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whispered confidences. Young men in the requisite black satin breeches and high starched collars stood about the room in awkward little knots.
    It was better than being alone with the unpleasant company of her own thoughts, Susanna thought. But only just.
    Aunt Ruth’s acquaintance‌—‌and their patroness for the night‌—‌Lady Sarah Villiers, Countess of Jersey, proved to be a dark-haired, vivacious woman of somewhere nearing thirty. She was‌—‌rather to Susanna’s surprise‌—‌very kind, and not unintelligent, as well. But before she had been in Lady Jersey’s company a quarter of an hour, Susanna had begun to understand the nickname of ‘Silence’ bestowed on the countess. The name was ironic‌—‌because Lady Jersey seemed to talk constantly, keeping up a steady stream of chatter with scarcely a pause for breath.
    “My dear, I am so dreadfully sorry to hear of what your aunt tells me of your young man’s disappearance. It is quite abominable of him to have gone off without a word‌—‌though I cannot believe he can have gone voluntarily, as pretty as you are. Of course, we all know what men are. But still, we will make every effort to assist you in finding your James. And if you do not, I shall make it my mission to introduce you to some gentlemen who will enable you to forget all about him!”
    The only blessing was that since the countess’s flow of talk never paused, Susanna was not required to give any replies save for the occasional murmur of assent.
    But‌—‌though they circled the floor twice and heard not a word in response to Lady Jersey’s enquiries about a James Ravenwood‌—‌Lady Jersey also appeared determined to begin at once with her scheme of introducing Susanna to other eligible young men. She kept dragging Susanna over to present her to one gentleman after another and insisting that the gentlemen ask Susanna for a dance.
    After dancing a set with young Lord Something-or-other‌—‌a thin, weedy young man looking half-strangled by the intricate folds of his neckcloth, who had stepped on Susanna’s feet no less than seven times‌—‌Susanna bowed to him, murmured something about having a headache and needing a moment’s rest. And then she ducked behind one of the gilded columns that outlined the room.
    Her aunt was separated from her by half the room‌—‌she could just make out the top of Aunt Ruth’s purple-turbaned head amidst the plumage of the other ladies. Susanna leaned back against the pillar and let herself draw a slow breath, her eyes sliding momentarily closed.
    “Brooke, you are a fool.”
    The words, low and passionately spoken, sounded almost in Susanna’s ear, and made her jump. Looking round, she saw that the speaker was standing directly behind her own column.
    There were two people: a man and a woman, and it was the woman who had spoken.
    She was dark-haired, with dark eyes and strong, handsome features. She wore a dress of a deep turquoise material, and above it her face was white and angry.
    “If I find you’ve been gambling again . . .”
    Her companion took an involuntary step back. He was fair-haired and handsome, though slightly run to seed, as from years of indulgence and high living. There were marks of dissipation in his face, and there was something weak about the line of his mouth and chin.
    Now he quailed before the blazing fury of her glare, but he stood his ground.
    “And what then?” There was a hint of bravado in his voice. “It’s my own money, I suppose?”
    The woman gave a scornful laugh. “Your own money? Yes‌—‌after you married me. You wouldn’t have had a penny if it hadn’t been for my father’s fortune.”
    The weak, handsome face blanched, but the man still spoke with the same defiant bluster. “And what of it? A wife’s possessions belong to her husband. And I’m still your husband, whatever you may do.”
    “Yes.” The woman turned away in a whirl of peacock-colored skirts, so that