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ONE

Briar

I wasn’t looking for a complete knave. But then, who was?

The ballroom was hot, and sticky, and crowded. Normally, that would be mildly acceptable—it was rare that I didn’t know at least half a dozen people at Almack’s, and I was usually asked to dance by at least two gentlemen.

But tonight, for some reason, it didn’t feel right.

“Hullo there!” shouted a gentleman as the musicians finished off a piece with a flourish, the dancefloor rammed with a large set.

I sighed, and tried to smile at the gentleman who’d made his approach.

In a way, I couldn’t blame him. I was here, wasn’t I? And clearly alone—at least, my friend Georgiana, the Dowager Duchess of Cartice, had been pulled into a conversation with another acquaintance, so I looked alone.

“Let me retrieve you a drink!” the gentleman said pompously, with that sort of grin that showed me I should be grateful.

My smile sharpened.

Men . They were all the same. A brief smile, and they thought they were God’s gift to women.

He did not know me, of course. Anyone who did would have known it was foolish attempting to offer to gain my good favor for the night.

“No, thank you,” I smiled tightly, adjusting my tight red gown that had seemed a perfectly good idea when I’d been getting ready in my townhouse just hours ago.

The gown had been Georgiana’s idea. A bad one, as it turned out.

“Then maybe you should retrieve a drink for me, Lady Briar Weatherford,” he said with a leer. “After all, are you not the most eligible young lady in London—heiress to your uncle, the Duke of Stanlow!”

Try as I might, my smile faltered.

Yes, that was all I was good for, wasn’t I? My money. Why were all men the same? Why did none of them bother to look past myself, who I was, the name and the wealth?

The gentleman had not introduced himself and had leaned forward most suggestively. “I can show you the greatest night?—”

“I highly doubt that,” I said curtly, stepping back. “Please, leave me alone.”

He opened his mouth as he looked at me closely, then froze. “You—really are—I was just kidding, I just thought you looked like her! You’re not?—”

“Yes, I am Lady Briar Weatherford,” I said wearily.

It always happened. At least in this case it was a good thing—being recognized as one of the greatest heiresses in Britain typically had this effect on gentlemen. It was useful when being accosted in Almack’s or approached awkwardly at a private gathering.

I pushed aside the nasty thought that rose.

And it was very unhelpful when I was actually trying to make a connection with a person.

Lady Briar Weatherford, heiress to the Duke of Stanlow.

I’d seriously considered changing my name, but it was hardly the sort of thing one did—besides, the press would get hold of that, wouldn’t they?

No court records were safe from them, and soon I’d be just as hounded as a Sarah, or a Rachel, or whatever name I chose.

It wouldn’t change my wealth.

“I-I'm sorry, I didn’t?—”

“It’s fine,” I said, my heart warming to him. Poor man, he’d had no idea he was leering at a woman who could quite literally buy Almack’s and, likely as not, everyone in it. “Have a lovely evening.”

He probably wished me the same. I didn’t know, he retreated so fast I didn’t hear what he said.

“What did you do to him?”

I turned round and grinned at my best friend as the musicians began another piece and couples scrambled forward to join the set.

“Oh, you know,” I said airily over the noise as I took the glass of wine from Georgiana. “Being Lady Briar Weatherford. Terrifying him out of his wits.”

“All in a day’s work for you, then,” grinned Georgiana. “You cannot be in earnest, though—he didn’t know who you were?”

My smile, again, became stilted.

She meant well. And Georgiana understood it, in a way. She was almost as wealthy as I was, though she’d actually earned her money. We’d met at one of those fancy hotels in Switzerland—she was on a gambling trip, and I had been taking the waters.

Georgiana, the late wife of the Duke of Cartice, recently married to a Mr. Fynn Monroe, was the sort of rich most people dreamed of.

Enough to live on in luxury without ever having to worry, she was had an income that she generated with an actual job.

Well, professional gambling thanks to that Gambling Dukes club of hers.

No inheritance for her.

Honestly, I hadn’t approved when she’d first told me about it. Earn her own living? As a lady?

No, it couldn’t be borne.

But Georgiana was adamant, and she’d found some friends to assist her, and—well, it wasn’t my place to argue with her.

A good thing I hadn’t, too, because she’d been a marvel. The Gambling Dukes took on the sorts of wagers most were far too afraid to touch—and they won.

Last I heard from Georgiana, she was able to draw an income suitable to her rank, and looked to purchase a competency if they were able to gain additional members. In the end, she hadn’t needed her late husband’s money.

Not like me. My relatives made the royals look poor.

I know, I know. Rich heiress complains about being rich, right? What a bore.

But I was tired of it. Tired of always been viewed by my bank balance, tired of nice gentlemen running toward me with hopes of townhouses and racing horses and jewels, or running off just because they saw the pound signs as a threat. Tired of never being treated like a person, just an income.

“I think it’s time for me to leave,” I said, handing Georgiana back my drink.

Her dark eyes widened in surprise. “What, you’re not going home? It’s not even ten!”

“I just…I'm not feeling well,” I said with what I hoped was a cheery smile.

Not after the day I’ve had. I should never have allowed her to convince me to come out in the first place, but she was almost impossible to say no to.

But after being spoken down to by my accountant, laughed at by one of my bankers when I had the audacity to actually ask about my property portfolio, and told sweetly that I shouldn’t ‘worry my little head about it’, I was done.

Done with Almack’s. Done with being Lady Briar Weatherford. Done with all of it.

“He jested about your purchasing something for him, didn’t he?”

I nodded with a shrug. “That’s all gentlemen ever want.”

“You’ll find a man who actually values you for you, I promise,” Georgiana said with a beaming smile. The smile of a woman who had already found her happily ever after. “You really will.”

“You just keep believing that,” I said above the noise. “But honestly, I'm going to leave.”

“Your carriage is waiting for you? You aren’t going to walk home, are you?”

Georgiana looked worried, and I tried to reassure her. “I’ve got the carriage just round the corner, but I may well drop into a gambling den for a few minutes. I’ll be fine.”

Her glare was stern. “You won’t stay there too long, will you?”

Honestly, the hypocrisy! The woman earned a living through gambling, and I couldn’t have a light flutter?

I saluted as Georgiana rolled her eyes. “Yes ma’am!”

Her fist careered gently into my arm. “You know that I just want you to be safe.”

“I know,” I said, embracing her swiftly and making sure not to spill either of the drinks in her hands. “Now, take those fine drinks and enjoy yourself. Where is that dashingly charming husband of yours?”

Georgiana lifted a teasing eyebrow. “You think he’s dashingly charming?”

“Do I have eyes? Of course I do,” I shrugged, adjusting the sleeve of my gown and taking a deep breath. “At least one of us has their happily ever after.”

The London air was sticky, but thankfully not as warm as inside Almack’s. I took a deep lungful of air, desperate to find my equilibrium again.

Tomorrow, everything changes, I promised myself as I strode down the street toward Ferncombe's Gaming Hell, the one Georgiana had introduced me to months ago. Tomorrow, I would be the new Lady Briar Weatherford. Responsible, insightful, involved in her own affairs.

No longer leaving life to be lived through my ‘people’.

Ferncombe's Gaming Hell was busy, as I expected, but the barman recognized me immediately.

Of course he did.

“No tables I'm afraid, Lady Briar,” he said conversationally, as if I’d already spoken. “Perhaps you could find someone to share with?”

“I'm just here for a glass of wine,” I said, leaning on the bar and glancing about the place.

As expected, Ferncombe's Gaming Hell was filled with people who looked as though they’d stepped momentarily out of St. James’. Elegantly coiffured hair, gorgeous jewels, and a few gentlemen with more chiseled jawlines than I’d seen in Rome in a museum of classical statues.

Most people my gaze flickered over looked back, just the once. The recognition was almost immediate every time, though the reaction was different.

My cheeks heated as I took in the stares, the swift looks away, the muttering, the whispering.

And this, I reminded myself, was why I so rarely went out into Society these days. No wonder Georgiana had to convince me. It was like being in a zoo, but I was the only exhibit.

Every single person I saw was the same. The same reaction, the same?—

Perhaps not everyone.

He was tall. At least, he looked tall. He was lounging in a way only the very wealthy or the very selfish do at a bar; all over a chair at a corner table. Despite his broad frame there was strength, not heft in his build. A light dusting of dark stubble outlined his taut jaw, and his eyes?—

I looked away quickly as the barman brought over my wine, my heart racing, my cheeks surely crimson with the heat.

Which was ridiculous. It was just a gentleman, looking at me.

Just a handsome gentleman. Looking directly at me, no shame, no darting gaze when he realized who I was. No, that man had just looked at me, a teasing smile on his lips, his eyes dancing with a wicked delight.

Now that was different.

“You happy here?”