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“A scallion?” Lady Wharton sighed. “Never, ever say disparaging things about another person without considering first whether you would wish them to learn of your comment. Pretend they are in the room. They, and those who love them.”

“I don’t believe that Lady Regina loves the Earl of Winchester,” Livie observed. “She didn’t defend his looks.”

“It’s her second betrothal, so love doesn’t come into it,” Lady Wharton said, stripping off her gloves. “I dislike gossip, but the consensus is that her former fiancé fled on closer acquaintance. Lady Regina is unfortunately getting somewhat long in the tooth, given that she debuted later than most. She’s lucky to have secured an earl.”

“Who was her previous fiancé?” Daisy asked.

“Lady Regina was betrothed to Mr. Peregrine. Her brother, by the way, is the Duke of Lennox, a great admirer of Livie’s father. The Duchess of Lennox is in a delicate condition and has retired to the country, or I would have introduced you.”

“Lady Regina was engaged to a mere mister,” Daisy commented, raising an eyebrow.

“The man is rich as Croesus,” Lady Wharton stated.

“Who is that?” Livie asked.

“A king,” Lady Wharton said vaguely. “Or perhaps someone in the Bible. It’s just something one says, Livie. You mustn’t always be asking for clarification.”

“But darling Liv is like that,” Daisy pointed out, winding an arm around Livie’s waist. “She is our encyclopedia.”

“What is an encyclopedia?” Lady Wharton asked, and then waved her hands before they could answer. “Don’t tell me! My head is crammed with information about eligible gentlemen. Oh girls, I am so happy. I shall write to your mama this very night, Livie. Perhaps the news will give her the strength to rise from her bed.”

Livie doubted that. Her mother was at the mercy of a weak set of nerves. She spent her days cycling between a bed and a daybed, a handkerchief soaked in violet perfume clutched in her hand. It was due to her mother’s poor health that Livie had joined Daisy in the Wharton nursery over a decade ago.

“Invitations will pour in through the door tomorrow morning,” her aunt rejoiced. “Now that hostesses realize the most eligible young men enjoy supping with you two, they shan’t dare put on a party unless you’re there, for fear your suitors will try to find you elsewhere.”

Daisy squeezed Livie’s hand.

“The best of it is that you didn’t put on any airs or dampen your petticoats,” her mother continued. “You were yourselves: natural and unspoiled—more than a few chaperones mentioned that to me. Lady Castlereign confirmed your Almack’s vouchers will arrive tomorrow.”

Lady Wharton sat back against her seat, smiling into empty space.

“Lady Regina can stuff herself,” Daisy whispered in Livie’s ear.

“She can keep the green onion,” Livie whispered back. “Is that too mean? I don’t want to turn into someone like her.”

“I shan’t let you,” Daisy said. “If you marry a titled man, and begin thinking too much of yourself, I shall spank you. Clementine overheard Lady Regina tell Abigail Dwyer that she was to be grievously pitied for her shape.”

Livie frowned, trying to remember the lady.

“Miss Dwyer is delightfully curved,” Daisy explained.

“That wasn’t nice,” Livie agreed. “We should avoid Lady Regina because she brings out all my worst instincts. I oughtn’t to have said she was unkind, given that I was being the same.”

“Oh, well,” Daisy said. “You know how scallions are sold in a bunch, all the fluffy roots together?”

Livie started laughing.

“Lady Regina, the earl, an heir, and a spare,” Daisy said triumphantly. “Her hair rose higher than his!”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE RECIPE FOR DISASTER

Livie had never worried much about the world’s opinion of her—until the world despised her.

After all, she was the darling daughter of a high-ranking officer in the Royal Navy, Captain Sir Tyron, commander of the HMS Royal Oak. Both of her parents came from noble stock, and she had a fair-to-middling dowry. Moreover, her hair curled naturally, and her lips had been described as “sultry” by her first beau, the local squire’s son.

The news arrived while Livie was circling the dance floor at Almack’s Assembly Hall. One moment, the world was smiling at her—to be precise, Robert de Lacy Evans was eagerly telling her about his plans to alter his country estate once he inherited the barony, which she interpreted as something close to a proposal.