Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

London, May 1817, The Duke of Southbury’s Wedding Ball

L ady Gemma Brooks had endured all she intended to from Lady Mary Costner. The young woman was a veritable snake. And while her behavior was somehow tolerated at ton balls, this was Gemma’s older brother’s wedding , and Gemma refused to allow Lady Mary to employ her usual antics to keep the wallflowers from dancing. The nasty chit had the lot of them frightened half out of their slippers.

But Gemma wasn’t frightened.

And she intended to let Lady Mary know as much. Immediately .

Gemma already had an entire Season’s worth of experience dealing with Lady Mary. Unfortunately, neither of them had received offers last year, but Gemma wasn’t about to let Lady Mary ruin another Season.

Gemma’s brother, Griffin, and his best friend, Meredith, had married yesterday morning at St. Paul’s. It had been a huge affair and tonight’s celebratory ball at Griffin’s town house wasn’t much smaller. The large house was packed to the rafters with well-wishers. But the dance floor in the center of the ballroom was nearly empty at the moment. Lady Mary had made it clear that any young lady who danced would have vicious rumors spread about her. She wanted all the eligible gentlemen for herself. It was ridiculous, and it was time to put a stop to it.

Gemma possessed two faults. Well, at least two. But there were two that she readily acknowledged, the two that frequently got her into trouble. The first was that she had a tendency to insert herself in business that was not her own, especially when she felt the person or persons whose business it was required assistance. And the second was that she was impatient. Supremely impatient. Her mama always told her she was so impatient she’d been born nearly two months earlier than expected. Her birthday was in the late spring. And there was no lovelier season than spring. Gemma liked to tease that she simply hadn’t wanted to miss it.

Tonight was no different. Once she’d decided to confront Lady Mary, Gemma refused to let another moment pass without doing so. She marched directly up to the young lady and tapped her on the shoulder. The shorter blond woman turned with an ice-cold fake smile frozen on her face.

Mary was everything Gemma was not. Mary was petite. Gemma was too tall. Mary was blond. Gemma was dark-haired. Mary had heavenly blue eyes. Gemma’s eyes were dark-brown. Mary’s bosom was perfect. Gemma’s was flat as a saucer. There were a dozen other differences, but only one counted as far as Gemma was concerned. Lady Mary might be the image of perfect womanhood, according to the collective tastes of the ton , but Gemma had a much better temperament. She actually cared about people and pets and making friends. Lady Mary didn’t have a friend to her name. And she didn’t appear to care about anything either. Other than making the best match, of course.

Gemma didn’t give a fig that her own looks weren’t up to snuff. There were much more important things than beauty, after all. She was about to turn twenty and she’d still yet to blossom. She was to be a “late bloomer,” Mama assured her. Mama had been one too. Of course, Mama had bloomed into one of the ton ’s most noted beauties in her day. Gemma could only hope she’d inherited half of Mama’s loveliness. In the meantime, despite her large dowry and esteemed family name, she might not be attracting any of the ton ’s most eligible bachelors herself, but she certainly refused to sit on her hands and allow Lady Mary to keep Gemma’s friends from finding good matches.

“Why, Gemma, whatever could you want?” Lady Mary blinked at Gemma condescendingly, the fake smile still plastered to her face.

“May I speak with you privately for a moment, Mary?” Gemma attempted to keep her face entirely blank. She’d never been much good at pretending, but Lady Mary never acted the slightest bit awful in the presence of her mother. Though something told her that Lady Mary’s mother would approve. They both seemed to be cut from the same nasty cloth.

“I suppose,” Lady Mary sighed before picking up her peach-colored skirts, excusing herself to her sour-faced mother, and making her way toward the far wall with Gemma at her side.

When they were alone, Gemma crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Lady Mary. Why the awful girl had even been invited to Griffin and Meredith’s wedding was anyone’s guess, but Gemma suspected it had been Mama’s insistence that everyone be invited to her only son’s wedding. After all, it was an event Mama had anticipated for far too long if you asked her. And despite the fact that Lady Mary was more reptile than human, she was the daughter of an earl which, unfortunately, qualified her as “everyone” in their world.

“I want you to leave the other young ladies alone tonight,” Gemma said succinctly, scowling at the girl.

Lady Mary’s light brows shot up. Then her face transformed into the picture of innocence. “Whatever could you mean? Am I bothering the other young ladies?” She touched her pearls and blinked her thin blond eyelashes at Gemma.

Gemma narrowed her eyes and tapped her white slipper against the marble floor. “You know you are. Now, tell me what you want in exchange for leaving them alone tonight.”

Mary’s mouth formed a small O. She lifted her nose in the air and sniffed, nearly as if she was affronted by the notion. “I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about.”

Oh, no. Mary wasn’t about to feign ignorance. Gemma had been watching her all evening. Mary would sidle past some poor unsuspecting girl who had dared to dance with an eligible bachelor and quietly say something nasty to her. Something only the two of them could hear. Then her victim would lift her skirts and rush from the ballroom, a panicked look on her face. If the poor girl dared to re-enter the ballroom at all, she would remain firmly ensconced along the far side of the room with all the other wallflowers. It was a pattern Gemma had seen repeated time and again, not just tonight but the entirety of last Season. And Gemma was tired of it. Mary had no right to tell all the other unmarried young ladies what to do. The marriage mart was not her personal playground.

But tormentors like Mary were predictable. They did things out of fear. Fear that they wouldn’t get what they wanted. And everyone in the ton knew what Mary wanted. She wanted an offer from the Duke of Grovemont, the most eligible of all the bachelors, now that Griffin was spoken for, of course.

Last year, during their debut, Grovemont had been called away to the country to tend to his ailing mother. Mary had remained unmarried all Season, awaiting his return. Grovemont’s poor mama had died last summer. And now that their second Season had begun and Grovemont was out of mourning, Mary had made it clear to one and all that she, and she alone, intended to wring an offer from him.

Of course, it didn’t matter that Grovemont had shown absolutely no interest in Mary. Until he did show interest, Mary intended to continue to keep a firm grip on the social prospects of the rest of the young ladies, scaring them away from every other eligible gentleman, simply out of spite as far as Gemma could tell. If Mary wasn’t getting any offers, neither would any of the other girls.

“You know precisely what I’m talking about,” Gemma retorted, tapping her gloved fingertips along her arms as she kept them tightly folded across her chest. “What do you want in order to leave everyone alone? Name your price.” In addition to being predictable, tormentors like Mary always had a price. It was simply a matter of learning what it was.

“Price? Ha. I hardly want money . Besides,” Mary’s assessing gaze swept Gemma up and down, obviously finding her lacking, “ you couldn’t get me what I want.”

“You don’t know that,” Gemma replied, cocking her head to the side, arms still tightly folded. She might be the younger sister of a duke, but Gemma knew she was too tall, too gangly, too inelegant, and far too plain for Mary to be threatened by. But that was precisely why Gemma wasn’t afraid of her. Well, that and the fact that fear just wasn’t in the blood of the Southbury family. Griffin had fought valiantly in the Peninsular War when he had no good reason to. Gemma wasn’t about to allow an overly pampered debutante who acted like a queen to frighten her away. “What do you want?” she reiterated.

Gemma watched as Mary contemplated the matter. Her mean little brain was clearly hard at work. She would come up with something humiliating and ridiculous. Gemma already knew that. But Gemma didn’t care. Because Gemma had something Mary could only dream about: the absolute absence of giving a toss what others thought of her. Gemma would do any silly, outlandish thing to ensure Mary allowed the other girls to enjoy themselves tonight.

Gemma knew when Mary had settled on the perfect torment. A bright gleam illuminated her pale-blue eyes, and a devious, catlike smile curled her thin lips. “Fine,” Mary said, barely able to contain her snide little glow. “I dare you to convince Grovemont to dance with me.”