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“ W ill this do for the theater?” Juliet turned away from the looking glass to face Emmeline, the skirts of her opera gown drifting around her ankles.

Emmeline looked up, and a smile of pure pleasure curved her lips. Not one lady in a dozen could do justice to evening primrose, but the rich yellow hue brought out Juliet’s dark, dramatic beauty. “You look lovely. That color is perfect for you.”

“I suppose it will do.” Juliet straightened the neckline of her gown, a smile lighting up her own face as she caught Emmeline’s reflection in the glass. “My, how pretty you look tonight, Emmeline!”

“Do I?” Emmeline glanced down at herself, surprised, and smoothed her damp palms down her rose-colored silk skirt.

“Of course. You always do. The lace on that gown is exquisite, and you’ve such a tiny waist.” Juliet tugged on her gloves, her gaze meeting Emmeline’s in the glass. “I daresay Lord Melrose won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

Emmeline had been fussing with her skirts, but at this her eyes flew to Juliet’s. She opened her mouth to insist Lord Melrose had never spared her a glance, but this and a dozen other denials didn’t make it past her lips.

Because they were lies, and Emmeline was, at last, finished with lies.

Particularly the lies she’d told herself.

She’d been wrong about love from the start.

How she’d ever imagined she could be right about it was a mystery, given she’d never experienced it, but while inexperience was forgivable, it wasn’t as easy to excuse her arrogance in thinking it was her place to orchestrate matches as if she were arranging roses in tidy, predictable rows.

Lady Fosberry had warned Phee that people were nothing like numbers, and as it happened, they were nothing like roses, either.

The truth was, things had been careening wildly out of control since that night in Lady Fosberry’s library, like a runaway horse that flew in whatever direction it liked, without any regard for the people in its path, or the rider on its back.

For all Emmeline’s knowledge of botany, all her scientific theories and her plans and machinations, the only thing she’d ever been able to do was hold on and hope for the best. It was all any of them could do.

“I am fond of this color,” Juliet was saying as she inspected her reflection.

Emmeline cocked her head as she studied Juliet in the glass, recalling the expression on her sister’s face when she’d been arguing with Lord Cross about Shakespeare’s tragedies.

There’d been something there, something Emmeline had never seen before, but her vivacious, spirited sister with the somber, unsmiling Lord Cross?

In a thousand years she never would have put the two of them together, but then she’d proven herself to be hopelessly inept when it came to matters of the heart.

“I think…I think Lord Cross admires you, Juliet.”

Juliet let out a tinkling laugh. “Lord Cross is far too irascible to admire anyone.”

Emmeline blinked. Well, that didn’t sound much like love, but…

“Do you admire him ?”

“Yes, but only because it amuses me to foil his efforts to offend everyone. I’ve never seen a man more determined to thwart admiration than Lord Cross.”

Juliet shrugged, but it didn’t escape Emmeline’s notice that she hadn’t answered the question, and her cheeks had gone a deep pink. Emmeline said nothing, but a cautious smile rose to her lips as they made their way down the stairs to the waiting carriage.

Perhaps, just perhaps, the Templeton’s fortunes were finally changing.

“My goodness, Emmeline, do stop flailing about, won’t you, dear? That’s the third time you’ve trod on me since we left for the theater.” Lady Fosberry tugged on the hem of her gown to coax it out from under Emmeline’s foot.

“I beg your pardon.” Emmeline hastily tucked her feet under her chair, her cheeks heating. Since they’d arrived at Covent Garden Theater, she’d been so preoccupied with searching for a golden head atop a pair of broad shoulders it was a wonder she hadn’t tumbled from their box.

“What is everyone gossiping about?” Juliet whispered, glancing at the surrounding boxes. “The ton ’s got some delicious tidbit between their teeth, and they’ve been gnawing on it since we arrived. Has something happened? If it has, please tell me at once. I can’t bear any more surprises.”

“Nothing’s happened, dearest. I’d know if it had.” Lady Fosberry gave Juliet’s hand a reassuring pat.

“You may be sure something’s happened. The muttering is positively deafening. We seem to be the only ones who don’t know what it is. Oh, I don’t like this at all.”

Emmeline shivered in her rose silk gown, rubbing her bare arms to chase away a sudden chill.

They’d arrived early, and a great many of the boxes were still empty, but in the box beside theirs sat a gray-haired lady she didn’t recognize, her head bent toward a younger companion who was seated beside her.

The first lady’s lips were moving rapidly as she whispered something into her friend’s ear, and both of their faces were alight with ill-concealed delight.

She recognized that expression, that look of vicious glee.

Juliet was right. The ton was aflutter over some rumor, and if she could judge by the rising whispers, it was spreading like a contagion.

Dear God, what now?

She stilled, straining to catch a word here or there, praying with everything inside her she wouldn’t hear anything about Lord Melrose or the Lady in Lavender, and paralyzed with dread that she would.

Juliet snapped open her fan, and ducked behind it. “There’s another scandal afoot, you may be certain of it.”

“I do believe you’re right, Juliet. Stay here, girls, while I go and find out what it is.

” Lady Fosberry nodded toward the gray-haired lady in the neighboring box.

“Lady Browning and her daughter are just there, and they’re both dreadful gossips.

I’ll have the whole of it soon enough, I promise you. ”

Emmeline’s heart rushed into her throat, and before she knew what she was doing, her hand snaked out to stop Lady Fosberry. “Please don’t, my lady! Perhaps it’s best if we stay out of it this time.”

“It’s much too late for that, I’m afraid. It’s best if we know what it is at once.” Lady Fosberry gently pried the folds of her skirt from Emmeline’s fingers. “My dear, why do you suppose we came tonight? Not to hear Juliet Capulet chatter about love from her bedchamber balcony, I assure you.”

“But—”

“At worst, it’s something regarding poor Lord Melrose’s predicament. At best, a new scandal’s afoot, and the ton has moved on from the Lady in Lavender. We can only hope it’s the latter.” Lady Fosberry rose from her seat with a sigh. “Dear me, this season has quite soured me on gossip.”

“But I don’t think?—”

It was too late, however. Lady Fosberry was already gone. She appeared in the neighboring box, and Lady Browning tugged her down into an empty seat and began a furious whispering.

“For pity’s sake,” Juliet hissed. “Does Lady Browning imagine she’s being quiet, with that flapping tongue? They can likely hear her down in the pit!”

“Hush! I’m trying to listen.” Emmeline laid a hand on Juliet’s arm to quiet her. “I can’t quite tell what all the fuss is, but Lady Browning said something about…Lord Cudworth. Yes, I’m certain she said something about Lord Cudworth.”

Dear God, what awful lies had spewed from his lips this time?

“She just said something about Lady Christine Dingley. Goodness, Lady Browning can go on, and none of it to the purpose,” Juliet muttered from behind her fan. “I wonder how Lady Fosberry hasn’t choked it out of her by now.”

Lord Cudworth, and Lady Christine? A shudder tripped down Emmeline’s spine. No good ever came from those two.

“Wait! Lady Browning just mentioned Lord Melrose.” Juliet gripped Emmeline’s arm. “Of course, she’s chosen now to lower her voice, the maddening thing, but it’s something to do with Lord Melrose, Lord Cudworth, and Lady Christine Dingley. Oh, dear, that doesn’t sound promising, does it?”

Lady Fosberry came rushing back into their box then, looking pale and grim. “Well, my dears, it isn’t good news. The ton hasn’t moved onto another scandal.”

Emmeline clutched at the arms of her chair with numb fingers. “What do you mean, my lady?”

“Lady Christine Dingley and Lord Cudworth are betrothed.” Lady Fosberry nodded toward a box one level above theirs, and to their right.

Lady Christine was seated in the first row, wearing an ice blue gown, sapphires flashing at her ears and throat, and beside her sat Lord Cudworth, elegant in his black evening dress, a proprietary hand on Lady Christine’s arm.

“That’s not all. It’s, ah…well, it’s very bad, dearests.” Lady Fosberry’s voice was faint. “It seems Lord Cudworth has once again changed his mind about the Lady in Lavender.”

“What now ?” Juliet threw up her hands. “Was she wearing indigo this time? Or lilac, perhaps?”

“Violet.” Lady Fosberry’s voice shook. “Violet silk, and he claims she has chestnut-colored hair.”

Emmeline stared at her, her stomach clenching with dread.

But no, it couldn’t be. Even Lady Christine couldn’t be so cruel as to ?—

“Chestnut hair? But he said before it was too dark to see the lady! How can he know what color her hair—” Juliet broke off as she glanced up at the Dingley’s box and saw Lady Dingley, Lady Christine, and Lord Cudworth all smirking down at them with spiteful triumph.

The becoming pink color drained from Juliet’s cheeks. “Why, that wicked, devious, sneaking thing! I suppose they’ve run to every drawing room in London with my name on their lips, haven’t they?”

Lady Fosberry opened her mouth, then closed it again, but her despairing expression told them everything, without her having to say a word.

“But how can anyone take anything Lord Cudworth says as the truth? He’s told a half-dozen different stories already. Now he’s decided Juliet is the Lady in Lavender? Why, anyone can see the Dingley’s have put him up to this!”