“You never would,” Louise said stoutly. “So why not just enjoy what is offered and refuse the carte blanche when he offers it?”

“Because…because I am afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“I might wish to become his mistress,” Emily whispered miserably.

There was a moment of silence.

“That is a problem,” Louise acknowledged.

Emily’s chin wobbled, but she managed a small smile. “Isn’t it just?”

Louise gave her a tight squeeze. “I will say one thing, Emily.”

Her sister paused, looking back from the stairs.

“If you are truly honest, you will note in your next column that a certain young woman accompanied by a former French count wore the most beautiful costume at the Fester ball.”

“Lucien is a marquis, not a count,” Emily corrected. But she smiled.

Chapter 12

GABBY SPENT THE REMAINDER of the morning in a stranglehold of anxiety. When should she tell Peter that their engagement was off? Or would Quill prefer to tell Peter himself? She would forget this nerve-racking problem only to find her heart beating rapidly as she imagined Kasi Rao being forcibly dragged from Mrs. Malabright’s arms.

The only positive aspect of her paroxysms of worry was that her dropped bodice faded in her mind from a dire humiliation to a mere embarrassment.

Lady Sylvia’s prediction about the number of callers they might expect proved to be absolutely correct. By the time Gabby returned downstairs, the Indian Drawing Room was crowded with people come to see the fashionable lady with the indecent gown—or the indecent lady with the fashionable gown, however one wished to phrase it.

Sophie, the Duchess of Gisle, arrived just after visiting hours commenced. “I thought if we were in the same chamber, we could accept commiseration together.” Her eyes were dancing with laughter. “I do believe that we ought to complain to Madame Carême, don’t you, Gabby?”

The assembled ladies quickly noted the duchess’s familiarity with Miss Jerningham and adjusted their opinions accordingly.

“I, for one, will never patronize that particular modiste.” A thin, waspish-looking lady shivered dramatically. “Obviously, it was her design that was at fault.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry,” Lady Sylvia snapped. “No gown is going to fall off yer chest, Amelia. And if it did, there’s nothing to expose.” Lady Sylvia was proving herself a formidable opponent, taking off the head of any person brave enough to insinuate that ladylike behavior did not include disrobing in public.

Gabby nodded, and smiled, and murmured polite nothings, and blushed whenever bodices were mentioned. She tried to ignore the fact that her throat tightened every time the door opened. Quill was nowhere to be seen. It was rare for him to appear until the evening, but surely today he would join them for luncheon?