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I’m not planning to marry her. That’s where the Swifton chit comes in. And where you come in.’
    Benny set down his glass. ‘You’re not planning to marry the Swifton girl?’
    Lionel guffawed. ‘You haven’t met her, if you can ask that question .’ Unbidden, he recalled her penetrating hazel eyes, a heart-shaped face, and a mouth that was definitely kissable with a deucedly stubborn expression. ‘Wouldn’t marry me if I went down on my knees and begged. One of those ladies who don’t like marriage, I believe. A bluestocking, and a Wollstonecraft follower.’ She had never said anything like that, certainly never spewed anything about the Rights of Women during their brief interaction. But he knew her grandmother had been a friend of the notorious Mary Wollstonecraft, and been part of the group that supported her ideas. ‘For God’s sake, Benny, all this is beside the point. The point is’ – he cleared his throat – ‘you need to escort me to Mrs Wadswith’s ball tonight.’
    Benny let out a bark of laughter and put his hand to his heart. ‘What’s the world coming to? A ball, for the famous Thorwynn! The Laughing Rake par excellence !With a room full of debutantes! Coming it too brown!’
    Lionel drained his glass. ‘Don’t rub it in.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to abandon my pedestal for the night andcome down to earth,’ he said ruefully. ‘A temporary condition, I hope. But very indicative of my dire straits.’
    ‘And you can’t do without my support?’
    ‘Your support is essential. If only to keep the match-making monsters at bay. The moment they realize I’m not going to marry the Neville girl after all, they’ll sink their claws into me, and I’ll be done for.’ He rose, noting as he did the smirk on Benny’s face. ‘You might think it funny, but it’s no laughing matter for the Neville girl, or for me, if we can’t squelch the rumours.’
    Benny shrugged. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t miss the event for anything. It will be the height of amusement to watch you trying to extricate yourself from the old tabbies. And to see Mrs Wadswith’s face when she realizes you have chosen her ball to make your first appearance in society since your return from the Continent.’
     
    Julia finished greeting the last person in the receiving line, an elderly man with a red nose and stays that creaked when he bent to take her hand. She surveyed the flamboyant ballroom. Clearly Mrs Wadswith had spared no expense to prepare for the party. She’d put into effect the latest fashion plates from Ackermann’s Repository , not on a dress, but on the ballroom itself. The dominant colour was Clarence Blue, with several rows of flounces lining the walls. Real wheat ears were set up in Grecian vases throughout the ballroom, and festoons of roses were suspended from the ceiling, windows, and doors. The idea certainly was original, but the execution made the ballroom look like an overcrowded woman’s court dress.
    The worst of it was that half the hostesses in town would be imitating it.
    ‘You’ve got to stop fidgeting,’ said Grannie.
    ‘I’m not fidgeting.’ But her hands betrayed her. Her hands clasped and unclasped of their own volition. She could put them behind her back, she supposed, but it would present an odd appearance.
    ‘Do you want to help Lord Thorwynn or not?’ Lady Bullfinch’s voice was sharp. ‘You won’t pull this off if you look so anxious.’
    Julia stretched her mouth into a broad smile. ‘Better?’ she said.
    ‘It’s lucky people don’t really know you, or they’d know that was a battle grin,’ remarked her grandmother sternly. ‘Remove that smilefrom your face at once. You have to look like an innocent young debutante, excited at the chance to dance. Maybe you could manage to simper, as well. Anything other than your ferocious don’t get closer expression will do.’
    Julia grinned, a real smile this time. ‘I am an innocent debutante. Not