Chapter Seven

The carriage driver let out a shout. "Gee-o!"

Papa grumbled as the horses continued to stop for traffic, then resume a slow trot. He swept his hat off his head, bristling with annoyance, looking younger than his years even though the Italian sun had aged the corners of his eyes. "We are going to be late."

"Nonsense." Mama adjusted her skirts to provide their father more room on the cramped squabs. "It is only ten, and the best dances do not begin until after eleven. We shall be there in time for the quadrilles, the Alexander, the White Cockade,"—her gaze locked on Augusta's—"and the waltz."

"Balls have lost their luster since Thenie married and left us." Delphi, having recovered from her recent bout of malaise, managed a tremulous smile. "I feel adrift without her."

"I am still here." Augusta grabbed her sister's hand, feeling just as lost without Thenie. "It wasn't so long ago that we were always together, on time, and eager for a night of dancing."

"Change is the only constant in life." Papa straightened the lace at his wrists. "And dawdling delays dancing." He winked mischievously. "Come now. Bring your heads out of the clouds, my sweet little doves. Everything will be all right." He braced himself against a sudden bump in the road. "I just hope that the prospective suitors on your list have not left the Claremonts for their clubs."

"Punctuality has merit," Mama said, "but there is nothing like making a grand entrance." She smiled sweetly, then patted Papa's cheek. "What better way for us to put our daughters on full display, eh?"

"Aha!" His feigned disgust nearly made Augusta laugh. And she would have if the situation wasn't so dire. "You planned this?"

"Mama!" Delphi shrank back into the squabs.

"Well done, Mama," Augusta said, flicking an imaginary speck of dirt from her gown. While it was easier for eligible bachelors to meet them—one by one—the best way for them to meet the gentlemen on their list was to be seen by all of them at the same time. Though being identical twins almost always disoriented the crush. "Lady Claremont's ball will be popular and well-attended." She squeezed her sister's hand affectionately. "And our late arrival will suit a multitude of purposes."

"Let us pray your strategy works. A man observes everything," Papa said.

"Are you sure, Everard?" Mama asked sweetly.

Carriage lamps shone on Papa's neatly tied cravat as he cocked his shadowed face to one side and paid particular attention to his wife. "Shall I give you an example?" At Mama's nod, he went on. "Delphi's ribbons perfectly match the carriage's blue damask upholstery. A fabric, mind you, selected while I was digging at Hadrian's Villa. And you know full well that I am not fond of the color blue."

Mama chuckled, a musk-rose flushing her cheeks. "I am quite aware you dislike blue, husband. Be that as it may, you were off to dig up who knows what, and I was lonely and taking care of two babes—Thenie and Lottie. I did not choose the color to annoy you, but to reflect how I felt. For instance, don't we all carry a melancholy weight on our shoulders since Thenie left us?"

"The way she left us is the issue." He regarded Augusta and Delphi equally. "It gives me no pleasure to provide you a coming out and then force you to marry shortly thereafter. But—" He sighed, sounding dispirited. "My hands are tied. Rumors are circulating about your sister and the baron. Therefore, any hint of impropriety on your parts will be the end of us, ruining any chance of future happiness. I cannot and will not allow that to happen."

"You may not have a choice."

Papa waved off Augusta's objections. "It is my duty to safeguard your security, and the list in your possession increases the chances of you making a good match. Think of it as a map, if you will."

A map to freedom or our downfall?

"Oof!" She rolled her eyes, desiring to stop the carriage and flee.

"Maintain a level head, Augusta," Mama scolded. "This is not the time to lose your temper."

Delphi eased away from the squabs. "Please do not admonish Augusta. She is not angry. If she were, I would feel it. No, indeed." She gazed into Augusta's eyes, refusing to let go of her sister's hand. "She is only nervous about what the night holds." After a lengthy pause, she added, "As am I."

"Undeniably." Augusta was not angry. It was Delphi she thought of, her sister's condition weighing heavy on her thoughts. Would Delphi be able to enjoy the ball without collapsing? Then there was the list to consider. Not to mention her parents' expectations, and the whispers of toffee-nosed mamas that were sure to follow them throughout the night. It was overwhelming, to be sure. All. Of. It. Their fates depended on if they made the right choice, and whether the night went smoothly. "We will manage, Papa."

"Together," Delphi said looking a tad too pale for Augusta's liking.

"Together."

"Remember," Mama said, "balls are to be enjoyed. You must rise above those who are as wise as Waltham's calf."

"Mary!" Papa grumbled, his frown deepening. "While I agree the marriage mart is a haven for silly mothers, take care your clever descriptions do not include you."

Mama gasped. "The very idea."

In all of this, one thing was clear. "Mama is not a gossip."

"And our daughters have done nothing wrong."

Papa regarded them with a frown. "Not intentionally. Thenie claims to have said, ‘I am determined, come what may, that my life will not be ruined by a kiss.' Nevertheless, the kiss at Vauxhall supports Boothe's vicious lies."

Delphi's world-weary expression shook Augusta to her core. Smothering alarm, she squeezed her sister's hand. "Think no more of it. It was a game, nothing more."

"But no one knows that."

"Are you unwell, Delphi?" Mama asked, heightening Augusta's sudden and startling concern. "You are usually aflutter with excitement about the festivities to come, inundating us with questions about the venue, the décor, refreshments, and who will be in attendance."

Delphi produced the list. "We know who will be in attendance."

"Sarcasm does not become you, Delphi," Papa said.

"I wish Thenie was here." Delphi managed a tremulous smile. "That is all."

There was more to it than that, a crippling fear that gripped them both. Was this to be their last ball? Their last outing as unwed sisters? How soon would these marriages take place to protect their reputations?

Mercifully, the carriage rolled to a stop.

As the suspension adjusted, Papa donned his hat. "We are here."

It begins.

Delphi grabbed Augusta's forearm, holding her back for an instant as their mother followed their father and exited the vehicle. "Promise me you will not act rashly. Whatever you do, whomever you choose, do so wisely."

She nodded, a shudder of humiliation passing through her. Her blood pounded and her legs threatened to buckle, but she pasted a smile on her face, determined to see this through. "Come."

The lateness of the hour had no effect on the partygoers. A long line of carriages filled the drive. Footmen scurried to and fro. Drivers leaned against their transports, smoking pipes to pass the time.

Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she stopped short of the entrance to Number 100. "I've changed my mind. I do not think I can do this, Delphi. Oh, what are we to do?"

The night woreon, droll and discourteous, the same he'd experienced every other night he'd spent in the company of great and noble people. For his part, while Grey danced with his wife, Quin secluded himself in the corner, near a potted plant, desperate to blot out the disparaging looks shot his way. How anyone could tell he wasn't one of them was anybody's guess. Perhaps there was an invisible mark on his forehead. Verily, he used the Prince Regent's tailor, Weston, on Old Bond. He'd solicited the greatest boxers, fencers, dancing instructors, and scholars, educating himself and acquiring manners that fit every occasion. But truth be told, no matter the lengths to which he had gone to transform himself, he suspected the tell was visible in his eyes.

The musicians finished their set and the dancers began to part.

"Viscount Steere, Lady Steere, Miss Steere, and Miss Delphi."

Energized by this revelation, he pushed off the wall, his attention riveted to the ballroom entrance where a couple emerged, followed by two young, stunning women. He blinked, doubting the reality before his eyes. They were identical in looks. Same hair, though styled differently. Same figures. Completely alike, yet somehow different, and... familiar in an extraordinary sort of way. They were, without a doubt, Miss Augusta Steere and Miss Delphi Steere, and they stood before him as if heaven-sent.

He moved around the ballroom, drawing closer and studying them as they interacted with a swarm of interested males, trying not to make his fascination obvious.

One had a kind smile that heightened her beauty. She appeared to take the greatest care while speaking to the other, perfectly oblivious to those who gazed upon the set with envy. Charity recommended this sister, if not for his sneaking suspicion that she would rather be elsewhere.

He regarded the other sister. The bold tilt of her head suggested she would take on the lot and walk out victorious. There was a fierce quality about her, one that held him spellbound. She laughed and engaged, clinging to her sister protectively. And while they both wore white linen, there were noticeable differences between their styles. One sported purple ribbons and the other a lovely shade of rose. One wore cultured pearls while the other wore a strand of coral beads—the commanding color effectively guarding her heart.

The challenging look on the latter's face charged him to the bone. She was a fighter. In possession of her own mind. Was she Miss Augusta Steere, the one Bess had urged him to rescue from the rumor mill?

Augusta.

Almost by design, their gazes locked. His jaw instantly slackened. She was the lady from the Serpentine. His fingers twitched as he considered the odds, attempting to swallow back his pride. The knot building inside his throat behaved like a savage beast. Instinctively, he reached up to loosen his cravat, then thought better of it, understanding the act would mark him less of a gentleman in present company.

Bless Bess! Miss Augusta Steere was the woman he'd been searching for. And she was breathtaking. Did she remember their interaction at Hyde Park? What did she see? A timid recluse? An awkward imitator? A desperate man?

He reached behind his back and clasped his hands, puffing out his chest like the primal buffoons around him. What did he know of being gently bred? He had no family to credit him, other than distant relatives who would gladly vouch for his character. He had tried to be a good man, someone who provided excellently for his tenants and could maintain a woman's accustomed lifestyle.

Rising on the balls of his feet, momentary panic assailed him as the Misses Steere abandoned the entrance and slowly approached. What was he to do? Or say? They had yet to be introduced. Certainly, protocol required him not to acknowledge them without an introduction. Should he seek refreshment?

Dash it!Where was Grey?

He clenched his teeth, drawing in a ragged breath.

Act indifferent, like all the other men in attendance. Be the calm in the storm.

Suddenly, Grey appeared, libation in hand, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief. "Forgive my delay, Prendergast. You would not believe how crowded the refreshment table was when I arrived. And I had only got there before my wife wanted to dance." He peered over his shoulder. "And I have arrived in the nick of time, it appears. I see the viscount and his daughters have arrived."

He accepted the glass of champagne Grey offered, and drank it dry as the Misses Steere wove in and out of the crush toward them.

Grey took the empty glass and set it on a passing footman's tray. "My dear fellow, easy does it. Don't let the widow's game discourage you. Nothing will go awry as long as you keep a cool head."

"She will be there,"Bess's words niggled him. "I assure you."

His dealings with the steam market allowed for plenty of disappointment. "In my personal experience, the surest bets often go awry."

"I've seen this phenomenon myself at the widow's establishment. That, however, is not a topic for mixed company." He turned and bowed his head, Quin following his lead as the Misses Steere came to a full stop before them. "How wonderful to see you tonight, cousins. Miss Steere, Miss Delphi, allow me to introduce my newest acquaintance, Mr. Quinton Prendergast."

They exchanged bows and curtsies.

The Misses Steere's slender necks straightened as they rose, and when they did, he beheld the same glorious blue eyes he'd fallen in love with in the park. "It is you."

"Yes." Miss Augusta said breathlessly with a smile. "It is."

"You have already met?" Miss Delphi asked. "When did this happen?"

"A fortunate morning when this beautiful, kind lady took pity on a preoccupied fool, returning my cane."

"This is—"

"Yes," she said interrupting her sister. "A kindness, that is all."

"One few perform."

"Is Lady Claremont's ball your first of the Season, sir?" she asked, quickly changing the subject to escape Grey's censure.

"No." He lost himself in the eyes that had swept him into a whirlwind at the park. Their generous light had hauled him out of oceanic depths of despair, haunting him with regularity ever since. "I have attended several since I have been in Town."

Lawd, I sound tiresome.

Augusta glanced at her sister. "I am glad that we have formally met."

"As am I." Miss Delphi said with renewed energy. "Now that we have been properly introduced, it will be entirely proper to sign our dance cards. And as it so happens, Augusta has an opening for the next waltz."

Their gazes met, and a longing to touch Augusta's hand once more gripped him. Her manner was just as sweet and obliging as when they'd first encountered one another, and her lips moved lushly as she smiled. Though he knew he had many mountains to climb before—

"As you can see, Mr. Prendergast." Miss Augusta fingered her dance card, thoughtfully, before offering him the opportunity to add his name to another list. "My sister is correct. This set is empty. All that is required is for you to make your mark."

My mark?Her innocent comment quickly sobered him, reminding him he was not one of them. He was not a nobleman like Grey, or worthy of a lady. Of course, he quickly sobered. Reason dictated. Signing a dance card was expected. Etiquette necessitated the practice. Still, the sting lingered. His father had never known how to read or write. He'd never been invited to fancy soirees and balls.

The aged prejudices cut to the quick, unearthing deep-seated bitterness.

What had Miss Augusta been told about him? Did she think him incapable of signing his own name?