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Teresa could not help but marvel at her wondrous friend, who seemed to know everything about everyone, and never gave away her sources, regardless of how keenly Teresa asked.

It was as if the gossip of society was a tree, and Beatrice was somehow directly connected to the roots, sucking up the information and secrets of the Ton .

“You might roll your eyes, Bea,” Teresa replied hesitantly, “but… if I am going to marry, I would… perhaps like to find the love of my life and be blissfully happy, like my sister and Edmund. Like the heroes and heroines in my books. Like Captain Frostheart and Miss Savage.” She blushed, thinking of her favorite story— a clandestine novel that came to her in chapters by post every fortnight, the author anonymous.

“My silly daydreams made real and, trust me, I know it is silly, but?—”

“Not silly at all,” Beatrice interrupted, giving Teresa’s hands a tight squeeze. “I may not want anything to do with any gentlemen, but you know I do not deride those who do. My choices are mine. Your choices are yours. All I need to know is that it is a choice, and not a coercion.”

Teresa shrugged her shoulders faintly. “To fall in love would be my choice. My preference, rather.” She swallowed. “I think I could be very happy if I were to fall in love and marry that beloved man.”

“You do understand that they might not be a swashbuckling captain in scandalously tight buckskin pants and a billowing shirt, who would slash a thousand throats to rescue you from the wicked admiral, do you not? I must be sure of that, too,” Beatrice teased a little, flashing a mischievous wink.

Teresa laughed. “Alas, I do understand that.”

“Well, although I confess I shall be sad to lose you from my spinsterly plans, I shall help you and support you. Always.” Beatrice grinned.

“That being said, I cannot help but wonder if you should just ask a man to kiss you and have your curiosity satisfied that way, instead. No need for marriage once you know that your daydreams are infinitely better.”

“Ah, but what if reality is better?” Teresa pointed out, her heart racing a little at the thought of kissing someone.

Beatrice wiggled her eyebrows. “Indeed. What if it is?”

“You shall get me flung wholly out of society with such wicked talk,” Teresa said, putting on a gasp of mock outrage. “Why, just think of the scandal!”

Beatrice leaned in, elbowing Teresa lightly in the ribs. “No, no, just think about the kiss.”

Teresa was about to make a joke about her beloved Captain Frostheart, seeing if Beatrice knew of any gentlemen who did match such a man, when a voice sent a swift chill beetling down her spine.

“She is not in the refreshment room,” Julianna, Dowager Countess of Grayling cried, frustration in her words. “She has hidden herself away again, and I have Lord Liddell waiting for her! If she cannot be found before the next set begins, he will not want to dance with her at all.”

Teresa did not know who her mother was talking to, but they were close.

Far too close for her comfort. And though she had just intimated that she might like to fall in love, she did not want to partake in another of her mother’s mortifying introduction schemes.

Julianna had a habit of choosing the most awful gentlemen, certainly none that Teresa could ever dream of falling in love with.

It hardly helped Teresa’s confidence, seeing the men that her mother thought were worthy of her.

“Bea, I—” she whispered, her heart in her throat.

“Say no more,” Beatrice interjected, seizing her friend by the hand and pulling her to her feet.

A moment later, Beatrice stood in front of a narrow door on the opposite side of the annex. Sliding a pin from her hair, she jammed it into the lock, wiggled it with a confidence that made Teresa’s heart beat a little slower, and flashed a grin as a faint click sounded.

“You are putting me in the cupboard?” Teresa gaped at her friend.

Beatrice eased the door open and peeked inside, her grin widening until she appeared quite mad. “Not at all, dear Tess. Rather, I have just facilitated your daring escape, with more than a little luck.” She grabbed Teresa and shoved her through. “Now, go. I have some diversion to do.”

There was no time for Teresa to protest as she found herself in a narrow corridor, the door closing upon her. Fortunately, someone had thought to leave a few lanterns in the passageway, the flickering flames revealing the small space for what it was: a servants’ corridor.

Oh, to be born as lucky as you, Bea. Teresa took a relieved breath, smiling to herself as she pressed on, hoping the corridor would eventually spit her out somewhere quiet. Somewhere far from her mother.

At each illuminated interval stood another thin doorway, presumably to allow the servants to come and go unseen, disappearing into the walls as if they had never been there at all.

There were also narrow, rectangular grates, covered with some kind of thin fabric, which unnerved her somewhat: the idea that someone could spy on a room or a person, unseen.

No, she did not like that at all.

Hurrying on, she had barely made it to the third lantern, which cast its glow upon one of those strange doors, when something brought her to a sudden, gasping halt.

“Teresa Wilds?” a deep, masculine voice rumbled, her body freezing.

Is he… talking to me? Does he know I am here?

The same speaker made an odd grunt, tinged with some of the derision she faced at each and every ball she attended, thanks to Lady Juliet.

“Tell me,” he said, Teresa’s heart beating out of her chest, certain that he had somehow noticed her creeping along behind the walls, “is she anything like her name?”