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Chrissy’s gaze lingered on the retreating figures until the door closed behind them, the lady’s gown taunting her.

She felt the weight of her own modest frock, suddenly coarse and dull in comparison.

A sigh escaped her lips as she envisioned herself draped in such finery, the object of affection from a man as dashing and noble as the Duke of Nomansland.

She was in such an awkward position after her sister married the Duke of Abingdon.

Dinah and Abingdon were more than generous, giving Chrissy an allowance, buying her clothes more suited to the sister of a duchess, but Chrissy wasn’t comfortable accepting money she hadn’t earned taking in laundry, as she had done since she was old enough to work at her grandmother’s side.

As grateful as she was that she and Grandmama no longer needed to work thanks to Abingdon’s generosity, she would never feel as if she had the right to enter the club through the main door, rather than the trade entrance, nor did she go to the modiste or haberdasher unless Dinah dragged her along.

The way Nomansland hadn’t even noticed her presence, when he knew who she was, demonstrated her place in Polite Society.

“Such fancies,” she chided herself softly, tucking a loose strand of hair into her bonnet.

The very notion that someone of his ilk could look twice at a girl like her seemed as far-fetched as the stories in the novels she so adored.

Yet, in the secret garden of her heart, she nurtured a tender hope that bloomed with reckless abandon—a dream of a love so fierce and consuming that it would eclipse all others.

The idea of marrying a tradesman, respectable though they might be, paled compared to the grand romances she conjured in her quiet moments.

The thought of the upcoming Season sent a flutter through her chest. Dinah had promised to present her to Polite Society, and her first ball was only a week away.

The prospect both thrilled and terrified her, for it was not just a parade of elegant gowns and sparkling jewels, but a gateway to the kind of love she yearned for—one that rivaled the passion her grandparents shared, the depths of which she had unwittingly discovered between the lines of their old correspondence.

After making her way around to the side entrance, where employees and tradesmen entered, she descended the narrow staircase to the basement of Sutcliffe’s.

Her heart pounded with a mixture of anxiety and curiosity.

She knocked on the door of her sister’s office and opened it when Dinah bade her to enter.

Dinah hunched over an accounting book, her brow furrowed in concentration as she traced a line of figures with the tip of her finger.

“Good afternoon,” Chrissy ventured, her voice tentative amidst the solemnity of the dimly lit room.

Without raising her eyes from the ledger, Dinah offered a distracted hum of acknowledgment—a mere shadow of a greeting.

Chrissy watched her sister, noting how the flickering candlelight cast a golden hue on Dinah’s auburn hair.

She was a study in contrast, working in the basement office when she should have been at home preparing for morning calls with a bevy of Society matrons.

Chrissy hesitated to speak, the tantalizing words of the scandalous letters burning in her mind’s recesses.

Yet, watching her sister work, she accepted now was not the time or place to divulge the contents of the attic discovery, nor to discuss the confusion that tangled within her like wayward ribbons.

Her fingers laced together in a knot of nervous energy.

“I hate to disturb you. I came because we need some assistance at home. The roof has sprung a leak, quite a persistent one. I hope we can repair it before it rains again.”

Finally, Dinah glanced up, her expression softening as she registered her younger sister’s presence fully.

“Oh, Chrissy, I’m sorry to ignore you. You should speak to Abingdon about it.

He’ll know who to send for the repairs. If he’s not in his office upstairs, just leave a message with his secretary. ”

“Thank you.” She turned toward the door.

Dinah’s voice cut through the quiet, halting her sister’s departure. “Remember, you must take the servant stairs. The club is no place for an innocent such as yourself.”

Chrissy paused, her hand on the cool doorknob, and turned back to meet Dinah’s earnest gaze. There was a severity in her sister’s tone that brooked no argument, a command that spoke of an understanding of their world that Chrissy hadn’t yet grasped.

“Under no circumstances are you to wander through the guest areas. It can be… overwhelming for the uninitiated,” Dinah said.

“Of course,” Chrissy promised, nodding her compliance even as a flutter of curiosity teased at her senses. What secrets did Sutcliffe’s hold that required such caution? Her heart quickened at the thought, but she pushed the sensation aside. She wouldn’t risk embarrassing her sister.

“Oh, and don’t forget, Nomansland will join us for supper this evening, so dress appropriately.”

Nodding and refraining from rolling her eyes, Chrissy slipped through the door and made her way to the narrow, dimly lit staircase that servants used to move invisibly through the club.

All of the gowns Dinah had generously ordered for Chrissy’s Season were delivered earlier that week, so she had many lovely choices.

Normally, she wore one of her prettier gowns, also bought by Dinah, when she and Grandmama joined her sister and brother-in-law for supper.

Well, to be fully honest, she usually work a blue sprigged gown that she particularly loved.

But she wasn’t a complete bumpkin. When Abingdon’s partners joined them for a meal, she took special care with her appearance.

Her maid was quite efficient with hairstyles beyond Chrissy’s basic bun.

Despite the warning, part of Chrissy longed to catch just a glimpse of the forbidden opulence that lay beyond the plain wooden walls that enclosed the stairwell.

Surely a glimpse of the gaming rooms wouldn’t ruin her in the eyes of Society.

She wasn’t likely to see anyone here that she might cross paths with at Almack’s, she didn’t think.

When she reached the landing with its door to the main floor, she hesitated. Just a peek. No one would notice her. Chrissy would never know.

Shaking her head at her lack of discipline, Chrissy opened the door to the lobby of the club and stepped inside.

As expected, the space was empty, so no one would discover her.

The ordinariness of the room disappointed her.

The gilt-framed paintings were landscapes, not satyrs and nymphs.

Nothing about the décor spoke of lewd, lascivious acts being enjoyed within these walls.

“Miss Westfall?” a male voice spoke nearby.

She turned to see the Duke of Dainsfield standing near a hallway opening. She cringed. “Your Grace. I, er, I’m looking for Abingdon.”

Dainsfield smiled. “Ah, I see. Shall I take you to his office?”

“No, thank you.” Her cheeks were burning, and she wished she’d simply asked Dinah to pass along her request. “My sister doesn’t want me to be seen here.”

He chuckled. “Wise woman. Take the stairs behind that door to the next floor, and you’ll find our offices.” He motioned toward the door she’d just come through.

She curtsied, offered her thanks, and scurried back into the stairwell.

Abingdon was indeed in his office and promised to have a man come to repair the roof first thing the next day.

Chrissy didn’t linger, having already proven her inability to avoid temptation, so she quickly left.

She might never know what the private rooms at Sutcliffe’s looked like, but if they were decorated like the lobby, her imagined version was much more intriguing.