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she was addressed, and earned herself a nod of approval
from her mother.
    But not tonight. She refused to meet her
centurion again face-to-face in simpering white. She had another
dress in her wardrobe, worn only once to Priscilla and Emily’s
ball, a dress she’d compromised her literary aspirations to earn
enough money to purchase. Her mother had forbidden her to wear it
again. But if there was a night to risk censure and punishment, it
was tonight.
    “Mother will have apoplectic fit, again,”
Daphne predicted when she came to fetch Ariadne. “But I think you
look marvelous in green.”
    Ariadne spread her satin skirts to gaze down
at the gown. Black lace medallions spotted the emerald green
watered silk along the wide hem and the cap sleeves. She knew the
scalloped neckline and tiny bodice called attention to her curves,
just as the color turned her eyes to turquoise. With jet beads at
her throat and ears, black opera gloves on her arms, her hair
curled around her face and held aloft by jet combs, she felt
sophisticated, daring, capable. The fire of those feelings burned
brightly, warming her heart, raising her head, until she descended
the stairs to where her parents waited in the entryway and saw the
look in her mother’s blue eyes.
    “I believe we agreed you would give that to
your maid,” Lady Rollings said, looking down her patrician nose at
the satin as if it were covered in mud instead of lace. “I have not
patronized Madame Levasard since she created that for you without
my consent.”
    Which was a pity, as Ariadne would have
liked to commission a second grown from the famous seamstress. “It
seemed a shame to waste,” she tried.
    Her mother’s golden-blond head merely raised
higher.
    “Dearest,” her father interjected with a
hand to his wife’s arm, obviously mindful of disturbing the
cerulean blue of her gown or the ostrich plumes waving in her
carefully curled hair. “We are already nearly late. There isn’t
time for Ariadne to change.”
    Her mother raised a brow. “Then perhaps she
should stay home.”
    Oh, no! And miss the chance to meet her
centurion? She opened her mouth to protest, but Daphne stepped
between her and their mother with a swish of her snowy silk
skirts.
    “An excellent idea!” she proclaimed,
beaming. “Ariadne and I can stay home and practice archery. The sun
should be up until nearly nine. Please, Mother? I am so tired of
being surrounded by Eligibles whenever we go out, and I really
dislike all the silver embroidery along the hem of this gown.
Besides, Lord Hastings’ son Lord Petersborough has been pestering
Ariadne for a dance, and I see no reason why she must oblige him
even if he is the heir to a marquess.”
    Around Daphne, Ariadne could see the
thoughts churning behind their mother’s eyes. “Lord Petersborough
called the other day while you were out,” she mused. “He’d make an
excellent catch.” She snapped a nod as if the die had been cast.
“You may go with us, Ariadne, but you are to comport yourself with
all propriety. I trust I have made myself clear.”
    “Yes, Mother,” Ariadne said, careful to keep
her gaze on the white and black marble tiles of the floor. “Of
course.”
    Daphne took her hand and gave it a
squeeze.
    It was a tense ride to the Caldecott estate
on the edge of London. Ariadne could feel her mother’s gaze on her
as if she expected her youngest daughter to leap from the carriage
and run off into the night. In truth, the thought was somewhat
appealing. The closer to the ball, the more her nerves tingled
across her skin. What if he was cruel, unkind? What if this was all
a horrid joke? Worse, what if he was an imbecile? No, no, never
that. They had spoken enough times for her to know he had a brain
in his head. And he’d certainly observed her often enough to know
she wanted to become better acquainted.
    Still, she clung to Daphne’s side as a
footman announced her family and they entered the already crowded
ballroom of the