Chapter 1

Belinda sat on a stone bench in the garden of Payton House, listening to the sounds around her. Murmuring voices made a distant backdrop to the sound of bees in the lavender and the tinkling fountain. She breathed deeply, drawing the scent of roses and wet earth into her lungs. The murmured conversation she could hear was coming from the terrace just a few feet away. She listened distantly, shutting her green eyes for a moment at the pain of a headache that stabbed through her temple.

"...and the benches will have to be moved and cleaned. The terrace needs sweeping."

"Yes, my lady."

Belinda tensed as she heard her mother's voice instructing the maids. The pain in her head increased, the sound reminding her that they were cleaning for the evening ball. The whole morning and afternoon had been taken up with preparation, and, when not actually preparing, then they were talking about it and planning it. Belinda ran a hand through her thick honey-blonde hair, rubbing her aching temples.

"Aldrige? Where is Estelle?" Mama called, asking Papa a question.

"She's upstairs, Philipa. I assume that's where she's supposed to be."

Belinda knew her parents were tense, despite their best attempts not to be—their tight, strained voices indicated their mood without their being able to conceal it. Their tension was affecting the entire household. She looked around her, focusing instead on the flowers that grew in the flowerbed behind the hedge.

"I'll need two more of those," she decided, bending down to the lobelias that flowered at the edge of the bed. Their blue color would not keep when they were pressed, she knew that from experience, but still they were so beautiful that she could not resist picking two more.

She added them to her basket, gazing down at her collection. She had made it her intent to press at least one specimen of every spring flower on the estate, and she was getting close to achieving her objective, at least for all the flowers that bloomed in May. She looked down at her basket, her thoughts of her hobby taking her mind off her tension.

"My lady?" the voice of Miss Stirling, one of the housemaids, distracted her.

"What is it?" she called back as the woman rounded the corner, her black uniform in high contrast with the white stone that paved the path, her cheeks flushed and her black hair escaping her cap.

"Your mother was calling for you, my lady," Miss Stirling said. "She's in the ballroom. If you might come soon, my lady?"

"Of course," Belinda replied softly.

She stood up, collecting her basket from where it rested on the bench and walked back towards the house.

The ball for which they had prepared for so much of the day—and for the preceding weeks—was her sister Estelle's debut ball. Belinda gazed at the shadows that were lengthening on the lawn, guessing it to be around five o' clock. The ball would commence in just two hours' time. Her mother had insisted on a larger meal than usual at tea, so that they might be sustained through the evening, but Belinda had barely had an appetite. She was more nervous about the ball than she cared to admit. Her fear was not only for Estelle, who was coming out into society, just turned seventeen. It was for herself. This was her first ball in eight years.

Please, she prayed silently as she neared the terrace, her basket over her arm, her cream-colored dress stained at the hem from the garden. Please, let Estelle's first ball be wonderful.

Her own debut in society had been terrible. It had, in fact, been so terrible that, this year, she and her family would not be attending Almack's for Estelle's ball because Belinda could not go there. They were holding the ball at Payton House, the family's estate just two miles from London. Belinda's father was the Earl of Grayleigh, but even he, despite all his influence, could not change matters.

"Belinda! Oh, Belinda. There you are. I'm so glad."

Belinda looked up as her mother called her from the terrace. She was hurrying towards her, evidently concerned, and when she saw her, she slowed down her steps, walking down the path. Mama's soft oval face was tense, but it relaxed as she came to join Belinda.

Belinda studied her face, trying to guess what was troubling her. Her mother's eyes were wide and long lashed, like Belinda's own, except that Mama's were brown. Their soft oval faces were identical in shape, like their mouths, which were generous bows of pink. Belinda's mother had graying honey-brown hair which she wore covered by a fashionable turban-style headdress in deference to her married status, though a few curls escaped to touch her cheek. She looked worried.

"What is it, Mama?" Belinda asked softly as her mother came to join her.

"Estelle is distressed," Mama said gently. "She was getting ready and she's so scared, poor dear. She doesn't want to come out of her chamber. Perhaps you could talk with her?" she asked with a small smile.

"I can try," Belinda answered quietly.

"Thank you, dear." Mama smiled at her, looking up. Belinda was not much taller than average, but her mother was short, as was Estelle. Belinda smiled affectionately.

"I'll try and help her," she repeated gently. "I hope I can."

"Good. The poor girl. Of course, every girl is scared on the eve of her debut ball, so it's quite natural," Mama replied softly.

"That's true," Belinda agreed. She did not tell Mama, but she did wonder if it was her own story that had scared Estelle so.

She wandered into the house, pausing to put her basket of flowers on the table in the entrance. The butler would have it taken to the drawing-room before the flowers wilted. She would check if he placed them in a vase of water before she went to dress.

She reached her sister's room and paused outside the door.

"Estelle?" she called through the wood.

"Please, just go?" Estelle called back. "I don't want to come out. I can't do it, sister. I just can't." Her voice was tight and strained.

"You can, dear," Belinda answered softly. "I promise you can. It will be well." Her voice was low, reassuring.

"I can't do it. I'm scared," Estelle insisted. "And I feel nauseous. I can't go tonight."

Belinda took a deep breath, her heart twisting in sympathy. Her own debut had been nothing like this—but then, her own debut had been truly horrible. She pushed aside her thoughts of it and called her sister's name gently through the door.

"Estelle?"

She waited, hearing nothing. As she was about to turn away, thinking of fetching a soothing tea from the kitchen to help her sister with her nausea, she heard Estelle.

"Belinda?" she called nervously. "I want to talk."

Belinda's heart lifted as the door opened. Estelle appeared in the gap, her pale hair, styled in an elaborate style, lit from behind by the candle-lamps, her face white with fear.

"Estelle," Belinda murmured, smiling at her lovingly.

"Belinda. I can't do this," Estelle murmured back, standing back so that Belinda could go into the room. "I'm so scared. It's going to be horrible. What if I make a fool of myself?"

She shut the door behind Belinda. She was close to tears; it was audible in her voice. Belinda took a deep breath.

"Sweet sister," she said gently. "It will all be well. There's nothing you can do wrong. This is your first ball. Everyone will admire you. You will be the most sought-after girl in that room."

Estelle giggled. "Really?"

Belinda nodded, smilingly. Estelle was the image of a lovely young lady on the brink of her debut. Shorter than Belinda, with pale hair that had a slight wave and with their mother's hazel eyes, she had a long, thin face, more like Father's, and a slender, delicate form. She gazed up at Belinda with a mix of surprise and hesitance.

"I promise," Belinda said firmly. "You can do nothing wrong in there. Even if you eat the candlesticks."

Estelle chuckled delightedly. "Imagine if I did!"

Belinda laughed too. "Well, there you are. I don't imagine that you would, and even that would not make people think badly of you tonight."

Estelle smiled, then a small frown appeared on her brow. "But, what about when...?"

Belinda tensed. "Yes, I know," she murmured.

She knew that Estelle wanted to ask her about her own debut—about what had happened and what she had done. Belinda swallowed hard at the thought. She'd worn a lovely white gown, much like Estelle's, with her hair set in a beautiful style, and she'd danced with poise. It had not been her fault that she was barred from ever attending Almack's Assembly rooms again. It was Lord Rawlinson.

She shuddered. Even thinking about him made her feel nauseous. He had seemed so polite, so mannerly. But then, when they had been just a few moments alone in the garden, he had tried to force a kiss on her. And when she had refused, when she had evaded him and run back into the hall, he had told everyone that he had done much more than kissed her. He had made up such shocking stories that she had never been able to show her face in high society again, and the lady patrons of Almack's had taken her voucher away.

Having one's voucher confiscated meant that one could not purchase tickets for any of the balls and parties held at Almack's Assembly Rooms. Not being able to attend Almack's was the worst punishment that the Ton could inflict—it ostracized one, barring one from the most important social events.

She had done nothing, and yet she was punished, while he—blessedly—was given a commission in the army by his uncle and set sail to serve the East India Company.

"You are sure it will all be well?" Estelle murmured. Her soft words brought Belinda's thoughts back to the moment.

Belinda sighed. She felt relieved her sister had not pressed her to tell her what happened. Nobody had told Estelle the details, but she knew that her sister was barred from Almack's, because that was why her debut could not be held there.

"Yes, I'm quite sure," Belinda said gently. "I'm very certain that you will be the loveliest debutante this season."

"Oh, sister. You are a dear," she said lovingly. She grinned. "You're the best sister in the world."

The words twisted her heart. "You are too, dear."

Estelle giggled. "Mayhap I'll attend this ball after all," she reflected a little nervously. She reached for Belinda's hand. "And mayhap we shall both have a lovely evening, sister. After all, there will be lots of people. Maybe you will also meet someone who will take your fancy." She grinned at Belinda.

"Mayhap," Belinda said lightly. Estelle did not fully understand the level of disgrace that had been laid on her older sister. She had never been told the whole story, after all. The disgrace was so complete that Belinda could not enter society again. This would be her first ball in years.

Estelle went to the door, her long white dress shimmering in the light. It was pure white silk, the sleeves delicate puffs, the high waistband decorated with silver thread. Estelle had insisted that she wanted no brilliants sewn on the gown—nothing fancy, she had declared, but then she needed nothing fancy, Belinda thought lovingly, to make her shine. Estelle paused in the doorway, turning to Belinda, her loose ringlets framing her face, which was partly cast in shadow in the low candle-light in the room.

"I will go down to Papa," she said gently to Belinda. "When you are ready will you come down too?" She sounded as though she longed for Belinda to join her.

Belinda nodded. "Of course," she said lightly.

She went to her chamber to dress, sure that there would be nobody there for her to meet, and with her stomach tying itself in knots for fear of her first ball for eight long years.