran her hands down the front of her purple gown. With a satisfied nod, she moved to step from behind the screen when she heard her name. She stilled.

“Lady Phoebe?” a voice said.

Pippy frowned. Who was it? What had the question been? She wished she’d been paying more attention.

“I thought my partners disappointing until I saw the ‘gentlemen’”—the word was said in a jesting tone—“she was dancing with. It’s quite obvious word has spread of their ruin. Only fortune hunters seeking her dowry have shown her any interest at all.” There was a sniff.

“They must think she’s now desperate enough to settle for such a match,” another voice added.

Then a third joined the conversation. “No gentleman of reputation will have her, so perhaps they are correct.”

Pippy lifted her little finger to her lips but dropped it to her side with a frustrated grunt. It was worse than she thought...or perhaps it had only been a hope. Everyone seemed to know of their turn in circumstances. She wanted to peek behind the screen to see who the voices belonged to, but she didn’t dare.

“I feel for her,” someone else said. “Can you imagine⁠—”

The ladies seemed to move away from her, taking their conversation with them.

Cautiously, Pippy stepped out from the screen. She looked both directions before hurrying toward the door. Her face burned with humiliation.

She couldn’t stay in the room—at the ball—knowing everyone must surely have heard the conversation. She’d find her father and ask him to take her home.

Freddie stepped out of Lord Murphy’s ballroom and sucked in a breath. The air was not as fresh as it would be on the terrace, but it was at least cooler…and quieter than the crush inside.

He moved toward the end of the corridor. If his memory served him correctly, Murphy’s library was behind one of those doors. He reached out and slowly opened the one he thought to be it. Peering inside, he smiled.

It would surely irritate Fin and Stan when they discovered him absent from the ballroom, but Freddie could deal with them later. For now, he needed a quiet place to close his eyes. In only a fortnight he’d leave for Yorkshire—a thought that still rankled.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The room was dark, and no candles had been lit—not surprising, as Murphy likely hadn’t anticipated anyone hiding there. Perhaps stoking the fire would help provide some light—and maybe he’d light a candle or two?

Making his way over to the fireplace, he kicked the leg of the sofa table. “Thunder and turf,” he muttered, lifting his foot and rubbing at his toe. Next time he’d wear his Hessians. The table leg had not been the only thing to injure his toes. Miss Aberdeen had done her fair share of damage.

An intake of breath sounded, and Freddie straightened. “Is someone there?” he asked into the darkness.

“No one of consequence,” a voice said. A voice he knew—remembered vaguely—although he could not place it. But then the memories and the voice collided.

“Pip—Lady Phoebe? Is that you?” He leaned forward, trying to see.

“It is,” she said with a sigh. A form rose from the couch. “You likely came to escape the noise of the ballroom. I shall leave you to your peace.”

“No,” Freddie said rather forcefully. “You need not leave. My desires surely don’t supersede yours. And you were her first. If anyone is to leave, it should be me.” He moved closer to the fire. “Let me tend to the fire so I don’t trip again.”

“Are you hurt?”

Did he sense a smile in her tone?

“Not any more than Miss Aberdeen left me. Lud, the lady needs a dancing master.”

Another sigh. “I do not mind leaving.” There was a note to her voice Freddie could not name.

He’d heard it on the pavement when they’d spoken the other day. But it had been many years since they knew each other. Perhaps it was her natural tone. He frowned. Something told him it wasn’t. “I don’t mind you staying,” he said.

“But there is no chaperone.” Her voice was quiet. “And I’m not so far below proprieties,” she murmured.

What an odd thing to say. What did she mean by it?

“You’re right. And the last thing I wish to do is to cause you distress. I’ll ring for a servant.” He wasn’t certain why he didn’t just allow her to leave. She’d made it clear she was willing. Yet, he could not bring himself to dismiss her. Nor could he leave. Could it be he wanted her to stay? He guffawed. He did not wish to inconvenience her. That was closer to the truth.

A servant would not make the encounter entirely proper, but it should keep Pippy from being scandalized—at least in the eyes of most. A few might deem them…unwise.