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“Clara Vetry!” her mother cried in ringing tones, dropping the languid pose that she affected in public. “I am appalled that you would mention such a dreadful subject.”

“We are all talking about that subject, Mama,” Clara objected.

Aunt Marigold was still gazing contemptuously at Gianna. “The waiters just delivered two bottles of pink champagne,” she reported. “She drinks it like water, so they say. Instead of breakfast tea.” Her voice grated with horror; that choice might be more offensive than the lady’s profession.

Lord Kelbourne had to know that someone would tell Torie. But would he care? Presumably, darling Torie already knew of the woman. After all, she was the one who had told Clara years ago that the viscount would never give up his mistress.

All around them, chatter kicked up as people scanned that box and then made sure their neighbors did as well.

Kelbourne was staring blankly at the dance floor. Clara thought he didn’t even see all the people peering at him.

She had a strong feeling that he wouldn’t give a damn. Not given that sardonic tilt to his lips.

“She should jilt him and marry the duke,” Clara’s mother said. “I heard on the best authority that the man’s brokenhearted. His mother ordered him off to Bath to take the waters, as she feared his liver would give out from distress.”

The rigid line of Aunt Marigold’s mouth opened just enough to intone, “That woman is a jezebel. The viscount is a devil.” She was likely scanning her memory for applicable Biblical verses.

“Kelbourne bellowed at Lord Peyrenes in Lords, saying he was as greedy as a hog,” Lady Vetry put in. “As a hog! Can you imagine? Everyone knows that Lord Peyrenes lavishes attention on his six spaniels; they sleep in velvet beds. That is not the action of a greedy man!”

“Gentlemen have mistresses,” Clara insisted. “Are all of them devils?” She would never say as much to her mother, but surely Lady Vetry knew of her husband’s paramour. Clara had seen the lady in question in Hyde Park, driving in a smart two-wheeled cabriolet presumably paid for by Clara’s father. Her father’s mistress had been driving herself, while his wife wouldn’t even walk down the street without a groom and maid in attendance.

“Gentlemen may do as they wish in their private time. They do not make a performance of themselves, parading a doxy in public,” her mother replied, very much on her dignity. “Out of respect for their wives. Viscount Kelbourne is behaving with what one can only describe as contempt.”

The countess with whom she had been talking earlier turned around and said, “Lady Vetry, I agree. I expect it is because he is being forced to marry. I heard that he owes Sir William a great deal of money.”

The woman beside her ladyship looked like a frog but cackled like a goose. “It’s the other way around. Sir William owes Kelbourne money, and the man has taken his daughter in payment. Of course Kelbourne doesn’t respect Miss Sutton.” After a pause, she added delicately, “For more than one reason, of course.”

Lady Vetry glanced at Clara, but thankfully she held her tongue. Over the years, Clara had made it clear that no one in her family was allowed to make disparaging comments about Torie’s intelligence.

In Clara’s opinion, her friend was smarter than any of the women who clustered around them, their only claim to cleverness being the ability to read the gossip columns over their breakfast tea.

She stole another look. Now Kelbourne was speaking with more animation on his face than she’d ever seen before. More than she’d ever seen when he talked to Torie.

Her heart throbbed with sadness. When the viscount kissed Torie in front of the whole theater, she’d actually believed he was infatuated. It seemed so romantic, kissing his fiancée in the middle of a performance of Romeo and Juliet, as if the play had stirred his heart.

Men were a conundrum. She absently straightened the whiskers on her kitten bag until her mother’s voice caught her attention again.

“. . . diamonds!” Lady Vetry was saying, her tone exhilarated. There was nothing that Mama loved better than a scandal.

“What diamonds?” Clara asked.

“The ones she’s wearing. A circlet worth a fortune.”

“Payment for the wages of sin,” Aunt Marigold said sourly. Her forehead was still pleated in shock; although she was always looking for evidence of sin, her aunt was—to Clara’s mind—absurdly astonished when she found it.

“I would guess that the diamonds were a gift to reconcile the woman to his coming marriage,” Lady Vetry pronounced. “Not that she could have hoped to marry him, being a woman from the gutter, but she has been under the viscount’s protection for some time.”

“Years,” the countess put in.

They were all silent for a moment.

Clara didn’t know about the rest, but without locking a man into a marriage, she thought she’d be lucky if a gentleman stayed with her for a year. She couldn’t even find one who liked her enough to propose, let alone one who would pay for her company.

Not that being a mistress was merely a question of companionship, of course. She knew that.

“I think it’s a crying shame,” the countess said, finally. “Kelbourne seems to be doing this deliberately to humiliate Miss Sutton, which is so unkind. I agree with you, Lady Vetry. She ought to jilt him.”

“Surely . . . surely he isn’t,” Clara stuttered. She couldn’t bear it. Poor Torie had already put up with so many insults since everyone found out that she couldn’t read.