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Susanna barely caught the next words. “Yes, you’re still my husband. For now.”
    The man tried to catch hold of her arm, but she twisted away, and Susanna, not wanting to be seen, drew back behind the pillar. It was a common enough story, however unjust.
    A wife was not legally entitled to any property. All she earned, inherited, or possessed belonged to her husband, to save or squander as he chose‌—‌or, as here, to gamble away at the gaming tables. Nor, short of her husband’s death, could a woman escape such a marriage. Only an Act of Parliament could grant a divorce, and then almost never to a woman.
    “Susanna. There you are, my dear.” Her Aunt Ruth’s voice cut in on her thoughts, making her turn round with a start.
    “The crush is terrible, isn’t it?” Ruth straightened her turban, knocked slightly askew by the jostling crowds. “Tell me, have you managed to learn anything of your young man?”
    Susanna shook her head. Having found James already, her heart had not been in making any more enquiries. But she could not face explaining that to Aunt Ruth just yet.
    Ruth went on, “I have mentioned his name to a few people, but no one seems to know him. It is rather difficult to question anyone‌—‌they are all so eager to tell you the latest gossip. At the moment, the place is in a positive uproar over the appearance on the premises of a Mrs. Charlotte Careme.”
    “And she is . . .”
    “ Decidedly of the demimonde. No one can think how she even gained admittance to Almack’s. Not that she is quite openly a kept woman, but”‌—‌Ruth lifted her shoulders‌—‌“she keeps a very expensive establishment in town with no visible means of support. And she has a number of very wealthy gentleman friends.”
    “I see.” Susanna’s excuse of a headache was actually becoming true; her temples had started to throb. But she tried to attend to what her aunt was saying.
    “Her current protector is actually a retired navy man‌—‌an Admiral Tremain. It’s said he means to marry her,” Ruth went on. “I suppose that’s how she came to be at an affair like this one. The Admiral is a very respected man‌—‌his family is one of the oldest in Cornwall. Though why,” she added meditatively, “that should entitle anyone to respect, I do not know. I am sure a good many of the characters on these ancient family trees behaved themselves far worse than a common laborer off the street.”
    She broke off abruptly and pointed. “There she is. That’s Mrs. Careme there.”
    Susanna looked over‌—‌and then froze, sudden recognition jolting through her.
    Mrs. Charlotte Careme stood just a few paces away from them. And her appearance was certainly striking. She was a tall, statuesque woman, nearing thirty, with curling auburn-colored hair piled high on her head and interwoven with a band of gold.
    She also wore a dress of some filmy white material that clung to the curves of her figure and displayed to best advantage her snow-white shoulders and the graceful arch of her neck. And her toenails‌—‌set on display by the delicate Grecian-style sandals she wore‌—‌were painted gold.
    “Are you all right, my dear?” Aunt Ruth put a concerned hand on Susanna’s arm. “Perhaps we ought to go home. You’re looking terribly pale.”
    “I‌—‌yes, Aunt Ruth. I mean, I am perfectly well.” Susanna was still staring at Mrs. Careme.
    It had to be she whom Sophia claimed to have seen with James. Her aunt’s description had not been very exact. But there could not be so many women in the rarified and exclusive Almack’s who would dare to copy the courtesan’s fashion of painted toes.
    James must have‌—‌for some reason‌—‌been cultivating an acquaintance with Mrs. Careme.
    Susanna felt the memory of her final sight of James walking away stab through her.
    Did she even care whether James’s current mission somehow involved the woman before her now? She had no idea