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whether they fit her two main criteria for a husband: rich and stupid.
    To be sure, there was no shortage of such men in Town, like those witless dandies forever lurking in the bow window at White’s or admiring themselves in every mirror that they passed.
    Unfortunately, in the meanwhile, the truth was, she had begun to have trouble reconciling herself to marrying a less-than-intelligent man. Taking advantage of an amiable blockhead with a large inheritance didn’t seem fair, really. Beneath her. Grandfather would not have approved.
    She felt bad about having nothing to give in return, only taking a man’s fortune to save herself and her kin.
    Perhaps such vain, idle fools deserved to be taken advantage of, but on the other hand, she did not know if she could endure waking up and having to face one every day for the rest of her life.
    Perhaps, she reasoned, a lack of brains could be exchanged for some better flaw, something more tolerable. Indeed, she believed she might have found the perfect solution…
    In any case, over the passing weeks, she had methodically winnowed down her list of possible mates until she was left with one.
    “Oh, look!” Mrs. Clearwell exclaimed, gesturing forward into the crowd at the masked ball. “There is Mr. Lundy now!”
    At first Lily did not see him, or rather did not recognize her suitor in his costume.
    The thronged ballroom swirled with a fantastical array of mythical birds and animals, ghouls and grim reapers, numerous walking allegories, and more classical gods and goddesses than she could count. Even the footmen had been made to dress as harlequins in motley suits of gaudy gold and purple satin with jingle-belled foolscaps to match.
    One of them presently glided up to the ladies with a silver tray, offering them confections that glittered with colored sugar.
    “Ah, how quaint!” Mrs. Clearwell, disguised as Hera, helped herself to a miniature candy shaped like a pear.
    Lily chose one of the tiny apples and thanked the servant with a nod; then she looked askance at her godmother. “Are you sure it was Edward you saw?”
    “Of course I’m sure.”
    “But where?”
    Mrs. Clearwell laughed. “You don’t see him?”
    “No,” Lily said in confusion, searching the crowd for her big, brawny beau.
    “Look again, my dear. I shan’t ruin the surprise!”
    “Hm.” Lily scanned the ballroom again, determined to keep her demeanor outwardly cheerful, but in actuality, her mood was a bit off this evening. She was glad of the pale pink half-mask she wore, for it helped conceal her indifference to…all of this.
    What the deuce was wrong with her tonight? All the curious sights and sounds and tastes of the night’s flamboyant gala had been fashioned to delight, yet somehow she could not shake a strange sense of detachment.
    The best that she could figure, she must be growing homesick, especially after spotting the garden folly on their hosts’ moonlit grounds from the long, winding drive up to the mansion. This was the longest she had ever been away from gloomy, creaky Balfour Manor, and when she had seen the garden folly near the ornamental lake, it had brought back a lonely pang of nostalgia.
    “Well?” Mrs. Clearwell prodded. “Don’t you see your prince charming yet?”
    “One moment, I will find him,” she replied, ignoring the irony in her godmother’s tone. She wouldn’t have admitted it for the world, but in strictest truth, Lily was in no great hurry to visit with her suitor.
    A few sinister-looking monks went skulking past, no doubt inspired by one of those horrid novels Cousin Pamela adored. She spotted one turbaned Saracen warlord and a nearly complete crew of pirates, young men getting drunk nearby while the orchestra played.
    Then, all of a sudden, Lily spotted her suitor ahead—and nearly choked on her candy. “Oh, dear God,” she uttered, her steps faltering.
    Mrs. Clearwell laughed heartily, for they were not yet within earshot of her towering beau.