“Tristan and Isolde?” Miss Cecilia Commonweal, commonly known as Sissy, said helpfully.

“Yes, exactly.” Braddon smiled at her in a grateful sort of way.

“Although,” Sissy added punctiliously, “Tristan was Isolde’s uncle, so that example is not quite as romantic as Romeo and Juliet. Abelard and Eloise were another famous pair of lovers you might consider, except I believe that something quite unfortunate happened to Abelard, so that wouldn’t be a proper example either.”

Braddon’s eyes glazed over. Sissy wasn’t a bad girl, except that she was getting a little long in the tooth, and spoke in the oddest, breathless fashion. A week ago he might have considered her for a bride. But all that searching was over.

When Braddon didn’t respond, Sissy continued. “As a matter of fact, Romeo and Juliet make a rather melancholy exemplar, wouldn’t you think, Lord Slaslow? Given the fact that he poisoned himself?”

Braddon smiled at Sissy again and cast a haunted look about the room. Where was his mother? Or rather, was she in this room, in which case he had better flee?

His mother had taken the news of his broken engagement badly, fainting onto a couch and calling for restoratives. But when Braddon tried to steal away, leaving her to the ministrations of his sisters, she had bounded to her feet and unleashed a flood of speech designed to impress upon him his duty to marry immediately.

Well, he was going to marry. Just not the kind of girl his mother had in mind. Thank goodness he’d never invited any of his friends to meet Madeleine! Now he needed to have a quick talk with Sophie before he could gracefully bow out of the ball. He’d done everything possible to convince all of London that Sophie and Patrick had married for love. Trouble was that the town was very empty of news lately, and with nearly a dozen gossip columns published every day, they all needed something to talk about.

Suddenly Braddon stiffened like a hound on the scent. He had caught sight of something alarming.

“Miss Commonweal.” Braddon bowed deeply. He had been trained by an expert (his mama), and his bows were so low as to be positively alarming. Sissy watched with some interest as the bald spot on his head fell and rose.

She laid a gloved hand on his arm, cutting off his excuses. “Will you escort me to my mother, my lord?” Sissy had no more wish to marry Braddon than he did her, but she loathed being deserted in the middle of a ballroom.

Braddon involuntarily bit the inside of his lip. “I can’t do that, Miss Commonweal,” he finally said, realizing that she was staring at him in surprise. “Your mama’s talkin’ to my mama, and …”