Sophy heard the amused condescension in his voice and smiled serenely. "Is her little club anything like a gentlemen's club in which one may drink and bet and entertain oneself until all hours?"

Julian eyed her grimly. "Definitely not."

"How disappointing. But be that as it may, I am sure I shall like your aunt."

"You'll have a chance to find out shortly." Julian glanced at the library clock. "She should be here any minute."

Sophy was stunned. "She's going to be calling this morning?"

"I'm afraid so. She sent word around an hour ago that she was to be expected. She'll undoubtedly be accompanied by her companion, Harriett Rattenbury. The two are inseparable." Julian's mouth crooked faintly. "My aunt is most anxious to meet you."

"But how did she know I was in town?"

"That's one of the things you must learn about Society, Sophy. Gossip travels on the air itself here in the city. You will do well to keep that in mind because the last thing I want to hear is gossip about my wife. Is that very clear?"

"Yes, Julian."

SIX

"I do apologize for being late but I know you will all forgive me when I tell you I have got the second installment. Here it is, fresh from the presses. I assure you I had to risk life and limb to obtain it. I haven't seen that sort of mob in the streets since the riot after the last fireworks display at Covent Garden."

Sophy and the other ten guests seated in the gold-and-white Egyptian-style drawing room turned to gaze at the young, red-haired woman who had just burst through the door. She was clutching a slender, unbound volume in her hands and her eyes were alight with excitement.

"Pray, seat yourself, Anne. You must know we are all about to expire with curiosity." Lady Frances Sinclair, perched gracefully on a gold-and-white striped settee that was adorned with small, carved sphinxes, waved her late guest to a nearby chair. "But first allow me to present my nephew's wife, Lady Ravenwood. She arrived in town a week ago and has expressed an interest in joining our little Wednesday afternoon salon. Sophy, this is Miss Anne

Silverthorne. You two will undoubtedly run into each other again this evening at the Yelverton Ball."

Sophy smiled warmly as the introductions were completed. She was thoroughly enjoying herself and had been since Fanny Sinclair and her friend Harriett Rattenbury had swept into her life the previous week.

Julian had been right about his aunt and her companion. They were obviously the greatest of friends, although to look at them, one was struck first by the differences, rather than the similarities between the two women.

Fanny Sinclair was tall, patrician featured, and had been endowed with the black hair and brilliant emerald eyes that appeared to be a trademark of the Sinclair clan. She was in her early fifties, a vivacious, charming creature who was clearly at ease amid the wealth and trappings of the ton.

She was also delightfully optimistic, keenly interested in everything that went on around her and remarkably free thinking. Full of witty schemes and plans, she fairly bubbled with enthusiasm for any new idea that crossed her path. The exotic Egyptian style of her townhouse suited her well. Even the odd wallpaper, which had a border of tiny mummies and sphinxes, looked appropriate as a backdrop for Lady Fanny.

As much as Sophy enjoyed the bizarre Egyptian motifs in Lady Fanny's home, she was somewhat relieved to discover that when it came to clothing fashions, Julian's aunt had an instinctive and unfailing sense of style. She had employed it often on Sophy's behalf during the past week. Sophy's wardrobe was now crammed with the latest and most flattering designs and more gowns were on order. When Sophy had been so bold as to question the excessive expenditures, Fanny had laughed gaily and waved the entire issue aside.

"Julian can afford to keep his wife in style and he shall do so if I have anything to say about it. Do not worry about the bills, my dear. Just pay them out of your allowance and request more money from Julian when you need it."

Sophy had been horrified. "I could not possibly ask him to increase my allowance. He is already being extremely generous with me."

"Nonsense. I will tell you a secret about my nephew. He is not by nature closefisted or stingy but unfortunately he has little interest in spending money on anything except land improvement, sheep, and horses. You will have to remind him from time to time that there are certain necessities a woman needs."

Just as she would have to remind him occasionally that he had a wife, Sophy had told herself. She had not seen a great deal of her husband lately.

Harry, as Fanny's companion was called, was quite opposite in looks and manners, although she appeared to be about the same age. She was short, round, and possessed of an unflappable calm that nothing seemed to shake. Her serenity was the perfect foil for Fanny's enthusiasms. She favored imposing turbans, a monocle on a black ribbon, and the color purple, which she felt complimented her eyes. Thus far Sophy had never seen Harriett Rattenbury dressed in any other shade. The eccentricity suited her in some indefinable fashion.

Sophy had liked both women on sight and it was a fortunate circumstance because Julian had more or less abandoned her to their company. Sophy had seen very little of her husband for the past week and nothing at all of him in her bedchamber. She was not quite certain what to make of that situation but she had been too busy, thanks to Fanny and Harry, to brood over the matter.

"Now then, Fanny said as Anne began to cut open the pages of the small book, "you must not keep us in suspense any longer than is absolutely necessary, Anne. Start reading at once."

Sophy looked at her hostesses. "Are these Memoirs actually written by a woman of the demimonde?"

"Not just any woman of that world but the woman of that world," Fanny assured her with satisfaction. "It is no secret that Charlotte Featherstone has been the queen of London's courtesans for the past ten years. Men of the highest rank have fought duels for the honor of being her protector. She is retiring at the peak of her career and has decided to set Society on its ear with her Memoirs."

"The first installment came out a week ago and we have all been eagerly awaiting the second," one of the other ladies announced gleefully. "Anne was dispatched to fetch it for us."

"Makes an interesting change from the sort of thing we usually study and discuss on Wednesday afternoons, doesn't it?" Harriett observed blandly. "One can get a little tired of trying to muddle through those rather strange poems of Blake's and I must say there are times when it is difficult to tell the difference between Coleridge's literary visions and his opium visions."

"Let us get to the heart of the matter," Fanny declared. "Who does the Grand Featherstone name this time?"

Anne was already scanning the pages she had opened. "I see Lords Morgan and Crandon named and, oh, good heavens, there's a royal Duke here, too."

"A royal Duke? This Miss Featherstone appears to have fancy tastes," Sophy observed, intrigued.

"That she does," Jane Morland, the dark-haired, serious-eyed young woman who was sitting next to Sophy, remarked. "Just imagine, as one of the Fashionable Impures, she's met people I could never even aspire to meet. She's mingled with men from the highest levels of Society."

"She's done a fair bit more than just mingle with them, if you ask me," Harriett murmured, adjusting her monocle.

"But where did she come from? Who is she?" Sophy demanded.

"I've heard she was nothing more than the illegitimate daughter of a common streetwalker," one of the older women observed with an air of amused disgust.

"No common streetwalker could have caught the attention of all of London the way Featherstone has," Jane announced firmly. "Her admirers have included a good portion of the peers of the realm. She is obviously a cut above the ordinary."

Sophy nodded slowly. "Just think of all she must have been obliged to overcome in her life in order to have obtained her present position."

"I would imagine her present position is flat on her back," Fanny said.

"But she must have cultivated a great deal of wit and style to attract so many influential lovers," Sophy pointed out.

"I'm sure she has," Jane Morland agreed. "It is quite interesting to note how certain people possessed only of flair and intelligence seem to be able to convince others of their social superiority. Take Brummell or Byron's friend, Scrope Davies, for example."

"I would imagine Miss Featherstone must be very beautiful to have become so successful in her, uh, chosen profession," Anne said thoughtfully.

"She's not actually a great beauty," Fanny announced.

The other women all glanced at her in surprise.

Fanny smiled. "It's true. I've seen her more than once, you know. From a distance, of course. Harry and I noticed her just the other day, in fact, shopping in Bond Street, didn't we, Harry?"

"Dear me, yes. Quite a sight."

"She was seated in the most incredible yellow curricle," Fanny explained to her attentive audience. "She was wearing a deep blue gown and every finger was ablaze with diamonds. Quite a stunning picture. She's fair and she's possessed of passable looks and she certainly knows how to make the most of them, but I assure you there are many women of the ton who are more beautiful."

"Then why are the gentlemen of the ton so taken with her?" Sophy asked.