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Her gaze flew to his, her green eyes wide. They were a deep green like a Scots pine in the Caledonian forest.
Pinus sylvestris
, he thought automatically.

“No, certainly not!”

Before he could think how to proceed, she stepped away from him. “I must go. Good day to you, Mr. Marfleet.”

“Wait, I shall accompany you home. You shouldn’t be alone on these streets. Where is your maid?”

She was already several paces away from him. “There is no need, thank you.”

He took a step after her, debating whether to insist. But as if sensing his resolve, she broke into a fast walk and turned the corner.

He uttered a prayer for her safety even as his thoughts puzzled over why she had seemed so dismayed to see him. He had thought they had gotten on rather well the other night at his mother’s dinner.

He walked back to the pawnbroker’s shop, peering into its smudged window, which held an odd jumble of articles from old watches to men’s hats and ladies’ gloves. People of the gentry only visited them if they were desperate for some ready cash.

His experience as a clergyman and his skills as an amateur
scientist made him rarely accept things at their face value. He opened the door and entered the dim shop.

A musty odor of things old and never cleaned or aired greeted his nostrils. The bell above him tinkled, and a dark-haired, middle-aged man looked up from behind the counter. “Good day, sir. What may I do for you?”

“That young lady”—Lancelot motioned to the street—“who just left here.” He cleared his throat, feeling both idiotic and unforgivably inquisitive. “Did she come here to pawn an article?”

The man gave him a measured look, scratching at the days-old growth of salt-and-pepper beard covering his cheeks. “Young lady, sir?”

Lancelot flushed, feeling more foolish. “Yes, not a minute ago she stepped out. I’m—I’m acquainted with her and wouldn’t want her to have to pawn an article which might be of value to her.” He fumbled with the words as he grasped for a good reason to be inquiring into Miss Barry’s affairs.

The man continued to regard him, his fleshy lips puckering and twisting.

Lancelot’s gaze dropped from his obsidian stare and fell upon the article the man had been examining. It was a narrow rope chain with a small pearl hanging from it. He remembered seeing it around Miss Barry’s slim neck—and how her hand had gone to her bare throat earlier. “How much did you give her for it?”

The man didn’t glance at it. “Poor young thing. She did seem a bit broken up about having to pawn her necklace. Still wearing it, she was. Said something about its being her grandmother’s and meaning to redeem it in a few months’ time. I’d hate to disappoint her.”

“That’s all right. I shall redeem it for her. How much?”

The man named the sum.

Lancelot realized the man was probably hiking up the figure, but without questioning it, he drew out his purse and extracted some banknotes.

The man took the bills from the counter, counted them, and put them away in a drawer. “What shall I say if the young lady returns for it?”

“I’ll have restored it to her by then.”

“Very good, sir. You alleviate my mind.”

Ignoring the trace of mockery in his words, Lancelot put the necklace away in a waistcoat pocket. “Good day to you.”

“Good day to you, sir. It’s been a pleasure doing business.”

Lancelot nodded and stepped away from the counter. The bell tinkled above his head once again.

He continued down the block, thoughtful about why Miss Barry should be so short of funds she’d pawn something obviously dear to her and of some real value.

Jessamine stood surveying herself in the glass, hardly recognizing the young lady before her. She used the quizzing glass instead of her spectacles to inspect her appearance. Even though seeing clearly through only one eye was better than none, it still demanded an adjustment over having two lenses to see through.

Nevertheless, it was a vast improvement over not wearing her spectacles at all. She had practiced in the last week before her dressing table mirror so she now felt confident in using it as a fashion accessory to her new, stylish self. The small, circular glass was tied to a narrow silk ribbon affixed to her gown, a ribbon whose color would match whatever gown she wore.

Tonight she wore a new ball gown confectioned by Mademoiselle Clare. Jessamine turned slowly, admiring the wild rose sarcenet skirt and its ruby red bodice. She hadn’t shown it yet to Lady Bess and hoped the color wouldn’t scandalize her.

A soft tap on the door checked her movement.

“Come in.”

Megan poked her head around the door. “Oh!” She entered and shut the door behind her. “I came to ask if you needed any help
with your hair or gown, but I see you do not.” She stopped. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Jessamine said shyly, a hand going to her hair, which had artificial sweetbriar roses woven through it on one side. “I’m still not used to the shorter, boyish look. Betsy helped me dress it.”

“I think you shall rival any
éléganté
at the ball.”

“What do you think of the gown?” She touched the edge of the bodice, hoping it was not too low. It was lower than anything she’d ever worn and showed a lot more skin than she was accustomed to. She blushed just thinking what her parents would say if they saw her.

Megan had not yet seen the finished gown, as Jessamine had taken only Betsy with her for her fittings.

“It’s the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen. The colors are wonderful. They truly become you.” Megan circled around her. Jessamine resisted the urge to tug upward at the bodice. “Mademoiselle Clare is a genius.” She frowned at Jessamine’s neckline. “You aren’t wearing any jewelry. Where’s your pearl?”

Jessamine made a careless gesture with her hand. “I thought the flowers alone would be more elegant.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”

When Megan made no remark on her décolletage, Jessamine said, “You look very pretty too.” Her white satin gown had a wide band of colorful embroidery at the hem and neckline.

“Thank you.” Megan made a pretty curtsy. “Let’s hope our dinner at the Marfleets ensures we are not wallflowers tonight. Shall we go? Lady Bess is waiting for us downstairs, I believe.”

With a last glance at the glass, Jessamine turned down the lamp and took up her shawl, fan, and reticule.

Downstairs, they had to show their gowns to their godmother. “Lovely, the both of you,” the older lady said, clasping her hands over her breast. “How it takes me back to my own youth and coming-out balls.” She wore an azure demi-turban, her graying curls
visible above and beneath it, and an amber gown with carnelian ornaments. “How lovely to receive the invitation to the Fortescues’ ball. I’m sure Lady Marfleet is to thank for it. You may be pleased that you have made at least one conquest since your arrival,” she added with a wink. “Let us hope for a half dozen more this evening.”

Thankful that Lady Bess had said nothing of concern over her gown, Jessamine wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. A niggling doubt assailed her when she thought of her mother and father, but she told herself that in Lady Bess’s and her mother’s day, women had worn brighter colors and more scandalous necklines.

They arrived at the large mansion in Berkeley Square only to be forced to wait on the other side of the square behind the dozens of carriages in line around the street.

“Everyone who is anyone must be here tonight,” Lady Bess remarked with satisfaction, peeking out the window. It was still light outside, and the interior of the carriage was stuffy. Jessamine was glad that Lady Bess never lacked for conversation since she herself didn’t feel like talking, too nervous about her new appearance. Would anyone notice her tonight?

Lady Bess continued commenting on every carriage she recognized by the footmen’s livery. When she was close enough to see the guests descending, she reported it to Megan and Jessamine. Jessamine let Megan reply. With each jolt of the carriage drawing them closer, the flutters in Jessamine’s tummy grew.

The sale of her grandmother’s pendant still hurt. Her hand kept going to her throat, forgetting it was bare. She bit her lip, remembering Mr. Marfleet’s appearance outside the pawnbroker’s shop. Why was it he always managed to be where he was least wanted? She had not precisely lied to him. It had not been her mother’s jewelry. It had been her grandmother’s—who’d handed it down to her mother, who’d presented it to her on her eighteenth birthday, she reminded herself.

It was none of Mr. Marfleet’s business, anyway. But Jessamine still felt the guilt when he’d accused her of selling her mother’s jewels. He may have been joking, but his words had hit too close to the truth.

Jessamine rubbed her moist palms against her mantle, focusing on her new gown beneath it. It had been worth it, she reminded herself, thinking of the two other new gowns hanging in her clothespress.

She would have to wait until her next month’s allowance before she could redeem her necklace. What if she and Megan “took” tonight and they were invited to a round of balls and parties? Would she need more gowns? She bit her lip, fretting over this new possibility. Perhaps she could offer to sew the gowns if Mademoiselle Clare would make the designs. If not, she would just have to copy what she saw at the ball tonight. She shook her head at the direction of her thoughts. She and Megan would probably not be noticed, and they could return to the dull round of card parties Lady Bess attended.

Would Mr. Marfleet be there? She had seen no sign of him in the intervening week. And had not missed his company! She hoped he was absent this evening. She wanted—needed—to meet other eligible gentlemen.

If she were ever going to get over Rees Phillips, she needed to meet men who were handsomer and better than he. No more falling in love for her. But she needed to prove she could win a man’s heart, so she could forget Rees and cease to torture herself over the felicity he had found with his French bride.

Their stuffy rented carriage finally pulled in front of the well-lit grand entrance of the limestone mansion fronting the wide square.

The footmen handed them down, and they went up the steps to the wide marble foyer. Jessamine brought her quizzing glass up to her eye and surveyed its large dimensions, vaster than the whole ground floor of Lady Bess’s town house.

One footman took their wraps and another led them up the
broad circular staircase, following the many people going up before them. Bright candlelight flickered from hundreds of gilt wall sconces and dozens of crystal chandeliers.

When they reached the ballroom entrance, Jessamine saw it already held a crowd. She needn’t have feared calling attention to herself. In this crush no one would notice her or her new gown.

It would be like the rout. Standing on the side, watching everyone else enjoy themselves. Her spirits sank to the toes of her satin slippers as they waited to be announced. So much sacrifice for a new ball gown that just blended in the vast array of colorful gowns.

Once the butler had intoned their names, they entered the ballroom. A quadrille was playing and the dance floor was filled with sets of dancers.

“What an elegant crowd,” Lady Bess said once she found them a place along the gold satin wall. “The Fortescues are one of the finest families.” She craned her neck, looking around with her quizzing glass. “I knew his father once upon a time.” Her eyes twinkled. “He had a
tendre
for me. Oh, there is Lady Swanborough. I must say hello to her later. I don’t see Mr. Marfleet. I’m sure he will be in attendance. You mustn’t dance more than twice with him,” she warned them both with a tap of her fan.

There seemed to be an awful lot of young ladies, all vying for attention. With the added advantage of family name and portion, it didn’t matter what kinds of gowns they wore, Jessamine concluded as she surveyed the crowd.

A passing footman carrying a tray loaded with refreshments stopped before them.

“Thank you,” Lady Bess said with a smile, taking a glass of orgeat from him. “Take some, my dears. You’ll soon develop a powerful thirst from dancing.”

Megan took a glass of lemonade. Jessamine eyed the crystal goblets. “What is this?” she asked the footman, pointing to a pretty pink liquid in a widemouthed glass.

“It’s champagne, miss.”

Jessamine had never tasted champagne. She remembered a comment of Lady Dawson’s: “I only drink pink champagne.”

On the heels of it came her father’s gentle voice, admonishing his congregation against the excess drinking of spirits.

Silencing the voice, Jessamine reached out and took a glass. Perhaps the champagne would bolster her courage. She was determined that her efforts to present a new image of herself would not be in vain.

As of tonight, her life would change.

“It matches your gown,” Megan said.

Jessamine held the glass up, liking the way the tiny bubbles rose to the surface of the pale pink liquid. “So it does.”

Lady Bess raised her glass. “May you meet many eligible bachelors worth at least one thousand!”

After lifting their glasses in the toast, Jessamine took a careful sip. The pink liquid tickled her tongue and tingled down her throat, spreading warmth throughout her body. Liking the sensation, she took another small sip.

“Careful, my dear, champagne is heady stuff.”

“I will,” she promised, lowering her glass. Already she felt able to conquer, if not the world, then this ballroom.

The dance floor filled again. Jessamine tapped her foot to the lively music, wishing she could be dancing.

“I don’t see Mr. Marfleet or Mr. Emery,” Lady Bess said, her quizzing glass eyeing all the gentlemen passing them by.

Megan rose on tiptoe. “Neither do I. I wonder if they came. I haven’t seen either since the dinner party, but then neither have we been invited anywhere.”

Jessamine lifted her quizzing glass, although part of her preferred the indistinct edges of the colorful room, the soft aureoles of the candlelight making everything appear magical.

Everything clarified at once. The ballroom was immense, span
ning the length of the mansion, she judged. Its ceiling was painted with frescoes of clouds and nymphs. Three massive chandeliers hung from it. Dozens of wall sconces lit the sides of the room.