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“ H old still, My Lady,” Ellen murmured as she secured another hairpin, her fingers deft and swift. “We can’t have your hair tumbling down at Almack’s.”

Marjory sat before the vanity, the lamplight casting a soft aura around her, entwining her reflection with shadows.

Ellen wove ribbons and pearls into her auburn curls, crafting a coiffure elegant enough to grace any ballroom.

Yet Marjory’s gaze drifted beyond her reflection, captured by phantom images of the previous night.

“Apologies,” she whispered, stilling herself. Her fingers grazed the hairbrush’s bristles, their prickly texture reminiscent of the mysterious man’s coat beneath her hand. A shiver coursed through her—an unsettling mix of unease and forbidden curiosity.

Who was he? A thief with a refinement that belied his intentions, he moved in shadow and mischief with the elegance of a gentleman. The contradiction wrapped around her thoughts, riddles without answers.

“Marjory, are you even watching?” Abigail’s sharp tone sliced through her reverie.

She blinked, returning her thoughts to the present where her sister stood poised in the room’s center. Abigail executed a flawless curtsey, her skirts fanning like a swan’s wings. “This is how you must greet the patronesses at Almack’s,” she instructed, rising with practiced elegance.

“Of course,” Marjory replied. Her mind remained ensnared by the enigma of the stranger who vanished into the night like smoke.

Abigail’s eyes narrowed with the acumen of a hawk. “You might at least pretend to pay attention. Almack’s is no place for daydreams.”

Suppressing a sigh, Marjory met her sister’s gaze. “Forgive me. I was pondering whether the precise angle of a curtsey truly dictates one’s success in society.”

“It does when the patronesses are involved,” Abigail retorted. “You’ve been distracted all day. Are you certain everything is all right?”

For a moment, Marjory considered confiding in her—the unsettling encounter, the stolen document, the man’s mocking smile. But how could she explain the mix of fear and intrigue that swirled within her?

She offered a reassuring smile instead. “I’m merely trying to remember all the steps to the quadrille. Four steps to the left and then forward?”

Abigail’s demeanor softened, pleased by the inquiry.

She launched into an earnest explanation, demonstrating each step with meticulous care.

Marjory watched, her eyes following the movements while her mind continued to wander.

Should she tell someone about the intruder?

With each passing hour, the idea seemed more improbable.

How does one casually mention a midnight encounter with a gentleman thief?

“And that’s how it’s done,” Abigail concluded, spinning to a graceful stop and dropping into another polished curtsey.

“Thank you for the refresher,” Marjory said, forcing her thoughts to focus on the present. “I shall endeavor to be as graceful as you tonight.”

“You look lovely,” her sister remarked, adjusting a pearl comb amidst the curls. “Remember to dance enough to show your card is full but not so much as to appear eager.”

“I will try,” Marjory assured her though doubt niggled at the edges of her resolve. She’d never had Abigail’s patience for society’s demands and foibles. She was sure she’d make a mess of everything and do something foolish like laugh too loudly or forget to curtsey.

Ellen stepped back, admiring her handiwork. “You’ll be the picture of grace, My Lady. They’ll be enchanted, no doubt.”

“Thank you, Ellen.” Marjory stood, smoothing the lavender muslin of her gown. The cool fabric did little to calm the fluttering in her chest.

As the maid slipped out, Abigail gave her a searching look. “You seem flushed. Are you feeling unwell?”

“Just a bit warm,” Marjory replied. In truth, a restless energy hummed beneath her skin.

She’d spent the day trying to find a moment alone with Norman, only to be thwarted by fittings, dance lessons, and Abigail’s relentless advice.

Verity had kept her occupied with discussions of suitors and dance cards, leaving no chance to inquire about the missing document.

Abigail sighed softly. “I know this isn’t easy for you, but tonight is important—for all of us.”

“I understand,” Marjory whispered.

“Good.” Abigail adjusted a fold in her sleeve. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

The moment her sister turned away, Marjory seized the opportunity. “Actually, I need a moment. I’ll join you downstairs.”

Abigail hesitated then nodded. “Don’t be long.”

As soon as the door closed, she gathered her skirts and hurried toward Norman’s study.

All day she’d tried to catch him alone, but between dress fittings, dance lessons, and Abigail’s incessant advice, she hadn’t had a moment to herself.

Determination quickened her steps. If she knew what the intruder had taken from Norman, it might help her identify him.

Reaching the study, she found the door slightly ajar. Inside, Norman hunched over his desk, shuffling through a disheveled pile of papers. His usually jovial face was creased with concentration, and he muttered softly under his breath.

“Cousin?” she said, stepping into the room.

He glanced up, momentarily startled before he smoothed his expression into a warm smile. “Ah, Marjory! You look absolutely delightful.”

“Thank you. It was all Verity’s doing,” she said deferentially as she eyed the scattered documents. “Are you searching for something?”She moved closer, trying to catch a glimpse of the papers. Columns of numbers, signatures, seals—nothing she could discern quickly.

He waved a dismissive hand, stacking the papers with sudden haste. “Nothing to trouble yourself with, my dear. Just the endless dance of accounts and holdings. Boring stuff.”

“Perhaps I could help. If something is missing, I have a very keen—” she began.

He chuckled lightly though it sounded strained. “Missing? What could possibly be missing? Unless you’ve absconded with the family silver?” He raised an eyebrow in mock suspicion.

She managed a soft laugh. “I assure you, I haven’t developed a penchant for pilfering.”

“Then there’s no cause for concern,” he said, sliding the papers into a drawer and closing it with a decisive thrust. “I appreciate your concern, but you have more pressing matters. After all we’ve done to secure your place, it would be a shame not to make the most of it.”

She felt the subtle weight of his words—a reminder of his generosity and the expectations placed upon her. She inclined her head. “You’re right. I suppose I’m just a bit nervous.”

How she despised that excuse—the way it reduced her genuine concerns to mere jitters. Yet she clung to it now, recognizing she could press no further about the missing document. Not without arousing suspicion.

He smiled, his usual affable nature returning. “Perfectly natural for a lady! But I have every confidence in you. You’ll charm them all, I have no doubt.”

“Thank you,” she said, though her jaw was tight. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s the spirit!” He gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Now, off you go. Can’t keep the patronesses waiting.”

Verity bustled into the room in a gown of muted bronze that set off her blond curls without being ostentatious. “There you are! I’ve been searching everywhere. We must leave immediately or risk being unfashionably late.”

Marjory forced a bright smile as Verity took her arm. “Of course. I’m ready.”

Norman gave her a parting nod. “Enjoy yourself tonight. Do the Finch name proud.”

As they left the study, Marjory cast a final glance over her shoulder.

Norman was already turning back to his desk, a hint of that earlier worry creasing his brow once more.

Unease gnawed at her. For a suspended moment, she considered telling him everything, but Verity swept her up in cheerful chatter and energy, and the opportunity was gone.

Marjory hurried to keep up while her mind whirled with unanswered questions and suspicions.

In the foyer, Abigail reached out to squeeze her hand. “Just remember everything I told you, and you’ll do marvelously.”

A flicker of warmth touched her heart at her sister’s gesture though she couldn’t recall a single word her sister had said that day. Still, she smiled, “With your guidance, how could I fail?”

Their mother stood near the entrance with her hands clasped tightly before her. She surveyed Marjory with an appraising eye then gave a brief nod. “You’re a picture,” she said, pressing a cool kiss to her cheek. “Endure with grace,” she whispered.

Marjory embraced her gently. “I will.”

Verity looped her arm through hers. “Off we go! The carriage awaits.”

Amidst the swirl of excitement, they stepped into the cool evening. Marjory lifted her face to the indigo sky, drawing a deep breath as the crisp air brushed her skin. For a moment, the world hushed, and she let the quiet fortify her before the tumult of Almack’s consumed them all.

The carriage came to a halt before the Assembly Rooms. Marjory gazed out at the grand but decidedly unimpressive building.

The facade was plain, a structure of unremarkable stone, far removed from the glittering opulence of Mayfair’s ballrooms. And yet, what it lacked in grandeur, it made up for in power.

A voucher to Almack’s could shape a young woman’s future.

Or, in Marjory's case, determine how little say she had in her own.

A footman opened the door, and within moments, she was swept inside in a flurry of whispered greetings, rustling skirts, and the cloying scent of too many perfumes mingling in too small a space.