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She turned her back on the beds of snarled weeds and wandered farther down the pathway, but her chest was tight, and there was a telltale sting in her nose.

There wasn’t anywhere on the estate where her father’s absence was more apparent than it was here, but what good would tears do her? She wouldn’t waste her few stolen moments of freedom entertaining such maudlin thoughts, especially on such a perfect day as this.

It was strange, the way grief could sneak up on you and steal every pleasure. She might go an entire day without dwelling on her father’s absence, but there were also times when every sound, every step reminded her of him, and it all became too much to bear.

This, alas, was one of those times.

Perhaps it would be better if she didn’t return to the walled garden for a few weeks. The rush of memories only made her melancholy, and there was no sense in dwelling on what couldn’t be changed—

“No!”

She stilled, her feet frozen to the pathway, a shudder jolting down her spine. The unholy shriek was coming from the drawing room, and there was no mistaking that voice.

It was Cornelia, and she was in a towering, incoherent rage.

Again.

The childish part of her wanted to slap her hands over her ears, but she’d never been a coward, and anyway, forewarned was forearmed. She braced her palms on the windowsill, rose to her tiptoes and hefted herself up so she could peek through the glass.

Cornelia was seated at the pianoforte, her head thrown back, a scream that threatened to shatter the windows coming from her wide-open mouth.

Dear God, what was happening? Cornelia threw frequent tantrums, yes, but she’d never done so in front of company before, and every aristocrat within a ten-mile radius had been invited to today’s performance. This was Cornelia’s first formal appearance in society, and both she and Phillippa had high hopes it would lead to a successful London season.

What could have gone so dreadfully wrong?

Nothing seemed to be amiss. The drawing room had been scrubbed until it shone, the pianoforte had been tuned to perfection, and Cornelia looked lovely in her new gown—

Wait. Was that… ?

Oh, no. No!

It was Cornelia’s gown. Instead of a row of pretty gold buttons marching down her back, there was a gaping opening where they’d once been, and Cornelia’s shift and the top third of her stays with the straining laces were perfectly visible to the guests seated in gilt chairs behind her.

Every aristocrat in Chester had attended today’s party, and now they were all getting a shocking glimpse of Cornelia’s underthings! Already some of the young ladies were tittering behind their hands, and goodness knew it wouldn’t end there.

Only a few dozen people were in attendance today, but each guest had been carefully selected by Phillippa. Only the loftiest aristocrats had been invited, and most of them were likely planning to go to London next month for the season.

And now they’d all seen Cornelia’s stays! Soon enough Almack’s would be abuzz over Cornelia’s wayward buttons!

Oh, dear. This was very bad. Cornelia’s first season was over before it could even begin. It was an utter disaster, and it didn’t take a fortune teller to know who’d be blamed for it.

The one who’d wielded the needle, of course.

The last button was still clinging to the silk, but it was just barely hanging on, and Cornelia’s shrieking was putting quite a lot of pressure on it.

Stella waited, her gaze locked on the last remaining button, her fists clenched and knuckles white as Cordelia inhaled, inhaled, inhaled, and then released the breath in a great gust, the silk pulling tight and the tiny stitches straining.

Her entire life was hanging by a thread.

Not figuratively, but literally.

Well, perhaps not her life, but her immediate future depended on one button and the resilience of a fragile length of silken thread.

There was nothing she could do to stop the impending tragedy. The thread would either snap or it wouldn’t, and there wasn’t a single, blessed thing she could do but mutter a quick prayer that fate would err on her side this time.

The odds weren’t in her favor. Since her father’s death two years ago, fate appeared to have abandoned her entirely.

Then, in the next instant, it happened.