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THE SEDUCTION, BOOK III

CHAPTER ONE

THE SEDUCTION OF LIVIE

February 28, 1816

THE SHEFFIELD BALL

MISS OLIVE TYRON’S AND MISS DAISY WHARTON’S FIRST BALL, IN THEIR FIRST SEASON

“I saw you dancing with the Earl of Winchester,” Miss Olive Tyron said to her cousin as they entered the ladies’ retiring chamber to repair Daisy’s unraveling coiffure. “I can imagine you as a countess!”

“The title wouldn’t be worth it,” Daisy replied, digging a hairpin out of her reticule. “His lordship’s hair is as thick as mine and brushed straight up over his forehead. It waved back and forth like a grove of trees in a high breeze while we danced.”

“The ‘Brutus’ is supposed to look romantic,” Livie observed. “Do you have any more hairpins?” When Daisy shook her head, Livie pulled a few hairpins from her own topknot and started anchoring her cousin’s unruly curls in place.

“The earl’s valet must have spent hours pasting his hair into place,” Daisy told her. “He absolutely reeked of Pomade de Nerole.” She wrinkled her nose. “I would never want to marry a man who wears more hair product than I do.”

“There!” Livie turned her cousin to the large mirror hanging on the wall. “Just look how pretty you are, Daisy, without even a touch of pomade.”

“You are far prettier,” Daisy said loyally. “You should be a countess.”

Livie shook her head. “That’s not true. And as for being a countess, I think the earl looks more like a scallion than a tree, don’t you think? Slim as a green onion with fluff on top.”

Daisy choked with laughter. “A scallion in red heels?”

“Unusual for a vegetable,” Livie agreed.

Daisy flipped open her fan and minced a few steps. “Here I am, a scallion in the field, waving in the breeze.”

“No, you silly thing,” Livie said. “A scallion’s roots are—”

Her voice broke off. Out from behind the dressing screen that presumably concealed a chamber pot strolled a very beautiful lady with a very sour expression. She had golden hair, sky blue eyes, and a perfect nose (Livie was very observant of noses, wishing her own was more regal). She wore diamond bracelets on both of her upper arms and a diamond circlet on her forehead.

She was clearly a person of consequence, though Livie thought that wearing quite so many diamonds was rather vulgar. To be fair, her criticism likely stemmed from jealousy; as debutantes, Livie and Daisy were allowed to wear only pearl necklaces and muslin dresses.

“Good evening,” Livie and Daisy chorused, dropping into deep curtsies.

The lady surveyed them head to foot, then inclined her chin in an approximation of a nod. Daisy gave Livie a delighted pinch. She enjoyed nothing so much as imitating the haughtiest of haughty aristocrats.

“Miss Olive Tyron and Miss Daisy Wharton,” the woman drawled, in the bored tones assumed by elegant ladies. “Your first Season, I believe. Your first ball?”

“Yes, it is,” Livie said, nodding.

The lady turned to the mirror and repositioned the diamond ring she wore on her left hand, over her long glove. “I am Lady Regina Charlotte Haywood.”

Livie swallowed. Daisy’s mother had warned them to stay clear of Lady Regina, labeling the Duke of Lennox’s sister powerful and unpleasant.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Livie said, elbowing Daisy.

“A pleasure,” Daisy blurted out, bobbing a curtsy that caused several locks of hair to tumble to her shoulders.

“I can’t say the same,” Lady Regina said, turning away from the mirror, “since I gather that you—two young ladies of no particular distinction or beauty—think my fiancé resembles a vegetable.”

There was a horrible silence.

Livie gulped. “I truly apologize for that unkind description.”