They both looked at her with identically blank expressions. “Why, you’ll be a pariah,” Lady Twombley said, as if nothing could have been more obvious.

Annabel was speechless. Not so much at the words, but at the delivery. These people had come into her home-her grandparents’ home, but really, it was hers for the time being-and insulted her in every possible manner. That they were most probably correct in their predictions only made it worse.

“We are so sorry to be the bearers of unpleasant news,” Lady Twombley cooed.

“I think you should go,” Annabel said, standing. She would have liked to have made the request in a quite different manner, but she was all too aware that her reputation was now hanging by a thread, and these people-these awful, horrible people-had the power to pull out their little scissors and cut.

“Of course,” Lady Twombley said, coming to her feet. “You will be overset, I’m sure.”

“You do look flushed,” Mr. Grimston added. “Although that might just be the burgundy of your gown. You would do well to find a shade with a touch less blue to it.”

“I shall take that under advisement,” Annabel said tightly.

“Oh, you should, Miss Winslow,” Lady Twombley said, sailing to the door. “Basil has such a cunning eye for fashion. Truly.”

And just like that they were gone.

Almost.

They had just made it to the front hall when Annabel heard her grandmother’s voice. At-good heavens, Annabel looked at the clock-half ten! What on earth could have got Lady Vickers out of bed at such an hour?

Annabel spent the next ten minutes standing near the open doorway, listening to her grandmother receive the gospel according to Grimston and Twombley. What joy, she thought flatly, to hear it all again. In such impeccable detail. Finally, the front door opened and closed, and one minute later Lady Vickers stormed into the room.

“I need a drink,” she announced, “and so do you.”

Annabel did not argue.

“Annoying weasely little pair they are,” her grandmother said, tossing back her brandy in one gulp. She poured another, took a sip, then poured one for Annabel. “But they’re right, dash it all. It’s a fine mess you’ve got yourself into, my girl.”

Annabel touched her lips to the brandy. Drinking at half ten. What would her mother say?

Her grandmother shook her head. “Foolish, foolish girl. What were you thinking?”

Annabel hoped that was a rhetorical question.

“Well, I suppose you didn’t know any better.” Lady Vickers topped off her glass and sat in her favorite chair. “You’re lucky your grandfather is such a good friend to the earl. We’ll save the match yet.”

Annabel nodded dutifully, wishing…

Wishing…

Just wishing. For anything. For something good.

“Thank heavens Judkins had the sense to alert me to all your visitors,” her grandmother went on. “I tell you, Annabel, it makes very little difference what sort of husband you take on, but a good butler is worth his weight in gold.”

Annabel could not even begin to think of a response.

Her grandmother took another drink from her glass. “Judkins said Rebecca and Winifred were here earlier?”

Annabel nodded, assuming that meant the Ladies Westfield and Challis.

“We are going to be inundated. Just inundated.” She looked over at Annabel with narrowed eyes. “I hope you’re prepared.”

Annabel felt something desperate uncurling in her belly. “Can’t we say we’re not at home?”

Lady Vickers snorted. “No, we can’t say we’re not at home. You got yourself into this mess, and you’ll take it like a lady, which means holding your head high, receiving every guest, and remembering each word so that it might be dissected later for analysis.”

Annabel sat, then stood when Judkins entered, announcing the next set of visitors.

“You’d best finish that brandy,” her grandmother said to her. “You’re going to need it.”

Chapter Twelve

Three days later

If you don’t do something to repair what you’ve done, I shall never speak to you again.”

Sebastian looked up from his eggs into the magnificently furious face of his cousin’s wife. Olivia wasn’t often angry, and truly, it was a sight to behold.

Although all things considered, he’d have rather beheld it turned upon someone else.

Seb looked toward Harry, who was reading the newspaper over his own breakfast. Harry just shrugged, the motion clearly indicating that he did not judge this to be his problem.

Sebastian took a sip of his tea, swallowed, then looked back up at Olivia with a carefully blank countenance. “I beg your pardon,” he said cheerfully. “Were you speaking to me?”

“Harry!” she exclaimed, letting out a huff of indignation. But her husband just shook his head, not even looking up.

Olivia’s eyes narrowed menacingly, and Seb decided he was quite glad not to be in Harry’s future shoes, when he had to face down his wife that evening.

Although really, one would hope Harry would be shoeless by that point.

“Sebastian!” Olivia said sternly. “Are you even listening to me?”

He blinked her face into focus. “I hang on your every word, dear cousin. You know that.”

She yanked out the chair across from him and sat down.

“Don’t you want breakfast?” he asked mildly.

“Later. First I-”

“I would be happy to fix your plate,” he offered. “You don’t want to go without the proper sustenance in your condition, you know.”

“My condition isn’t the problem at hand,” she said, pointing a long, graceful finger in his direction. “Sit.”

Seb tilted his head quizzically. “I am sitting.”

“You were thinking of getting up.”

He turned to Harry. “How do you tolerate her?”

Harry looked up from the newspaper for the first time that morning and smiled slyly. “There are certain benefits,” he murmured.

“Harry!” Olivia squeaked.

Sebastian was pleased to see that she blushed. “Very well,” he said, “what have I done now?”

“It is Miss Winslow.”

Miss Winslow. Seb tried not to frown as he thought of her. Which was ironic because he’d spent the better part of two days frowning as he tried not to think of her. “What about Miss Winslow?”

“You did not mention that she was being courted by your uncle.”

“I did not know that she was being courted by my uncle.” Did his words sound a little tight? That would not do. He needed to get a firmer grip on his aspect and attitude.

There was a beat of silence. And then: “You must be very angry with her.”

“On the contrary,” Sebastian said nonchalantly.

Olivia’s pretty little lips opened in surprise. “You’re not angry with her?”

Seb shrugged. “It requires far too much energy to be angry.” He looked up from his food, giving her a bland smile. “I have better things to do with my time.”

“You do? I mean, of course you do. But wouldn’t you agree-”

Sebastian thought that he needed to do something about this niggle of irritation jabbing him under his ribs. It was really rather unpleasant, and he found it so much easier to glide along, letting insults roll off his back. But really, did Olivia think he sat about eating bonbons all day?

“Sebastian? Are you listening to me?”

He smiled and lied, “Of course.”

Olivia let out a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a growl. But she plodded on. “Very well, you’re not angry with her, although, in my opinion, you have every right to be. Still-”

“If you were being pursued by my uncle,” Sebastian cut in, “wouldn’t you wish for a few last moments of merriment? I say this not to be boastful-although I am rather good company, if I may say so myself-but I really don’t think it can be disputed. I’m a far more pleasant companion than Newbury.”

“He has a point,” Harry said.

Olivia scowled. “I thought you weren’t listening.”

“I’m not,” he replied. “I am merely sitting here while my ears are assaulted.”

“How do you put up with him?” Sebastian murmured.

Olivia grit her teeth. “There are benefits,” she ground out.

Although Sebastian rather thought Harry might not be getting any benefits that evening.

“So there it is,” Sebastian said to Olivia. “I forgive her. She should have said something, but I understand why she did not, and I rather suspect that any one of us would have done the same.”

There was a pause, and then Olivia said, “That is very generous of you.”

He shrugged. “It’s not good for the constitution to carry a grudge. Just look at Newbury. He’d not be nearly so fat and florid if he didn’t hate me so much.” He turned back to his breakfast, wondering what Olivia might make of that little leap of logic.

She waited approximately ten seconds before continuing on. “I am relieved to hear that you do not harbor her any ill will. As I said, she is in need of your help. After your little scene at White’s-”

“What?” Sebastian snapped, barely resisting the urge to slam his hand on the table. “Hold this minute. It was not my scene at all. If you wish to take someone to task, go find my uncle.”

“Very well, I’m sorry,” Olivia said, with enough discomfort that he believed her. “It was entirely your uncle’s doing, I realize that, but the end result is the same. Miss Winslow is in a terrible spot, and you are the only person who can save her.”

Sebastian took another bite of his food, then carefully wiped his mouth. There were at least ten things about Olivia’s statement that he could have taken exception to, were he the sort of gentleman to take exception to statements made by females in a huff. The first being:

One: Miss Winslow’s spot was not so terrible because Two: she was apparently very close to becoming the Countess of Newbury, which Three: came with all sorts of fortune and prestige, despite also coming with the Earl of Newbury, whom no one could possibly judge as a prize.