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somehow imagined that she would make her curtsy to the queen the moment she arrived in town—well, perhaps not the
very
moment, but certainly within a day or two—and that she would then sweep off into all the dizzying round of entertainments with which the
ton
filled its days and nights during the Season.
    She was quite wrong, of course. For one thing, she had come to town rather early in the year, when there was a mere trickle of entertainments and half the
ton
were still in the country packing their trunks and bandboxes in preparation for the move to their town houses.
    For another thing, a young lady needed time—and lots of it—to make endless preparations for her presentation and all the balls and parties and concerts and whatnot that would follow it.
    Tresham had explained it to her in the carriage on the way to London, sounding rather bored, as if it were just too, too tedious to have a sister to bring out. And he had been sprawled across a corner of the carriage seat, one booted foot propped against the seat opposite, for all the world as though looking alert and elegant for a sister were too great a bore to be contemplated. Of course, he had looked gorgeous anyway with all his tall, dark, harsh beauty, and Angeline had gazed back at him with fond exasperation.
    Brothers had positively
no idea
how to treat a sister.
    “Cousin Rosalie will bring you up to snuff,” he had said. “She will tell you what to wear, what to do, where to go, whose acquaintance to cultivate, how deeply you must curtsy to the queen.” He had paused to yawn. “While I have to exert myself to host a come-out ball at Dudley House, which is something I have never done before and never expect to do again, and so I hope you are properly grateful. And then I must interview all your suitors, who are bound to be queued up outside my door as soon as they know you are on the market for a husband.”
    He had glanced at her then, a hint of lazy affection in his eyes. But really, if one was not watching closely, one could easily miss such moments.
    Cousin Rosalie was Lady Palmer, actually their
second
cousin on their father’s side. She had kindly agreed to sponsor Angeline’s come-out and chaperon her throughout the Season. She would be glad to do so, she had assured Tresham, since Palmer was on a lengthy diplomatic mission in Vienna and was making rumblings about her joining him there. She had no patience with either Vienna or any other foreign city and would be glad of the excuse to put him off.
    Rosalie called promptly at Dudley House the morning after Angeline’s arrival there.
    “Goodness, you
have
grown tall” was her first observation.
    “Yes,” Angeline agreed meekly, waiting for a listing of all her other shortcomings.
    But Rosalie only nodded briskly.
    “Your modiste is going to thoroughly enjoy dressing you,” she said. “I suppose you have nothing, Angeline? You have spent all your life in the country, have you not? Your mother never brought you to town. Having nothing is fine. It is better than having stacks of garments of inferior workmanship and unfashionable design. Tresham has given us carte blanche on the amount we may spend on you, which is no less than I would expect of him.”
    “I wish to choose my own designs and fabrics,” Angeline said.
    “But of course,” Rosalie agreed.
    “I like bright colors,” Angeline warned her.
    “I can see that.” Rosalie looked at her sunshine yellow dress with the blue and green stripes about the hem. There was perhaps a suggestion of pain in her expression. “The design and even the color of your court gown will of course be dictated largely by what the queen demands of young ladies being presented to her. It will be archaic and very uncomfortable, but we will have little say in the matter. It would not do to offend Her Majesty. Your ball gowns—
all
of them—will have to be white, I am afraid. It is de rigueur for unmarried young ladies.”
    “White?”
Angeline cried in