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“Yes, there are!” Prudence said. “Don’t tell me that you’re short-sighted as well as fat.”

At first, she didn’t understand what was hitting her face, but a second later she realized that she was being pelted with crumbs of pastry, which weren’t hard or hurtful, but that stung all the same.

Prudence was taking the time to aim each crumb. “I’m going for your cheeks,” she said, when Bea looked at her. “God knows they’re as big as moons, so it’s not hard to hit my target.”

“It’s so kind of you to bring Beatrice some food,” Regina cooed. She narrowed her eyes at Bea. “Of course, you’ll have to clean up the mess on the floor before Lady Paget’s maid returns.”

“No,” Bea managed. She turned her head to meet Regina’s hard eyes, ignoring the hailstorm of cake. She’d heard that Arctic ice was gray. There couldn’t be anything colder than Regina’s eyes.

“Did you say ‘no’ to me?” Regina said softly.

Bea scarcely dared to breathe, but she forced words past her stiff lips. “I didn’t bring food in here. Lady Prudence did.”

“You’re not suggesting that Prudence should get down on her knees and clean up? Just look at her. She’s not a plough horse, the way you are. She’s a lady.”

“We can leave the cake for the maid,” Bea whispered, feeling a foggy blanket of hopelessness descending around her shoulders.

“You think she should clean up this disgusting mess? I pity the maids in your house, I really do. If there are maids in your house.”

That was unfair. It was all unfair. Bea found a retort trembling on her lips. Her father was a banker. She had a dowry—and unless she was mistaken, it was larger than Prudence and Petunia’s dowries put together—but that didn’t matter.

“You need exercise,” Regina said. “Anyone can tell that. You should get down on your hands and knees, just the way a scullery maid does.” Her eyes lingered on Bea’s hips.

Bea drew in an unsteady breath and surprised herself.

“I won’t.”

CHAPTER NINE

Bea was trapped, as when an enemy army surrounds a lone soldier. She swallowed hard. The soldier might die, but he could do so with dignity.

Regina took a step toward her, her hands going toward Bea’s shoulders, planning to shove her down to her knees, apparently.

Bea braced her legs and pushed her shoulders against the wall. She loved to ride and could do so for hours. She loved to walk over the hills too, until she was hot and sweaty. Regina couldn’t possibly be strong enough to push her down.

A flicker in the girl’s eyes showed she had come to the same conclusion.

Easing back, Regina broke into a titter of laughter. “We ought to be sympathetic, because God knows all that flesh must need tending.” The other girls obediently tittered.

Where was the maid assigned to the retiring room? After spending the last ten minutes in blissful silence, grateful for her absence, Bea found herself feverishly praying that the woman would reappear.

More than fifty ladies had been invited to the Paget ball. Didn’t someone need to use the chamber pot discreetly tucked behind a screen?

She knew from experience that the moment the door opened, the girls would turn into a flock of sweet debutantes, as charming and kind as anyone could wish.

But now?

Martha snatched up Bea’s reticule and turned it upside down. Bea had learned that lesson in the early days of the Season; there was nothing inside. Everything she might need was pinned to her chemise.

“I suppose you already ate,” Martha sniffed. “You’ve been in here long enough to gobble a whole turkey.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I must return to the ballroom,” Bea said. “My chaperone will be—”

“Oh, no, she won’t,” Regina said, smiling at her.

Bea’s stomach lurched. That was Regina’s worst smile. The one that looked eerily cold and slightly mad. “Why won’t she?”

“Lady Alcon wasn’t feeling well, the poor old dear. It hasn’t been easy for her, chaperoning you. She’s used to better fare. She confided to me that she feels humiliated. After all, two years ago she chaperoned Totty Balkin. You wouldn’t know this, but Totty married an earl.”