Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

About the Author

Chapter One

“Annabel, you must speak with Father right away.”

Annabel Pearce placed her teacup on its saucer and her book in her lap before appraising the young lady she’d been hired to bring into Society. Elizabeth Spencer had the looks valued by the ton—suitably tall, appropriately thin, and beautifully fair. Unfortunately, her pale complexion tended to redden when she was in a rush, excited, or angry—and the girl was almost always one of those things. Sometimes several combined.

Today was one of those days. Her bright blue eyes sparkled in her pink face, which made her blonde hair that much brighter.

“Elizabeth, come sit and calm—”

“You’re going to tell me to breathe until I’m no longer pink, but we don’t have the time.” Elizabeth paced from the chair to the door and back at a dizzying pace. “Father will make the wrong decision if we do not act quickly.”

Annabel would have—likely should have—counseled her charge that fathers made decisions based on more knowledge than daughters understood. However, as Annabel was now working for a living because of her own father’s poor choices, it would be a losing argument.

Instead, she poured the girl a cup of tea and placed a petit four as bait before the empty chair. “Tell me what has you so agitated.”

Elizabeth finally took the chair. She sank her teeth into the cake and chewed much too obviously for a young lady before dumping an alarming amount of sugar into her tea.

Annabel would have to plan more lessons about eating habits. At the present, she was glad the girl’s color was fading to normal, and that she hadn’t dropped into the chair like a rag doll, which she was inclined to do when behind closed doors.

“Father received a letter from the Marquess of Ramsbury. It must be an invitation to his house party, Annabel. Charlotte Bainbridge received hers two days ago, and I’ve been watching the post since.”

“The letter could be anything,” Annabel counseled. “Lord Ramsbury is a member of Parliament, and your father is a courtier. It may be about a vote, or an invitation to White’s to discuss business.”

“Why would he invite Charlotte and not me?” Elizabeth pointed her teacup toward her chest, sloshing the liquid dangerously close to the rim.

Because Charlotte Bainbridge is the diamond of the Season and the daughter of a viscount. Why she considers you part of her social circle is a mystery.

Annabel took a bite of cake and used chewing as an excuse for her silence. Elizabeth took the lack of discussion for agreement.

“Between the two of us, we’ll convince him. We’ll lay out my wardrobe this afternoon.” She looked past Annabel, her smile a match for her calculating gaze. “Imagine the furor if I am to catch him.”

Furor, indeed. As far as Annabel knew, there was only one way to catch a man like Jasper Warren, the new Marquess of Ramsbury, and it wasn’t with ruffled dresses and croquet.

“Elizabeth—”

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the housekeeper. “Miss Pearce, Mr. Spencer asks that you meet him in the library.”

Thanking fate for her rescue from a difficult conversation, Annabel stood and smoothed her skirt. “Thank you, Mrs. Riordan. I’ll follow you down.”

As she passed, Elizabeth clasped her hand. Her color had returned to normal. “Please, Annabel. I can’t stay in London if everyone else is in Wiltshire. It would be too humiliating.”

There were far worse things than missing a party, but as Annabel looked into the girl’s large blue eyes and felt the squeeze of her thin fingers, she couldn’t say the words. Elizabeth was barely out of the schoolroom, and every slight signaled the end of the world.

“Don’t put too much stock in a conversation, dear. This likely has nothing to do with a party.” Not to mention the marquess likely doesn’t know your name. I’d be shocked if he remembered mine.

Mr. Spencer could decide not to send his daughter without input from anyone else. The better guess was that he wanted help designing a suitable distraction. Annabel turned at the door and indicated the easel and canvas at the window. “Please begin drawing. We’ll discuss paint choices when I return.”

She walked down the empty, quiet hall toward the staircase. Mrs. Riordan ran an efficient household, but she didn’t linger to gossip or laugh over tea. All Annabel knew of her was that she reveled in being one of Spencer’s trusted staff members, and that she considered it far beneath her station to fetch someone other than a family member.