Page 29

In that moment, she knew exactly how the balloon had felt.

“Trust me,” the countess continued, “this way is much better. Mark my words, in two days’ time, you will be the most sought-after

debutante this Season. No one will even recall that it’s your third.”

***

That afternoon, they managed to secure an appointment with Madame LeBlanc. Thea had no idea how much Lady Broadbent had paid

for the privilege, but the cost had to have been dear.

“I fear you have been far too generous, my lady,” she said over a lump of guilt the size of a toad in her throat. “Three Seasons,

my ennui, that entire ordeal last year, and now this.”

As they left the shop, Lady Broadbent squeezed her hand. “None of that, my dear. I would do it all again in a trice if it

meant finding you a proper husband.”

If Thea hadn’t told that story about the highwayman, then none of this would have happened. None of it.

She never would have had a gown ruined, let alone three. She would have smiled politely at parties. Would have been introduced

to a few potential prospects, with at least one who wanted to court her. And by the end of the Season she might have been

betrothed to a proper gentleman.

But if none of it ever happened, then she never would have talked to St. James. He never would have carried her away in the

middle of the night. She never would have found her spark. And the rest of her life would have continued on as a sea of empty

pages in a world without ink.

Thinking about all of it only made her feel selfish. She wasn’t even certain she was worth all this trouble.

As soon as the thought registered, a wave of nausea rolled through her. Kellum would have said something like that. Not her. Before she met him, she never would have believed that she wasn’t worth living a life that made her happy.

She needed to stop thinking that way and shove any trace of him out of her head.

Determined to do just that, she lifted her head high and saw Miss Handscombe and Miss Livet coming toward them on the pavement.

With a ready smile, she offered a wave.

Miss Handscombe did the same until her mother quickly intercepted the gesture. Lady Bromley shook her head so adamantly it

looked as though she had an actual bee in her bonnet, then the trio swiftly altered course, disappearing into the nearest

shop.

As the sharp ping of a bell faded and the door closed, Thea felt that toad in her throat plummet to the pit of her stomach.

“Never mind all that,” the countess said with a pat. “By tomorrow everything will be different. Just wait and see.”

She’d said the same thing last year as they’d left London with Thea in tears. And everything had been decidedly different,

but not in a good way.

“Now, we’ll simply have ourselves a lovely cup of tea and a few biscuits and then—” She stopped and a smile bloomed on her

face. “And here is a friend that I’m certain will brighten your day.”

Thea didn’t even realize that she’d been staring down at the pavement until she looked up and saw the approach of Anna Snow,

her porcelain skin adorned with a cheerful smile, black ringlets bouncing under a blue bonnet as she quickened her step to

greet them.

Miss Snow was a dear friend of Verity’s, Thea’s eldest sister. And, in a way, had become something of a sister to all of them.

In fact, she was partly the reason that the true swindler behind the scandal that had blackened the Hartley name had been

caught and brought to justice.

However, ten years ago, it was a different story.

Thea had been just thirteen when it happened. She remembered her father’s excitement about an investment opportunity that

would provide handsomely for their family. Unfortunately, his famed silver tongue also lured many members of the ton into sinking their fortunes into the endeavor. Before anyone was aware that they were all being swindled.

When the truth was revealed, most of society blamed Conchobar Hartley, ignoring the fact that he’d lost a fortune as well.

Seven years passed and the Hartley family kept to themselves in their small hamlet. Until, one day, Verity told a lie that

brought the Duke of Longhurst— Lady Broadbent’s grandson —to their door.

The very same duke who’d been on the precipice of marrying Miss Anna Snow.

It was almost comical to think that one little lie could change so many lives for the better. And yet, Thea didn’t believe

that the tale the countess had just spun for Madame LeBlanc would have quite the same result.

After all, there were still many in society who likened the Hartley name with scandal, and she would do well to remember that.

“Why, Lady Broadbent and Miss Hartley, as I live and breathe. It has been far too long since we’ve seen each other,” Anna

said, reaching out to squeeze both of their hands. “Thea, I believe it was at the christening of your sister’s son. Come to

think of it, I just had a letter from Verity the other day. How is the rest of your family?”

In the presence of Anna’s effervescence, Thea’s smile was genuine as the tightness in her lungs receded on a relieved breath.

“They are all well. And it is exceedingly good to see you, Miss Snow.”

“Hearing ‘Miss Snow’ only reminds me of the Season I spent as the common-born heiress who once darkened the ton ’s door. It is Anna to you,” she corrected affectionately. “After all, I think of you, Honoria and Verity as near to sisters as anyone could

be. Therefore, we are practically family.”

“Well said, Miss Sn—” Lady Broadbent hesitated with a wince as if delivering an improper address pained her. “Anna.”

Thea and Anna exchanged a playful look. Even during the short time that Magnus had been courting Anna— before he’d met and fallen head over heels for Verity—Lady Broadbent had never called her by her given name.

“And how is your father?” the countess continued. “Well, I hope.”

“Indeed, he is. However, he would be happier if the world had more buttons in it, and he was the one to make them,” she said

wryly of the man once known by all of England as the Button King before he lost his fortune. But Phineas Snow wasn’t the type

to give up, even if he had to start over. “In fact, I was just running an errand for his business partner, Mr. Dashing, when

I saw the pair of you.”

“And we are ever so glad you did. As for us, we were about to have tea. It would be lovely if you were to join us.”

“That is,” Thea added ominously, “ if you dare to be seen with two pariahs.”

One of the things that she liked about Anna was that she didn’t possess an ounce of artifice in her character. She was wholly

genuine, and so was her look of understanding.

“I have seen the papers and I can tell you that I am heartily sorry for this nonsense you are being forced to endure. However, as one who has lived through a scandal or two, I can tell you that they live a half life. Like fireflies in a jar, they will soon lose their power to glow.” Then Anna linked her arms through Lady Broadbent’s and Thea’s.

“Besides, I’ve always thought that three pariahs make a far better number for tea. Don’t you?”

***

Before the end of the following day, dozens of new invitations arrived, as well as missives claiming to have sent earlier

regrets in error. The scandal sheets laid all the blame at St. James’s feet, while Miss Hartley was dubbed the enchantress .

Lady Broadbent’s plan was a smashing success.

Thea expected to feel a wave of relief. But all she felt was guilt.

She wanted to send Jasper a letter in order to... To what? Warn him? Explain that casting him as the villain hadn’t been

her idea?

In the end, she knew that anything she might have said to her chaperone would only have worsened the situation for both of

them, risking her reputation and exposing him. And she wouldn’t do that to him.

Of course, all of this would be so much easier if she knew his reason for becoming a highwayman and his ongoing disguise for

the ton . After being deceived by Kellum’s character, it was difficult for her to trust, not only others but her own judgment.

Was she wrong to feel this peculiarly potent connection to Jasper? Or should she simply accept what he’d told her—that they

could be nothing to each other?

Ugh! She hated the sense of hopelessness that came from all this uncertainty.

After the discussion she’d had at tea with Anna, she wished she could be more like her.

When Mr. Snow’s business had gone down in flames, she’d offered up her considerable dowry to rebuild it, but only if her father

allowed her to manage the factory.

Even though she was six and twenty, she was unconcerned with finding a husband. Her dream was to become a businesswoman in her own right, and she was doggedly pursuing that dream, no matter the cost.

“We have two for Thursday next,” Lady Broadbent said from a tufted chair by the hearth in the parlor.

“Oh?” Thea answered distractedly as she sat at the desk by the window and attempted to fold pieces of silver paper into a

bachelor’s button. So far it looked more like a miniature elephant.

“To narrow it down to one, we need to decide which... Oh.” The countess stopped and her expression shuttered closed. “Never

mind, my dear. I spoke in error. The second option is simply... well... unsuitable.”

Thea’s interest was sparked at once. To her mind, anyone hosting a soiree deemed unsuitable would likely have invited St. James as well.

She set the elephant flower aside. “What is the second option?”

“The Buxton Ball.”

“Oh,” she said, the weighted syllable practically pachydermic.

Lord Buxton and Lady Buxton were patrons of the arts. Because of their affinity for the theatre, they had once been friends

of Thea’s parents. However, when the scandal blackened her family name ten years ago, they chose not to be their champions.

After her father had been exonerated, they’d extended an olive branch and were more than pleased to add Thea’s name to their

invitation list.

That was how she had met Kellum.

The Buxtons often invited him to their home, and had even taken holidays with him. And considering the fact that they were

well aware of Kellum’s attentions to Thea last Season— and the abrupt end of his attentions—their primary interest was likely in the drama created in having the two of them encounter each other.

“Fear not, my dear. I shall send our regrets.”

“No. I think we should attend,” Thea said, surprising herself. “It would only make tongues wag if we didn’t, with the ton whispering and speculating that I am still”—she swallowed—“heartbroken. But I would rather not give Sir Archer the satisfaction

of believing he has any effect on me whatsoever.”

Not only that, but she didn’t want St. James to hear those rumors either. Because even though he said they could be nothing

to each other, she wanted to give him every reason to reconsider.

Lady Broadbent’s lips curved, her eyes softly creased at the corners. “I am in full agreement. Let us make him rue the day

he ever let the enchantress slip through his fingers.”

Later that night, and feeling a rise of her own dogged determination, Thea decided to send a missive to St. James.

Please come to the Buxton Ball.

Yours,

A