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The whispers were not whispers at all, for they could be heard clearly among the fashionable guests preening about the lawn at the Duchess of Suttington’s afternoon garden party.

“She might be worth nearly five thousand a year, but the Earl of Portersville said he wouldn’t take her if she were a royal princess—with ten thousand a year. Too much spirit and opinion for a proper young lady,” a portly matron declared vehemently.

Her female companion nodded enthusiastically. “I heard she actually had the audacity to correct the Duke of Hastings last week when he was showing her the latest acquisition to his art collection. Claimed it was most likely a fake and that he had been swindled. Utterly shocking!”

Eighteen-year-old Lady Meredith Barrington, the subject of this disapproving conversation, sat only a few feet away.

She tossed her blond curls regally over her left shoulder with feigned indifference, determined these old biddies would not have the pleasure of seeing how deeply their criticism wounded her.

Their conversation continued, and Meredith forced herself to ignore the words, to treat them as only irritating sounds, not spiteful slander. She felt the onset of a numbing headache and longed to retreat inside the castle, away from the guests, yet she stood her ground, trembling but calm.

“What else can one expect from the Earl of Stafford’s daughter? He has always been far too scholarly and outspoken for my tastes. One can learn to excuse that sort of behavior in a man, but certainly not in a young woman.”

Meredith’s concentration slipped as she comprehended the last statement. Her first inclination was to turn and snap at these catty gossipmongers, but that sort of scandalous behavior would only lend credence to their lies.

Dear Lord, would they never leave her alone?

Was it not enough that she was considered unacceptable, branded a bluestocking because she had the effrontery to offer up an intelligent opinion that often differed from that of her male escort?

Must she constantly be maligned also by the members of her own sex, too?

Deep within her, Meredith seethed with the injustice of it all.

Her father’s differences were labeled eccentric, while hers were considered unacceptable.

And, yes, she had indeed told the Duke of Hastings his Venetian goblet had most likely not been owned by Pope Pius II, since that holy man had lived and died nearly 100 years before that particular shade of green was being blown by Venetian artisans.

Meredith’s reason for divulging this fact had not been to showcase her knowledge, nor to embarrass the duke, but instead to distract him. The man had cleverly managed to get her alone and was in the process of making the most improper advances toward her at the time she sputtered her revelations.

It was either wound his pride or wound his person.

Meredith gritted her teeth, now regretting her decision to wound his pride.

A swift kick in a most indiscreet location would certainly not have been so eagerly discussed by the duke to his cronies.

Perhaps then this latest tale never would have come to light.

But the duke’s unwanted advances had been deliberately left out as these two matrons recounted the episode, giving credence to the theory they had no idea what actually occurred.

In an odd way, Meredith was almost disappointed. Revealing the true nature of the duke’s behavior might produce a scandal of such magnitude Meredith would be placed solidly beyond the pale and thus put an end her disastrous debut into Society.

For the simple truth was that Meredith had never been more miserable in her entire life.

She had started the Season with such high expectations.

As the beautiful daughter of a wealthy and noble family, she had initially been embraced by the ton.

However, that acceptance quickly turned to disapproval.

And it was not a one-sided disillusionment.

Meredith equally disliked the beau monde , with its rigid rules that seemed designed to exclude anyone or anything that had a slightly different view of the world.

She had quickly and disappointedly learned that if one did not embrace Society in its entirety, one was systematically shunned.

“Ahh, so that is where you have gotten to,” a musical female voice declared. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Lady Meredith.”

Meredith lifted her head and smiled. Lavinia Morely, the young Marchioness of Dardington, came gliding gracefully toward her, arms outstretched in greeting.

“How lovely to see you,” Meredith said truthfully as she embraced her friend. “I was unsure if you would be in attendance this afternoon.”

“Oh, we would not miss today’s little gathering,” Lavinia replied as she returned the hug.

“The Duchess of Suttington is my dearest Trevor’s godmother.

She would be crushed if we did not make an appearance at her afternoon soiree.

The moment we arrived she spirited Trevor away to discuss a matter she proclaimed to be of utmost importance.

“I have a feeling it has something to do with the latest horses she purchased at Tattersall’s. The duchess really is horse mad, yet she lacks the good sense to trust her own judgment. Poor Trevor. I promised to go and rescue him if he does not reappear within the hour.”

“What a noble wife you are, Lavinia.” Meredith clucked her tongue in mock horror. “And so very unfashionable to be seen so often in your husband’s company.”

Lavinia gave an exaggerated sigh. “We are quite the pair, are we not?”

“Indeed.” Meredith leaned forward and whispered in her friend’s ear. “You are the envy of every woman here because you have such a handsome, dashing husband who is totally besotted with you, and doesn’t care in the least who knows it.”

Lavinia smiled charmingly. “Well, not every woman envies me. I daresay your mother enjoys equal devotion from your father. And they have been married nearly twenty years.”

Meredith lowered her chin. “Yes, my parents are unusual in many regards, including the loving state of their marriage. Something I believe the ton fails to understand at all.”

“That is because loyalty, devotion, and true love are foreign ideals to most of them.” Lavinia cocked her head, her rich brown eyes alight with suspicion.

“That scowl marring your lovely brow has me worried. I suspect it has nothing to do with your parents. Don’t tell me the Duke of Hastings has had the audacity to approach you again? ”

Meredith’s head swung around sharply. “Is he here?”

“Isn’t everyone?”

Meredith choked down a laugh. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve been here nearly two hours and on;y a handful of people have actually spoken to me—though I cannot help but notice they have spoken a great deal about me.”

“Vicious swine,” Lavinia muttered. She linked her arm through Meredith’s. “How quick they are to sit in judgment of others, having no qualms at finding fault. Yet all the while they are busy skulking about searching for juicy tidbits of gossip. It can be quite maddening.”

Just then the two gossiping ladies who had so enjoyed discussing Meredith called out a greeting to the marchioness and gestured for Lavinia to join them. Meredith was pointedly excluded from the invitation.

The young marchioness’ eyes narrowed on the pair and she favored them with a barely perceptible nod. Meredith felt a rush of gratitude as the portly matron’s smile slipped a fraction.

Lavinia tightened her grip on Meredith’s arm. “Come along now, Merry. ’Tis time we mingled.”

Meredith smiled. There was comfort in that strong grip, and genuine friendship.

She once again said a short, silent prayer of thanks to whatever God had seen fit to bring her and Lavinia together.

For Meredith, the only bright spot in this otherwise dismal coming out Season had been her newly formed friendship with Lavinia.

It had been an unexpected delight to find such an open and honest young woman who was happy to offer her friendship for no other reason than she liked Meredith.

The two woman circulated among the guests, chatting about the weather, the lovely party, and the latest fashions. With Lavinia by her side, Meredith was quickly acknowledged, though not warmly greeted. Not that she really cared.

Within minutes she was bored to tears by the dull and tedious topics of conversation, and it took a great effort to keep a pleasant expression plastered on her face.

She suspected Lavinia was equally bored, but the young marchioness somehow managed to display interest in the discussions without appearing fawning or condescending.

Meredith admired her friend’s social skills and poise.

At times it was difficult to remember that Lavinia was only a few years older than she.

Perhaps the security of a loving husband who clearly demonstrated anything his wife did was exceptional had contributed to Lavinia’s remarkable self-confidence.

“What is your response, Lady Meredith?”

Meredith squinted noncommittally at the small, squat woman who addressed her, fearing to make any sort of remark. She had been woolgathering for the majority of the conversation and had no earthly idea what the Countess of Ridgefield had asked.

Trying to play it safe, she muttered an affirmative, sympathetic remark.

Lady Olivia Dermott raised a gold-rimmed quizzing glass and looked disdainfully at Meredith. “That is all you have to say about the matter? I find that a rather shocking reaction from a refined young woman.”

“Nonsense,” Lavinia interrupted icily. “That is a logical, honest reaction. If you will excuse us, ladies.”

Meredith quickly rallied her senses. With the boldness she instinctively knew was required, she followed Lavinia’s lead, turned on her heel, and walked away. Meredith could practically feel the annoyance sweep through her friend at each step they took.