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E ugenia sighed.

As ever, Lady Pendleton was expounding on the state of the world and humanity as if she knew it all and Eugenia knew nothing. As if being a spinster put her in a category that meant she was beyond all feeling.

As if she did not know what it was to feel joy, or to grieve, or to love.

To be fair, Eugenia had almost forgotten what it had felt to love. For so long she’d existed in a state where she’d accepted that to have been overlooked must of course be her fault.

She was too plain. Too dull. Too—

Not too poor, though. In fact, as Lady Pendleton was now talking about the lavish breakfast she’d hosted for her darling eldest daughter’s betrothal, Eugenia brought to mind of the fact that it had, in fact, been she, Eugenia, who had funded it on account of Elizabeth being her god-daughter.

And then, there were all the other occasions where Eugenia’s generosity and good nature had been prevailed upon for all manner of expenditure for which Lady P had claimed credit.

It was as if the scales were being lifted from her eyes. Lady Pendleton wasn’t more attractive than Eugenia. Maybe she never had been. She certainly wasn’t cleverer. But she was more cunning. She was more calculating, more manipulative.

And she was certainly more conscienceless.

So when her friend leaned across to say to another friend, as if Eugenia were not even there, “I was talking to darling Sir Frederick this morning about his charming sister who has so entranced Mr. Greene,” Eugenia said in an agreeable manner, “Not that it will do Mr. Greene any good since Sir Frederick doesn’t approve. ”

The two ladies’ heads spun round as if she’d uttered a blasphemy and, predictably, Lady Pendleton snapped, “What would you know about it, Eugenia?”

Eugenia shrugged, not looking at them as she continued with her needlework. “Sir Frederick doesn’t approve, that’s all I’m saying. Thornton was telling me—”

“And what was Thornton telling you, Eugenia, my dear?”

A moment before, Eugenia had felt quite superior, but now her heart was hammering like the piston engines Thornton had described to her at dinner that were driving the new weaving mills.

For it was Thornton himself, dressed in a coat of navy superfine, looking just as dashing as he ever had, and much more handsome with his salt and pepper sideburns.

Eugenia glanced at the door to make sure Mr. Greene wasn’t lurking in the corridor and said, “Merely that Sir Frederick is not keen on a match between Mr. Greene and his sister, Miss Caroline.”

“Ah, well, I don’t know anything more than that,” said Thornton, taking a seat.

“I’m not surprised you ladies are gossiping about such a topic, however.

Isn’t that what has made us arch enemies, Eugenia?

” However, his grin was so disarming, Eugenia could only feel a surge of pride and satisfaction with how Lady Pendleton now regarded her.

“Pray explain yourself,” said Lady Pendleton.

“I’m referring to our wager. The very reason we are all here. The very reason I am to win my Persephone.” He winked at Eugenia, which occasioned a fierce fluttering in the region of her heart.

“We all knew Eugenia would never win that wager. This party is just a lovely excuse and the means to prove the impossibility of such a union—”

“Why, look! There they are!” Eugenia interrupted with a cry, standing so she could obtain a clearer look over the sloping garden.

“Miss Fairchild and Sir Frederick are walking back from the stables. They’ve been riding.

And…and they’re alone!” Turning with a satisfied smile, she added, “See how engrossed they are in conversation, Thornton. Ha! My matchmaking instincts were correct.”

The radiant, satisfied look she leveled upon Thornton was met with a raised brow.

“Don’t be too hasty, my dear,” replied Thornton. “A single conversation doesn’t make a match. No, my contention stands. Miss Fairchild and Sir Frederick are such fundamentally different people, they will never make a match.”

“Opposites attract, Thornton. Their differences could be what draws them together.”

“Or drives them apart. I wager it won’t take much to expose how unsuited they truly are.”

Lady Townsend fanned herself. “I don’t think you will get your Persephone, Lord Thornton.

No, I think you should start planning our balloon ride over London.

” A smile tugged at her mouth and a warm, molten feeling invaded her insides as he gave her a slow, considering smile, then responded, “No, Eugenia, I intend to take possession of your Persephone.” He pursed his lips consideringly, then turned to their hostess.

“What, say, you suggest a game of charades this evening?”

“Charades?” queried Eugenia.

He nodded. “It would reveal their true natures in a social setting.” Thornton gave a small chuckle.

“Think about it. Sir Frederick, with his natural charm and ease in society, will likely excel. Miss Fairchild, on the other hand, with her more serious disposition, might struggle with such frivolity. It will highlight their differences perfectly.”

“Or it could show how they complement each other. Amelia’s quick wit might surprise you, and Sir Frederick might appreciate her intelligence.”

“Really,” grumbled Lady Pendleton, who never liked being relegated to the background in any conversation, “I don’t know why it’s of any interest whether Miss Fairchild and Sir Frederick do or don’t make a match.

At nearly five-and-twenty, she’s virtually a spinster.

No gentleman has found her sufficiently lively or attractive to even make her an offer.

And that’s hardly a surprise, for she gives no one any encouragement.

It’s well known that she’s like her plain and dull parent and wants nothing more than to rusticate in the country which is what I hear she plans on doing upon her next birthday when she’ll come into her inheritance, small though that is. ”

“And she certainly won’t impress or entrance Sir Frederick who likes his women lively and quick-witted and, it would appear, small and golden-haired if his past predilection is anything to go by,” said Thornton.

“But, by all means, there’s little else to do when we’re in a house filled with preening young bloods, and pretty little show-offs.

Sir Frederick is far more likely to spring a surprise upon us all by announcing his betrothal to Miss Playford, if you ask me.

He’s a dark horse, that one. But, let’s put it to the test. Let me suggest a game of charades to our esteemed host, Lady Pendleton,” he said, leaning towards her with a smile.

“I’d love to be proved right about our mismatched couple.

Lady Pendleton certainly knows how to up the stakes of a game, just as she did when she wove such a wonderful fabrication about her ancestor, Miss Pernilla. ”

“But there was truth in that story,” Lady Pendleton pointed out. “Those are the best lies; the ones that begin in truth.”

Eugenia did not like the way her little prune-shaped mouth turned up, as if it were a virtue to tell a good lie.

“Do you not feel a degree of pity for poor Lady Pernilla who died of a broken heart?” she asked.

“Oh, she didn’t die of a broken heart!” snapped Lady Pendleton. “No one dies of a broken heart.”

“But she did die young,” said Eugenia. “And she did fall in love with a most unsuitable and hopeless match, you said.”

“Yes, a stable boy, of all things! That was the letter I found, and around which I based everything else.” Lady Pendleton sighed.

“No, of course she couldn’t marry him but yes, it is always sad when someone dies before they can enjoy the comforts of marriage and know that the children they have brought into the world will be their legacy. ”

Eugenia frowned. Was this a veiled reference to Eugenia’s inadequacy? Of course it was.

“But yes, charades this evening would be delightful!” Lady Pendleton said, clapping her hands.

And Eugenia bowed her head before looking at Thornton and saying, “Very well. But don’t be too disappointed when you lose our wager, my dear Thornton. You might find you have underestimated me.”

*

Sir Frederick was about to round the corridor corner when, glancing behind him, he saw that Miss Fairchild, like him, was on her way to the drawing room. As she was alone, he stopped and waited.

“Caroline evinced complete astonishment at my suggestion that I had discovered her elopement plans,” he said.

“She denies everything. In fact, she was so angry, she demanded I examine the state of her packing so that I could be disabused of the idea that she had any intention of eloping with Mr. Greene—or anyone—tonight, or any other night.” He looked closely at Miss Fairchild for signs of embarrassment.

Could she have made the story up as an excuse to speak to him alone?

Strangely, the thought made him smile as he waited for her answer.

Miss Fairchild blushed hotly. “But the note—”

He shrugged as he offered her his arm to lead her into the drawing room where he’d heard the company would assemble for a game of charades.

He was not particularly fond of the game, but if Miss Fairchild made her appearance—and his hope had proved correct—he was sure he’d perform tolerably if required.

“No matter,” he reassured her, for she looked quite dumbfounded. “A confusion, that’s all. Perhaps misinterpreted or meant for someone else. Let us speak of it no more.”

“But you’re not afraid of Mr. Greene and your sister—?”

“I shall keep a close eye on the fellow. In a few days’ time we’ll be home and his roguish smile will no longer be a temptation to poor, impressionable Caroline.”

He only realized Miss Fairchild was still dwelling on his words when he glanced down to see her frowning before she said, “Do you think his roguish smile is really the danger? Could it not be that she is starved for anything diverting to do other than respond to his compliments? Your sister is lively, but she’s intelligent.

I think she longs for something worthy to occupy her talents and that clever mind of hers.

Mr. Greene’s roguish smile would not be such a diversion if she only had something meaningful to occupy her. ”

“My sister is hardly a bluestocking,” Sir Frederick responded with a laugh, but Miss Fairchild regarded him severely.

“You use the term slightingly, Sir Frederick. I am considered a bluestocking, did you know?”

“Yes, yes, but you and my sister are worlds apart. Caroline is a delightful scatterbrain while you are a delightful enigma.” He only realized he was licking his lips when he registered her look of outrage.

“Sir Frederick, you agreed never to refer to… what happened earlier today.”

“What happened earlier today?” he asked, wickedly. “Pray, refresh my memory, Miss Fairchild, for I regret I have completely forgotten but wish to be reminded, so I am in no danger of referring to whatever it is that should not be referred to, again.”

“There are people coming,” Miss Fairchild hissed, raising her head proudly and looking straight ahead.

Sir Frederick registered her alarm with amusement as he realized that he was the cause of Miss Fairchild’s discomposure.

He released her at the threshold to the drawing room and she immediately glided over to Lady Wentworth’s side, taking up her fan and beginning a lively chatter that Sir Frederick decided, after a shrewd look, was nothing more than a ruse.

Yes, Miss Fairchild was definitely highly discomposed, and he was the reason.

It shouldn’t have delighted him so much, but there it was. The young woman he’d thought so distant and haughty had veins filled with quicksilver…and a mouth as soft as a rose petal.

Yes, he couldn’t wait to plunder those beautiful lips all over again.

He’d just have to find another way to breach her defenses, for she was not going to fall into his arms after a bracing ride again, he realized. She’d been frightened by her susceptibility to him and she planned to withdraw completely and ensure that no future opportunity exposed her to such risk.

Well, Sir Frederick could be far more creative than she gave him credit, he thought with a little thrill of anticipation before Lord Pendleton claimed his attention.