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population of nearly 25,000, not a frontier town with log cabins and Indian raids. Inside Meg’s mind, she regarded Lucinda with a tipped head, partially lidded eyes, and a flat stare. But outwardly she managed to maintain what she hoped was a refined expression. “Yes, undoubtedly London will prove to be very different from Charleston,” Meg said.
    “And you are so fortunate in your sponsors. Lady Vernon is truly an expert when it comes to town fashions. She has the best eye for style and color, and her modiste is second to none.”
    Meg glanced across the table at the woman in question just as Lady Vernon stole a glance down the table at Colonel Stackhouse and shuddered.
    Lucinda continued. “She advised me on my wardrobe last Season, choosing the most exquisite gown of lilac for my debut ball. Thereafter, lilac became all the rage.”
    “I am sure it was lovely,” Meg murmured, cutting a piece of pork and wondering how this topic could possibly become any less interesting.
    “But, you know, it’s not enough to merely wear a beautiful dress. There is much more to being an accomplished young lady than simply looking the part.”
    Meg swallowed and nodded. “You are right, of course.”
    “For example, my sister and I both play instruments, embroider, sketch, speak Italian and German, and arrange flowers.”
    “Very impressive,” Meg attempted to nod approvingly as if these sorts of skills were a regular accomplishment of young ladies of her acquaintance, but inside, her stomach clenched. She had a passing knowledge of French and a pathetic ability at the pianoforte. Improving her talents had not been a matter of extreme importance as she’d attended school and helped her father manage his business.
    “And what occupies your time, Meg? What sorts of activities do you do?” Lucinda’s brilliant eyes were trained upon her, and though she did not turn her head, Meg could feel Lord Featherstone had stilled. He was awaiting her answer as well.
    “I . . . well, I help my father with his bookkeeping. He is a merchant, you see. And I spend much of my time studying poetry and reading books.”
    Lucinda’s expression did not change, though her eyes widened the slightest bit. “Your father works in trade? That is charming, dear,” she said, nodding slowly, and doing little to mask the condescension in her voice. “I’m certain you perform your tasks wonderfully.”
    Meg’s heart sank. She was in no way able to compete with the British ladies when it came to talents. And this was only her first exposure to the ton . What would the remainder of the Season be like?
    “The development of one’s mind is of utmost import,” Lord Featherstone said.
    Meg turned her head toward him. She felt her face relax into a grateful smile. He had saved her from embarrassing herself further with her lack of accomplishments. Perhaps she had misjudged the earl after all.
    “Although it is important to consider what types of edification to choose,” he continued, stroking his insubstantial mustache with the tip of his forefinger. “A lady should shun literature that puts radical ideas into her mind, especially such things as novels or modern poetry, focusing instead on things that improve her ability to manage a household and make appropriate social connections.”
    Meg’s smile froze on her face. Her insides heated.
    “It certainly would not do for a lady to form opinions that disagree with her husband’s, for example.” Lord Featherstone looked down at Meg as if she were a young child in need of a gentle reprimand. Meg would not have been surprised if he had patted her on the head and told her to go play with her poppets.
    She opened her mouth but could not think of anything to say that wouldn’t be extremely rude, so she closed it. She looked around the room, but aside from the two women across the table, the only person paying any attention to the conversation was Colonel Stackhouse, who regarded her with interest as if