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“I—I don’t know what you mean,” she croaked, her throat constricting.

The countess tutted. “Miss Hartley is hardly at fault if a gentleman sits beside her at a musicale. She is quite lovely, after

all. It would be like asking the bees to stay far afield of the prettiest flowers.”

“True. True,” their hostess said dismissively. “Though, if she is seen in the company of a man who brings ridicule upon himself,

it will make her ridiculous by association and diminish any offers she might receive.”

“If the gentlemen vying for Miss Hartley’s hand are unable to see her worth simply because of the suitors she attracts, then

they are not worthy of her.”

“But she will not be the only one who suffers. Society’s low opinion would also reflect poorly on her parents for allowing

such an unfit man to court their daughter. Which would, in turn, shine a skeptical—if not wholly unfavorable—light on her

sisters and their unions.”

The countess stiffened. “You forget that one of those unions happens to be with my grandson.”

“I assure you, no one has forgotten that the venerable Duke of Longhurst dashed off to Gretna Green to marry. Over an anvil,”

she stressed.

Lady Broadbent’s eyes flashed and Thea wondered if she would soon see smoke coming out of her ears. She was fiercely protective

of her family. “Magnus married for love. While you may think that a trivial matter, I do not.”

“Now, now, Olympia. I did not intend to ruffle your feathers. We have been friends these many years, and it is with that very friendship that I offer a word of warning that Miss Hartley’s third Season should be considered with the gravity it deserves.

Tongues are already wagging.” Her finger pointed toward the window as if all of society were just outside and trying to peer into her parlor.

“Such rumors could spread like the plague, sending our poor Miss Hartley to the shelf instead of the altar.”

Lady Broadbent expelled a slow breath, darting a glance to her charge.

“I made a handsome match for my daughter,” she said. “While Geraldine’s marriage with a duke won society’s approval, it left

her hardened in the end. She lived many unhappy years with a feckless husband. And there were countless times I wished that

I could have spared her such a fate. Therefore, as my friend, I’m sure you’ll understand when I tell you that I’ll support

whatever decision Miss Hartley makes.”

Thea felt a wealth of fondness and the prickle of incipient tears at the corners of her eyes. The countess was all decorum

and propriety. But when it came to matters of the heart, she was soft as syllabub.

She was tempted to launch herself across the table and hug the dour curmudgeon.

As if sensing this desire, the countess arched an imperious brow that shut down any of that nonsense. Thea grinned and sniffed.

“Very well,” the dowager viscountess said offhandedly as if the matter were suddenly of little consequence. Leaning forward,

she put a scone on a plate, added a spoonful of red currant jam and a dollop of clotted cream, then offered it. “Olympia,

you must try my cook’s scones.”

“Thank you, I—”

Suddenly, the plate toppled from her fingers and landed face down onto Lady Broadbent’s lap.

“Oh, how clumsy of me! I do apologize. I would ring for my girl but she would take an age.” Vaulting up from her chair with surprising speed, Lady Abernathy ushered her friend to the door.

“If you would but go to the kitchen, I’m certain my cook will see that your skirts are put back to rights.

Fear not, I’ll keep Miss Hartley entertained until you return. ”

As the countess left the room, Thea went to the other side of the table and tidied up. Coming from a family of actors, she

wasn’t at all convinced that the spilled plate was an accident. And when her hostess returned to her rocker and clapped her

hands once and chafed them in greedy anticipation, she was sure of it.

Thea set the dish off to the side. “I presume you wished to speak with me alone?”

“You are indeed a bright gel,” Lady Abernathy said with a creased grin as she began to rock. “I shall speak my piece then

say no more. My advice to you is to stop this nonsense with St. James. He is not a candidate for marriage. There’s nothing

left of his father’s estate other than a worthless title and a handful of acres of fallow land.”

“Be that as it may, and even though it is of no concern of mine, I have heard that St. James stands to inherit an earldom.”

“That will never happen,” her hostess added with authority. “Though, thankfully for St. James, his uncle has been magnanimous

enough to look out for him. Paid for his education. And when he failed, time and again, it was the Earl of Redcliffe who purchased

a commission for him. I daresay there has been no one who could find fault with the earl. And Redcliffe is still young and

handsome enough to take a third bride that could yield a legitimate issue.

“Besides,” she continued, “Redcliffe will never approve of a match for his nephew. He was appointed guardian over his nephew’s

estate years ago. And it is Redcliffe who will make any and all decisions for him, because—as nearly everyone knows—St. James

lacks intellect.”

Thea let out a huff. “I don’t understand why people keep saying that. St. James is as intelligent as any man in our circle.”

Lady Abernathy cackled like a Shakespearean witch over a bubbling cauldron. “Then you haven’t seen much of the right society. Though I trust that you will now that your fascination with the playwright has ended?”

She didn’t answer. All at once her throat felt too thick. Her fascination was truly all it ever had been, and it seemed that everyone knew it.

“I’m sure you know that Olympia has a great fondness for you,” her hostess said, not unkindly. “It is because of that, as

well as my fondness for her, that I wanted to make it clear that you will not be the only one who suffers ridicule.”

Thea swallowed. She thought about all the support the countess had given her. All the times she’d procured invitations to

assemblies that Kellum would attend. All the times that she’d been patient when her charge became distracted by plays.

Was it really asking so much for Thea to try her best to make a good impression this Season?

Staying away from St. James seemed the least she could do. After all, hadn’t she wasted enough time on men who left her feeling

uncertain?

“I understand, and I would never wish to bring disfavor on Lady Broadbent. Therefore, I’ll keep my distance from St. James,”

she said, wondering why her lungs felt so heavy all of a sudden. He meant nothing to her.

And besides, she was more interested in discovering the identity of her muse.

“Splendid.” Her hostess gave her an appraising glance. “Have you been introduced to Redcliffe?”

“I have not.”

“Hmm... He is a man of considerable consequence. The connection would do well for you, I should think. Perhaps I’ll introduce

you.”

“Introduce Miss Hartley to whom?” Lady Broadbent asked as she sauntered back into the room, her stony countenance revealing her displeasure at the dark stain that lingered upon her lavender skirts.

The dowager viscountess stopped rocking and held up a gnarled finger. “I just thought of something. Or someone, rather. A

certain Captain Summerhayes. He is the brother of my son’s late wife and recently retired from the navy. He was always quite

the rascal, if you ask me,” she said with a broad smile. “I wonder if he is the one who sent me this shawl.”

“Captain Summerhayes, did you say?” the countess asked as she regally lowered onto her cushion. “I don’t recall meeting him.

Do you, Miss Hartley?”

The change of topic was just the distraction Thea needed. Because, for a moment, she caught herself thinking about St. James

a good deal more than her highwayman.