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Caldecott’s home. While massive paintings of serene
landscapes graced the walls, the wide room was crowned with gilded
molding along a high ceiling where creation burst into being with
bright colors. All the silks and satins in the room made the space
a kaleidoscope of color and movement. It took a moment for Ariadne
to locate the double doors leading out onto the balcony, and not
only because their hostess had placed potted palms to block the
exit. What, was she trying to keep her guests from escaping?
    It was only half past eight, which meant she
must endure an hour and a half of idle chit-chat and tepid dancing
before she could meet her centurion. But that didn’t mean she
couldn’t seek him out sooner. How clever he’d think her when she
guessed his secret!
    So Ariadne, Daphne, and Priscilla and Emily,
who were also in attendance, circled the ballroom. Like Daphne,
Priscilla was in white, her gown tucked and laced in all the right
places to accentuate her best qualities. Emily wore plum, as did
Lady Minerva, who was glaring at them through her quizzing glass
from a padded chair along the wall.
    “Ignore her,” Emily said as if she’d noticed
the direction of Ariadne’s gaze. “She’s in rare form tonight.”
    “And so are we,” Priscilla said, rubbing her
gloved hands together so that the golden bangle at her wrist
gleamed. “Tonight, we catch our centurion.”
    Daphne nodded. “For Ariadne.”
    She felt herself coloring. It was kind of
them to be helping her, but then, she’d done the same for Priscilla
and Emily since they’d come to London. The foursome strolled among
the crowds, who were awaiting the first song from the string
quartet seated on a dais at the back of the room. She spotted girls
who were on their first Season like her, leading ladies who could
command Society at any age, gentlemen of means and education who
spoke in animated tones of the war on the Continent or the Prince’s
lavish spending.
    “That’s Archibald Stump,” Priscilla
murmured, nodding toward a group of gentlemen holding up the far
corner. “He certainly has the presence to be your centurion.”
    He did at that. Dark-haired head high, he
surveyed the ballroom with a hooded gaze as if already bored. His
shoulders in a fitted coat of blue velvet were impressive. Could it
be?
    “Can you introduce me?” Ariadne
whispered.
    Priscilla eyed her. “A lady has no need to
seek introduction. If you wish to meet Mr. Stump, you must endeavor
to make him come to you. Now, do exactly as I say.”
    Ariadne listened, eyes widening. “Oh, I
couldn’t!”
    Daphne grinned. “I could.”
    “You did wish to unmask the fellow,” Emily
reminded her.
    Ariadne squared her shoulders. “I still do.
Very well. Come along.”
    She positioned herself near Mr. Stump, who
had not apparently noticed her existence. So much for the power of
her green dress. Still, if he was trying to remain anonymous, of
course he wouldn’t give himself away so easily.
    Putting her back to the fellow, she tossed
her head and said in her most carrying voice, “I don’t care who he
is! If I wish to dance with a gentleman, I will find a way!”
    “Well,” Priscilla said, equally loud enough
to make Ariadne want to cringe, “I cannot argue with you there. You
cannot do better than to wish for the company of Archibald
Stump.”
    “I hear he is a paragon,” Daphne put in
earnestly. “Bruising rider, excellent shot, graceful dancer,
excellent embroiderer.”
    “Daphne,” Ariadne warned.
    “Were you seeking me, dear lady?”
    It had worked. Ariadne put on her best smile
and turned toward the male voice that did not sound quite as warm
as she remembered it. But then, she was used to things never quite
being what she had imagined. Up close, he positively exuded male
presence with his elegantly tied cravat, his manly calves displayed
to advantage in white silk stockings.
    She lowered her gaze. “Oh, Mr. Stump. Such a
pleasure to meet you.”
    “My dear