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that’s wise—”
    “Please, Isabel, you must. We’ll start shopping first thing on Monday. And while we’re choosing my bride clothes, we’ll purchase a new wardrobe for you, too. My things are too insipid for your vivid coloring. If you’re to set society on its ear, you’ll need ballgowns and shoes and fans and all manner of fine bonnets.”
    That was precisely the offer Isabel had hoped for, having little money of her own to squander. Her drab gray gown was left over from her days when she had studied under a governess, and the dresses she had inherited from her mother were far too risqué for a young lady who supposedly had been rusticating in the country. “What will your father say to the expense?”
    “He’ll be pleased. Papa is the finest and most generous of men—you’ll see.”
    No. She couldn’t believe that of Hathaway—or any nobleman. His pious brother had used her mother, had played on Aurora’s craving for affection.
    Yet a wave of dark longing stole Isabel’s breath. All her life she had ached for a father. She had wanted him to hug her when she was hurt, to tuck her into bed at night and tell her stories, to listen to her hopes and dreams and fears. She’d wanted the protection, the closeness, the love she heard in Lady Helen’s voice.
    Isabel’s triumph over the success of her ruse dissipated, leaving a sour churning in her belly. Had Hathaway acceded to her demands only to protect his own sterling reputation—and his brother’s? Or had he acted for his daughter’s sake, to shield his precious princess from scandal? The answer made Isabel feel dirty, as if she had tainted this happy home.
    “I’m so glad you’ve come to live with us.” Helen’s eyes shone as she knelt before the stool and grasped Isabel’s hands. “We’ll be the best of friends. You’ll be the cousin—nay, the sister —I’ve always wanted.”
    The feel of those warm, trusting fingers increased Isabel’s discomfort. Only with effort did she force a smile. Lady Helen didn’t know the real reason Isabel had come here. Yet the truth might come out. And soon, if she managed to prove Helen’s Uncle Raymond had poisoned Aurora Darling.
    In the meantime, Isabel had another villain to investigate. Aurora had attempted to conceal his true identity, but Isabel had spotted the clues written in the memoirs. She had guessed the identity of her father.
    Now she meant to track him down.

Chapter 3
    Tonight marked her first excursion into Society.
    Descending from the Hathaway coach, Isabel accepted the assistance of a young footman. For a moment she held his gloved hand as she lifted her gaze to the stately stone mansion, where the candlelit windows glowed with the aura of a fairyland castle. A dreamlike panic made her heart thump faster. Tonight she would join the ton. Tonight she would dance with the upper crust. Tonight she would leave behind the common masses who gathered across the street, oohing and ahhing as an endless stream of carriages discharged their stylish occupants.
    The discreet tugging of the footman’s hand snapped her back to reality. She was holding up the line of guests. Releasing her tight grip, she graced him with a warm smile. “Thank you, sir.”
    Ruddy color mottled his cheeks as he bobbed a bow. “Aye, m’lady.”
    M’lady. The respectful address gave her a rush of guilty delight. With Helen’s help, she had spent the past fortnight preparing herself, memorizing the strict rules of proper behavior. She had practiced dance steps with a tutor. She had enjoyed fittings for an array of new gowns, the finest of which she wore tonight. Donning the outer trappings had been the easiest part of her masquerade. But now came the test—could she fool these aristocrats?
    Isabel joined the parade of guests mounting the stairs to the columned porch. Her braided gold spencer warded off the evening chill. She could hear the rustling of her jade silk skirts, the swirl of conversations, and the gay trill