He came around the desk and chucked her on the chin. “Correct answer.”
“I am a quick lesson.”
He laughed this time. “A quick study.”
She tilted her head. “Truly?”
“Truly. Now. A favor?”
“Yes?”
“Stay the hell away from him.”
The ache in her chest returned at the words. She ignored it. “I want nothing to do with the difficult man.”
“Excellent.” He believed her.
Now, she simply had to believe herself.
Chapter Eleven
Even at balls, one must be wary of the vulgar.
Elegant ladies steer clear of dark corners.
—A Treatise on the Most Exquisite of Ladies
Fluttering sparrows and their companions recently received their due . . .
—The Scandal Sheet, October 1823
The steps leading up to Dolby House were covered in vegetables.
The Marchioness of Needham and Dolby had taken her harvest ball more than seriously, covering the front of the house with onions, potatoes, what looked like several different kinds of wheat, and gourds of every conceivable size and color. A path had been created for guests, not a straight shot up the steps and into the house, but a meandering, curving, walkway flanked with spoils of the harvest that made seven steps feel like seventy, and those following it feel utterly ridiculous.
Juliana alighted from the carriage and eyed the squash- and wheat-strewn pathway skeptically. Callie followed her down and gave a little chuckle at the exhibition. “Oh, my.”
Ralston took his wife’s arm and led the way through the extravagant labyrinth. “This is all your doing, you know,” he whispered at her ear, and Juliana could hear the humor in his tone. “I hope you’re happy.”
Callie laughed. “I have never had the opportunity to meander through a vegetable patch, my lord,” she teased. “So yes, I am quite happy.”
Ralston rolled his eyes heavenward. “There will be no meandering, Empress. Let’s get this over with.” He turned toward Juliana, indicating that she should precede him up the steps. “Sister?”
Juliana pasted a bright smile on her face and stepped up alongside him. He leaned down, and said quietly, “Keep the smile on your face, and they shan’t know how to respond.”
There was no question that by now, a full day since the return of their mother, the ton would be buzzing with the news. There had been a brief discussion that afternoon of not attending this particular ball, hosted at the home of Lady Penelope—the future Duchess of Leighton—but Callie had insisted that if they were to weather this storm, they had to attend any events to which they received invitations, whether Leighton was going to be in attendance or not. Soon, after all, there would be markedly fewer to accept.
And tonight, at least, the full narrative of the prior evening’s events at Ralston House would be hazy at best.
She increased the brightness of her smile and trod along the path between turnips and marrows, squash and courgettes, into what was destined to be one of the longest nights of her life.
Once divested of her cloak, Juliana turned to face the pit of vipers that waited inside the ballroom of Dolby House.
The first thing she noticed were the stares. The entrance to the ballroom was from above, down a short flight of stairs almost certainly designed for the best—and least innocuous—entrance. As she hovered there at the top of the stairs, Juliana felt scores of eyes raking over her. Looking out across the room, she refused to allow her smile to fade even as she saw the telltale signs of gossip: bowed heads, fluttering fans, and brightly lit eyes, eager for a glimpse at whatever sordid drama might unfold.
Callie turned back to her, and she recognized a similarly-too-bright smile on her sister-in-law’s face. “You’re doing wonderfully. Once we’re in the crush, everything will settle.”
She wanted to believe that the words were true. She looked out over the crowd, desperate to appear as though something had captured her attention. And then something did.
Simon.
She caught her breath as hot memory flooded through her.
He stood at the far end of the ballroom, tall and handsome, in perfect formalwear and a linen cravat with lines so crisp it could have sliced butter. High on one cheek she noticed a red welt—it appeared that at least one of Ralston’s blows from the evening prior had struck true—but the mark only made Simon more handsome. More devastating.
It only made her want him more.
He had not seen her, and still she resisted the simultaneous urges to smooth her skirts and turn and run for the exit. Instead, she focused on descending to the ballroom floor, where she could not see him.
Perhaps if she could not see him, she would stop thinking so much about him—about his kisses and his strong arms, and the way his lips had felt against her bare skin.
And the way he had proposed to Lady Penelope before he had come for Juliana in the stables.
Lady Penelope, in whose home Juliana stood.
She pushed the thoughts to the side as her brother came to her elbow and leaned low into her ear. “Remember what we discussed.”
She nodded. “I shall be the belle of the ball.”
He grinned. “As usual.” She snorted her laughter, and he added, “Well, do attempt to do as little of that as possible.”
“I live to do your bidding, my lord.”
He gave a short bark of laughter. “If only that were true.” His gaze grew serious. “Try to enjoy yourself. Dance as much as you can.”
She nodded. If anyone would ask her.
“Miss Fiori?” The deep, warm request came from behind her, and she spun to face Callie’s brother, the Earl of Allendale. He smiled, kindness in his brown eyes. He held out one hand. “Would you do me the honor?”