Authors: Marissa Doyle
small corner table surrounded by banks of drooping purple delphiniums and ferns and insisted on
carrying over an extra chair to set her injured foot upon. Then he brought her a glass of champagne
before disappearing to the buffet table.
Persy fanned her hot cheeks and sipped the champagne. The icy cold effervescence soothed her
burning throat. She’d made a total muff of everything, but perhaps she could fix it. All she had to do
was rebuff Lochinvar at every turn and make it clear she had no interest in him. Surely he would
eventually take the hint, even if he was under a spell, and find another girl to fall in love with. At
least he’d be doing it of his own free will. Pretending to flirt so outrageously with Lord Carharrick
was an excellent beginning—she’d felt Lochinvar’s surprised disapproval as well as Pen’s … .
Pen. She couldn‘t—just couldn’t—admit to Pen what she’d done. So she’d have to pretend with
Pen, too. The thought of having to dissemble with Pen—her twin, her confidante in everything … But
it was all for the best. Pen would thank her someday, when all this was past.
Lord Carharrick reappeared, bearing plates heaped with pineapple ices and sweetmeats. “I hope I
found something you’ll like,” he said, setting her plate down carefully. “How’s your injury? Shall I
try to find some ice for it?”
“Oh, no, thank you. It’s not badly sprained, I don’t think. I am sure it will feel better quite shortly,”
Persy replied, coloring again. “I’ll just sit out the rest of the dances and I’m sure it will be better in a
little while.”
“Then I shall sit with you, if you will allow me,” he said, with a little bow.
Persy took refuge behind her fan. Didn’t he have other dance commitments to keep? It didn’t seem
proper for a man to sit out the entire evening with a girl if she wasn’t dancing because of a sprained
ankle, but neither Mama nor Ally had ever discussed this contingency. And if it were all right, she
didn’t want to give offense by asking him not to. She’d already been tactless enough for one night.
“That is most kind of you, sir,” she said carefully, hoping that it was a sufficiently gracious, yet
noncommittal, reply.
After that, she found that she could actually begin to relax, just a little. The pineapple ice was
deliciously tart and the champagne refreshing, and Lord Carharrick’s conversation was entertaining
enough that she could fall back on her strategy of encouraging nods and murmurs of agreement and
actually mean them. Perhaps it helped that there was nothing about him to remind her of Lochinvar.
His hair and eyes were brown, with full curling side-whiskers and dark straight brows, and his figure
was shorter and stockier. She might have thought him quite handsome, if she didn’t know Lochinvar.
When he gently helped her rise after she had finished her ices, she was able to smile her thanks
without blushing too badly. And when he brought her back to her seat in the ballroom and explained
her accident to a startled Lady Parthenope, he made it sound like it had been entirely his fault. He was
so charmingly contrite that Mama invited him to sit with them.
“And how is your dear mother?” she asked him. “I have not had the pleasure of seeing Lady
Camborne yet this season.”
“Mother’s still with Father down at the manor, unfortunately, due to a new hunter that did not have
the manners Father thought it did,” Lord Carharrick replied. “Threw him against a fence and gave him
a broken leg and a dislocated shoulder. I rather doubt you’ll be seeing either of them this year, as it’s
such a long and uncomfortable ride from Cornwall.”
“How dreadful! So you are alone in town? You must dine with us some evening. Lord Atherston
shall write,” Mama said with a sympathetic cluck.
“Well, I can’t call staying at my club being quite alone, ma’am, but I would be most delighted to
dine with you any evening. And I’ll endeavor not to trip Miss Leland up on the stairs again if I am
invited,” he said, eyes twinkling.
Mama laughed. “It’s hardly the most auspicious way to go about meeting young ladies, Lord
Carharrick, so I should hope that you don’t.”
“Even when it gains me such pleasant company?” His eyes were warm on her again. She laughed
and hid behind her fan. If he wanted to stay and flirt, that would suit her very well. Anything to
contribute to putting Lochinvar off.
She spent the remainder of the evening listening to him and Mama chat, managing now and again to
insert a word or two without mumbling or stuttering. Pen came and went as partners arrived to claim
dances, and Persy was even able to pretend not to see Lochinvar hovering not far away. She couldn’t
help watching him from the corners of her eyes, though, and gradually the ache in her heart overtook
the one in her ankle. If she hadn’t been so stupid, she might have enjoyed dancing with him tonight,
perhaps more than once. She could have sent him little glances from across the room, communicating
her interest. Instead she’d put him beyond her reach forever.
Just before the evening ended, Sally Louder sidled over. “I should like to thank you,” she said,
seating herself by Persy and giving her arm a squeeze.
“What for?”
“For making Freddy Gilley notice me. I thought tonight would be horrible, but thanks to you it’s
been the most wonderful evening of my life. Do you know, I danced twelve times? Twelve! My
cousin Caroline only danced twice at her first ball, and she’s taller than me and has black eyes like a
gypsy’s. Mr. Gilley asked me
twice.”
She sighed happily.
Persy opened her mouth, but Sally was not finished.
“After all, Mama says he’s well-off—ten thousand a year, probably,” she murmured, looking at
Persy very seriously. “And he’s so—so …” She sighed again and smiled a small dreamy smile.
Persy bit back the mocking reply that sprang to her lips. “He’s so perfect for a certain girl I know
whose name starts with an S,” she said instead.
Sally rewarded her with a brilliant blush and another little sigh. “Do you really think so? You mean
that you don’t—that you’re not, er … interested in him?”
Good heavens! “Not in the least,” Persy assured her. “Don’t worry. All we ask is that you invite us
to your wedding.”
Sally giggled. “Well, good night.” She leaned toward Persy and pecked her cheek, then was gone.
It was nearly three when they finally arrived home. Pen helped Persy up the stairs, but both girls
were too tired to speak much. Andrews helped them undress and wrapped Persy’s foot in a bandage,
and they climbed into their bed.
“Does your foot still hurt?” Pen asked after a moment.
“Not much,” Persy replied, yawning and hoping she sounded careless.
“I’m sorry it had to ruin your first ball.” Pen yawned too then added, just as carelessly, “But you
seemed to have a good time with Lord Carharrick.”
“I suppose. Mostly he and Mama talked.” It felt like she and Pen were doing a delicate
conversational dance, stepping gingerly around the topic with careful words. They should be giggling
and comparing notes on the high points of the evening, both humorous and horrible—in other words,
acting like sisters.
“I thought I heard him ask if he could call tomorrow to see how you are?” Pen persisted.
Drat. So she had overheard that. “Yes, I think he did.”
“He seemed quite charming.”
Persy stared into the dark. “He was very kind about my ankle” was all she could trust herself to
say.
“Well, you certainly seemed to be taken with him.” Pen’s voice went up at the end, almost as if she
were asking a question.
Persy came very close to saying, “No, I’m utterly indifferent to him.” But then she’d have to
explain why she’d pretended to flirt with him. Instead she made a noncommittal noise and turned it
into a yawn. “Heavens, I’m sleepy. Good night, Pen.” She rolled over and tucked the quilt around her
ears.
But sleep was a long time coming. She’d survived her first ball. Sort of. Now all she had to do was
alienate the man she loved, keep secrets from her beloved twin sister, and find her governess without
even knowing how to start.
Flying to the moon might be easier.
I
n the morning Persy’s foot felt much better, despite Charles’s landing upon it when he stomped into
their room and jumped on their bed at half past seven, demanding to hear how their evening had been.
“Ow!” she cried.
“Honestly, Persy, one injured member of the family’s enough, don’t you think?” he demanded,
patting his sling. “How did you do for your foot, goose?”
Persy groaned and hid her head under her pillow. “How did you know?”
“News travels fast in London.” Charles raised an eyebrow and tried to look world-weary. “The
Hoaxer already has a poultice ready to put on it. It didn’t smell too horripilatious, for a change. She
takes a great interest in this sort of thing.”
“Lord Carharrick seemed to take great interest in Persy, too.” Pen yawned. “Now run along,
Chuckles, or I’ll practice halting spells on you again. Come back in about three hours with tea and
buttered toast, and we might be willing to tell you about last night.”
“Lord Carharrick?” Charles paused at the door and frowned. “Who’s he? But Persy, I thought you
liked—”
“Repellere stat
—” Persy cried, emerging from her pillow.
“I’m going, I’m going!” The door clicked shut.
Getting any sleep after that was impossible, because her mind was occupied with trying to figure
out how to murder Charles without upsetting Mama and Papa. She was still smothering yawns that
afternoon in the drawing room with Charles, trying to get him to attend to lessons, when Kenney
announced a visitor. To her dismay, Lochinvar walked in.
“Heigh ho!” Charles bounded over to him. “How’s Lord Chesterfield? Did you ride him today?”
“Of course,” Lochinvar said, ruffling Charles’s curly hair. “And I promise you may come out and
visit him, if your mother says you might.”
“She will. Let’s go!” Charles danced toward the door.
“Well, if you don’t mind, I’d planned on inquiring first about your sister’s health.” Lochinvar
glanced up at Persy. She swallowed.
“My sister’s what? Oh, her ankle. She’s fine. It hasn’t kept her from plaguing me with maths,
anyway. Come on!” Charles looked like a retriever waiting for his master’s signal to bolt for a
downed bird.
“Thank you, Chucklehead,” Persy snapped at him, forgetting Lochinvar for a moment. “If you want
to be behind your entire form when you go back to school, it won’t be my fault.”
“What maths?” Lochinvar set his hat down on the floor by the sofa and moved over to the table. He
picked up Charles’s book.
“Dusty old algebra. What’s it got to do with anything important, like horses?” Charles rattled the
doorknob.
“Many things, really. My father uses maths all the time for a lot of things. Including the stables.”
Charles wandered back over to the table and peered at the book. “How?” he demanded, looking
interested in spite of himself.
“Look.” Lochinvar took a pencil and scribbled some figures in Charles’s copybook. “Say you want
to build a paddock for Lord Chesterfield’s first foal.”
Charles looked transported.
“And you’ve got, umm, ninety-five yards of fencing. What’s the biggest paddock you could build,
and what shape would it be? You’d have to use algebra to figure that out. So you see? Even for horses
you’ll need maths.”
Charles stared down at the book and nodded slowly. “Persy said something like that. But it’s
different when you—oh, sorry, Perse.” He flushed and took up his pencil. “Watch me. I’ll solve this
one.”
Lochinvar sat down next to him and looked at her across Charles’s bent head. “I’m impressed,
Persy. Not many ladies have the least idea how to do more than count place settings at a table. I wish
I could find a schoolmistress as knowledgeable as you for the children at the new school at
Galiswood.”
Persy flushed and tried to smother the pleasure his words gave her. “Actually, I hate maths,” she
said, making a face. “And I’m usually terrible at it, too. I’m just helping Charles because—er—
because I—”
“What are you talking about, Persy?” Charles gawked at her and scratched his head with his pencil.
“You love maths! And Ally said you were as good at it as she was. Are you feeling all right?”
She could feel Lochinvar staring at her, waiting for her reply. Fortunately, Pen and Mama came in
just then and saved her from having to think up one. Mama greeted Lochinvar warmly and rang for tea.
“What news of home?” she asked him. “How is your school progressing?”
Persy did her best to look bored, but that was precisely what she would have liked to ask. She
could still feel Lochinvar’s eyes on her as he replied, “I’m in regular correspondence with Mr.
Chandler, the schoolmaster. He says the building is nearly finished, and is working with our carpenter