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gown draped in gold netting with a train that trailed so far behind her that it reached the stairs. And as she smiled, it

became abundantly clear that horse teeth ran in the family.

But when the maids on either side reached into their baskets to shower her in flecks of gold, the tableau took a turn for

the worse.

For an instant, the glittering spectacle earned admiring ooh s from the crowd. At least, until it had the unfortunate result of adhering to Miss Hunnicutt’s perspiring skin.

Just as the music stopped, presumably for the debutante to give a soliloquy, someone said, “She looks like a gilded hare.”

A few snickers followed, growing into giggles as they washed through the crowd.

Nell rushed up to her cousin, attempting to brush away the gold with her handkerchief.

It didn’t work. In fact, it only gave her stripes.

Portia began to shriek at her cousin, stomping her foot. “This was all your idea! You’ve ruined my debut! Ruined it! I hate

you! Just wait till I tell my mother!”

Then she stormed off, shouting at the maids to pick up her train.

Lady Broadbent began to commiserate over the debacle with the Marchioness of Leighton, whose upcoming ball was one of the

most coveted invitations among the ton . And Thea was about to innocuously insert herself into their conversation when she heard a man’s low murmur from just over

her shoulder.

“Pity that. The one thing the party needed was a bit more gold,” he said dryly.

The comment tugged a grin from her lips and she turned to identify the speaker.

At first, her gaze landed on a somewhat wrinkled ivory cravat, then on a pair of broad, sloped shoulders. She wasn’t a petite

woman by any means, but it wasn’t until she lifted her chin up and up a bit more that she finally alighted on the speaker’s

face.

The man was Viscount St. James. She couldn’t recall ever speaking with him, aside from when they were first introduced two

years ago. She wondered why that was.

“My thoughts precisely,” she said.

He didn’t respond at first. But his lips parted slightly as if he’d become arrested in midthought, his gaze skimming over

her face.

Her smile widened. This was not an altogether uncommon occurrence for her, just as it wasn’t for her mother and sisters. The

Hartley women were all considered beauties in varying degrees, but it was nothing that Thea concerned herself with. After

all, she liked to watch people, too, for the purpose of understanding future characters.

So she took note of him, as well.

She didn’t recall that he had ash blond hair that grew dark at the roots. Or that he possessed a prominent brow and a square jaw that seemed cut by a military saber to exact precision. And behind a pair of round, wire-rimmed spectacles, his eyes were the color of treacle and moss and—

St. James blinked. So did she.

Then he cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t realize that I’d spoken aloud.”

His voice was incongruently soft compared with his imposing size and it made her want to lean closer. He also spoke with a

slight lisp that drew her attention to the tip of his tongue and the way it flicked against his front teeth.

She felt her cheeks grow warm at the sight of it. The reaction was clearly from embarrassment, in realizing that she—an astute

observer—had not noticed this when they’d met before. It definitely seemed like something she should recall.

With a turn of her wrist, she opened her fan. “Ah, but you did speak aloud. And now I know your secret.”

“What do you mean?” His brows snapped together, his gaze alert, jaw tense.

Curious about this response, she took her time to answer, all the better to study him. Then her shoulders lifted in an offhand

shrug and she leaned conspiratorially closer. “You, sir, have a dry wit.”

His breath came out in a puff, his chest falling as if in relief.

“No one would ever believe it.”

She waited for him to say more, her gaze darting from his mouth to the eyes that seemed to brim with stories behind the smudged

spectacles.

Then the gong rang again.

Thea turned with a start, jolted back to awareness of the soiree she didn’t want to attend in the first place. However, as the butler announced that dinner was served, and the man behind her would doubtlessly proffer an arm to escort her, she realized that her mood this evening had improved.

Perhaps a third Season wouldn’t be altogether too terrible.

But when she looked back over her shoulder, St. James was gone. Just... gone.

Then she caught a glimpse of those broad shoulders moving swiftly through the room, away from her. And after having felt not even worthy of a footnote for the past year, this stung.

To make matters worse, Lord Chedworth appeared, proffering his arm and already prattling on about his high-steppers.

Was this the best she could hope for in this third Season?

Your tarnish is showing , the chorus chimed in.

Perhaps, Lady Broadbent was right. Thea needed to do something different this year. And if there was anything a Hartley knew

how to do, it was to create a stir.