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smile was false and cloying as he stopped to wave at his sisters before turning back to her. “And I want you to sketch Lord Debenham, though that will have to be achieved from a distance.”
    Oh, but how she wanted to go. If Lord Debenham were going to be there, it was possible Mr. Tunley might also.
    “What can I wear?”
    He shrugged. “You’re enterprising enough to solve that problem yourself, surely? Mind, though, you can’t wear that.” He cast a disparaging look at her serviceable blue serge skirts.
    “Miss Maria?” She knew it was hopeless, even as desperation prompted her to ask the question.
    He shook his head. “I dare not try that again. No, Miss Hazlett, you must find a way to clothe yourself. If you’re as anxious to go as you appear, you’ll be enterprising enough to find a way.”
    “I see you know nothing of how the world works. Of its impediments such as decent clothing, the want of which precludes those respectably born, but without funds, from mixing with their class. Perhaps you don’t really want me to accompany you after all.” Lissa glared. “You know I shan’t be able to sketch Lord Debenham unless I have a gown that is suitable.”
    Cosmo cast her a look of frustrated despair. “Miss Hazlett, I am completely unable to provide you with a new dress. You know that. I have very little in the way of ready income, not that I’d spend it equipping you with new clothes when I think my offer of attending a garden party with a better class of people than you’re used to is generous enough. Now please, use that pretty head of yours to secure yourself something suitable for just two hours.”

Chapter Three
    A raminta stared at the two bonnets lying on the bed. Deciding which one to wear might be the most difficult decision she’d have to make in a day. The bonnet of vermillion-colored satin, embossed with straw and surmounted by a bouquet of full-blown damask roses? Or the simple, leghorn bonnet, which would highlight her innocence when teamed with her demure sprigged muslin?
    Her sister, sitting morosely on the bed behind her, had been no use in helping her decide. Hetty had appeared plainly bored by the question and apparently more concerned with how to conceal a pimple on her jawline. Araminta had offered her advice but Hetty’s mood seemed only to have grown darker at Araminta’s bolstering suggestion that patience and acceptance were far more becoming than petulance in one who did not have the striking looks to turn the heads of the gentlemen, and that such virtues may even be rewarded.
    Despite Hetty’s lack of response, Araminta considered herself a caring sister and made a final attempt to ease her plain sister’s concerns. Deciding upon the more striking vermillion bonnet, she turned, tying the scarlet ribbons beneath her chin, and said with a reassuring smile. “Just wait another year, Hetty dearest, and your skin may well improve, not to mention your figure. You’re only in your first season out, and remember that Mama said she was more comely after a year of marriage than when she was making her debut. Now, what do you think of this now that it’s on? It favors my complexion, don’t you think? Certainly not a color you can wear, though.”
    “All I know is that it’s a color favored by Jezebels wanting to get their claws into certain gentlemen. Dangerous ones,” Hetty hissed.
    Araminta was truly shocked. This was not like Hetty at all. Hetty was generally sweet and pliable, as she needed to be when she lacked the benefit of Araminta’s good looks. “What do you know of such things, Hetty? Two evenings on the ballroom floor and it appears your innocent mind has been corrupted when that’s the only attribute you really have.” She shook her finger at her sister and tried to soften her rebuke with a fond smile. “Just don’t you let Mr. Woking hear you speak like that or he’ll run a mile.”
    Hetty, who was now tying her garter, looked up with a glare. “I wish