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They chatted a few moments more, and as word spread about the Pump Room, many couples eyed her with interest, the gentlemen smiling appreciatively her way.

Charlotte brought her the curative drink as their new acquaintances promised to send round proper invitations at once for meetings and even a dinner party.

Charlotte gracefully led her away with a ready excuse, handing her the confection.

Vivienne closed her eyes and took a bite, the sweetness coating her tongue, memories filling her heart. She had missed Bath. Her throat constricted with emotion. “Shall we return home? Maybe go to the coffeehouse on the way back?”

“You need never ask when there is a refreshment in question.” Charlotte wrapped her hand about Vivienne’s arm and wove through the crowd.

She beamed as they strode through the Pump Room’s doors and into the abbey churchyard, pastries in hand, whispering with a hint of glee.

“Not even socializing in Bath for a full day, and people are already taking notice of you. It seems our plan is working already! You are a novelty that everyone wants to show off at their parties, which will secure your future.”

“Lady Larkby!” A footman trotted up from behind. He bowed and presented her with a note before folding his hands behind his back and dropping his gaze.

Vivienne paused in the musing shadows of the Gothic abbey and opened the fine paper to discover a personal invitation from a Lady Delamere.

“What does it say?” Charlotte peered over Vivienne’s shoulder.

“It is from a lady whom I have not met.”

“A lady? What does she want?”

“My address for a formal invitation to attend her daughter’s birthday ball tonight.” Vivienne tapped the letter against her palm. “Well, we are in for a penny, in for a pound. It appears we shall be attending a masquerade ball in the Upper Assembly Rooms as Lady Larkby and guest.”

Of course, Bash would get head lice before his return to Bath, but given what he had done to the poor Miss Evie, he supposed it was a fair penance.

His hair was unfashionably short, but what else was there to do than to crop it until it was barely visible?

He could wear a wig, but having that upon his head reminded him too much of being on duty, and if he wasn’t sporting his red uniform and white stockings, the style was outdated. He’d stick out even more.

And vanity was no reason to keep himself from purchasing some curative waters.

Bash tugged his coat into place, squaring his shoulders as he entered the Pump Room.

His grandmother would appreciate his bringing her a mineral drink, and he meant to do whatever possible to ease her pain whilst he had a month off from his duties as Yeoman of the Guard …

and to distract her from his hair, or lack thereof.

The Prince Regent had been most gracious in his thanks over the letters.

So much so that he had granted Bash’s request for the month off to attend his ailing grandmother.

But Bash suspected that was more from the Prince Regent’s revulsion of Bash’s recent encounter with head lice than excessive gratefulness for carrying out his duty.

He stood in line at the fountain, and at the brush at his shoulder and a lady’s askance eyeing of his hairstyle, he cleared his throat, barely refraining from running his fingers over where his thick golden locks had been—the hair that had caught many a lady’s attention before.

Vanity. Get in, get the curative waters, and get out.

“Lady Larkby is in Bath!” a woman whispered to her companion. “I overheard from Lady Thalia Jennings that she was going to invite her to her annual party at the Sydney Hotel.”

His senses bristled. Lady Larkby? He frowned.

No Lady Larkby existed as of yet. The ladies of the Pump Room whispered behind their fans, and even a few gentlemen seemed enchanted with the idea of this woman whom everyone clearly knew.

But how could she hold the title of Lady Larkby when she would have to hold the position of his wife to obtain it?

And he most certainly did not have a wife.

He reached for two corked bottles of the curative water and paid the attendant, pocketing the glasses as he followed the gazes of those about him to a pair of ladies across the room with their backs to him, one in a sapphire spencer and the other in a drab brown spencer.

They appeared to be heading to the front door. Was one of them the interloper?

“Do you think she would mind if I sent a servant with an informal invitation for my masquerade ball?” A young woman near his elbow whispered to another.

“I’ll mention it is for my birthday … Perhaps that would persuade her.

Imagine if I managed to have her before the marchioness.

Everyone in Bath would be in attendance.

” The young woman coaxed the lady, who appeared to be her mother judging by the marked shape of their thin lips. “Do say I can, Mother?”

“It isn’t usually done, but as it would be great fun to be the first to host her, I shall discover her address and send a note with the formal invitation, apologizing for my tardiness.

” The mother waved at an attendant, beckoning him near.

“You there! I need paper and pencil to send a note to Lady Larkby. She is most likely still in the churchyard. She’s in a stunning sapphire spencer. I will need her address.”

It had been her. Bash easily looked over the heads of those nearby, but the two ladies would have been lost in the crush even if they were in sight.

He attempted to follow, but the surging crowd kept him from reaching the supposed Lady Larkby.

He would have to secure another means of finding out the identity of this woman who was parading as his wife.

He approached the lady who’d finished jotting down a note, folded the paper, and shoved it into the footman’s hands, shooing him away.

In the press of the crowd, he managed to relieve her of her purse without her noticing, dropping it at her feet.

“Pardon me, my ladies. Did one of you drop your reticule?” He bent and scooped it up, as if just finding it, and offered it to the mother with a short bow.

“Oh my word! My, what a gentleman of honor … whom I have not had the pleasure of meeting.” The older lady nodded graciously to him. “Because of the magnitude of your service, I suppose we may forgo the lack of etiquette with you speaking first without an introduction.”

“Allow me to rectify my error.” He bowed once more and retrieved the master of ceremony, informing him of his title.

The man performed the introductions of the lady and her daughter with fanfare, stamping his cane twice before bowing and sauntering back to his place.

“Sir Sebastian Larkby?” Lady Delamere crooned. “How fortuitous! I just sent an informal invitation to your wife for our masquerade tonight. The footman is acquiring your address now for the formal one to arrive within the hour.”

“Did you? I had not planned to return home until nearly supper. But where is your ball? I can change at my club and be there before the dancing.”

“Oh dear. If you will not be home to fetch your invitation, allow me to write down another informal invitation to see you are admitted.” She snapped her fingers at another footman, asking for another slip of paper and pencil.

Lady Arabella clapped. “How romantic it will be to have the Lady Larkby and her husband at my first season’s ball. Is it not marvelous that she dedicates all her works to you?”

She does what? It was quite the charade this woman had created. He inclined his head. “As the inspiration of her heroes, I attempt to be worthy of her adoration.” His response had the two ladies tittering and their fans flapping.

If this author was going to create a fake marriage, why cannot our marriage be one that was written in the stars?

The ladies pressed their hands to her chests, fluttering in delight at his words.

With the informal invitation to Lady Delamere’s ball tucked into his pocket, he bowed to them and wove through the crowd.

It was a risk to entrust his title to Lady Delamere on the off chance the supposed Lady Larkby heard he was in town and decided to run away instead of facing her lies, but he did not have time to waste if he were to prevent this Lady Larkby from circulating word of her marriage to him further than this masquerade ball tonight.

He and his family were not well known about town, as he and Grandmother had always preferred their country estate and occasionally visiting with their neighbors to circulating with the ton.

A fact he never thought would come back to haunt him.

Of course, he could have followed her trail, but this seemed so less taxing, and it would give him a chance to take a repast in a tavern and rent a room there for the afternoon.

He didn’t dare return to Lark Manor, as he needed to end this woman’s ruse before his ailing grandmother heard and rejoiced over his marriage that had most certainly not occurred.

And it was the perfect excuse to check on the vivacious Evie.

She had been on his mind nearly every moment since he had left her—a fact driving him to distraction.

He mounted and directed Brigand to the Circus terrace apartments.

It was foolish to return so soon as she might recognize him, but he had to see her and make certain she was well.

He had thought of her too often in the days following his mission—Evie had plagued his dreams. He needed to find a way to see the funds returned to her without her knowledge, but he had no idea how.

In the daylight he could much better see the tall circle of narrow houses with their three terraces boasting columns in Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian, with a stretch of unique frieze gracing the ground floors just above the thresholds.

He reined his mount in the green beneath the row of trees that hid the reservoir in the center of the circle of terrace homes.

He dismounted and purchased a hot bun from a vendor, savoring it as he watched Evie’s house.

At last two ladies knocked on the door, and he spied movement in the parlor window.

Evie’s golden hair made his heart skip. A footman opened the front door and showed them in.

His shoulders sagged in relief. At least she was able to keep some staff.

She might not be as poor off as he imagined if she was entertaining callers, but the guilt still stung.

He sighed. He was not going to solve any problems staring at her from across the street like some lovelorn puppy.

And as it was a masque tonight, he needed to ride to Cheap Street to find something to wear as well as purchase a copy of this woman’s work to find out more about her.

He took one last glance at the golden-haired creature sitting by the front window, sipping tea.

Perhaps he should leave a package tonight for her to discover in the morning.

Perhaps he could catch a glimpse of her without her knowing.

The idea made him grin. He’d don his mask one more time and this time see that he brought good to Evie instead of stealing from her.