“Don’t be in such a dither, Gilly.” Charlotte took a deep breath, looked toward the doors to the ballroom and, with a muttered prayer that her mother wouldn’t discover her antics, followed her cousin out into the garden. “Oh, look at the lovely cascade! Did you ever see such a sight?”

“Never,” Gillian muttered, giving short shrift to the countess’s fantastic display of colored lights set up to illuminate the water flowing along the mossy paths. She craned her head to catch sight of any tall, handsome earls who might be hiding out in the scented shrubs, trying to avoid their wives’ eyes.

“Look, a waterfall! Isn’t that lovely?”

“Lovely. Oh, blast! He doesn’t seem to be out here.”

“You know how men are—they have so many other important things to do. They visit their friends at their clubs, or they gamble, or they visit their mis—”

Gillian turned to face her cousin. “Visit their what?”

Charlotte peered around her in the softly lit darkness. There was a group of people at the foot of the stairs, near the waterfall, but no one close by. “Mistresses. Gillian, it’s time you face facts. I don’t want to see you hurt any more than you are, dear cousin, but you really must face the truth. Men like Weston simply are not the type to give up their freedom just because they are married. I know you believe Weston no longer has a mistress, but you are not being terribly realistic.”

“I agree,” Gillian said pleasantly after a moment’s thought and started to move toward the stairs. Perhaps he had gone into the cardroom.

“You do? You agree? Just like that? No argument?”

“No argument.”

“But Gilly—wait, Gilly.” Charlotte hurried to catch up to her cousin’s long stride. “Did you not say you were certain Weston had disported of his mistress’s services?”

“Dispensed, and yes, I did, but I was wrong. He does have one.”

“Oh, Gilly, I am sorry. I had hoped for your sake that Weston was different—”

“I am his mistress.”

Charlotte stopped dead. “You? You think you’re his mistress?”

Gillian stopped and looked back at her. “I know I am.”

“You can’t be his mistress!”

“Whyever can’t I?”

Charlotte waved her hand around. “Because…because you’re his wife.”

“So?”

“You can’t be both.”

“Why not?”

“Well…just because! Wives and mistresses—Gillian, they’re just two separate people. Wives are…wives, and mistresses—well, you know what they are.”

Gillian tipped her head to one side. “Perhaps I don’t, Charlotte. What exactly is the difference between a wife and a mistress? Oh, don’t stare at me like I’m an idiot. Other than the obvious, what is the difference?”

Charlotte looked around helplessly, hoping for inspiration. “Well, for one thing, mistresses show affection in public. Did you hear about La Bella Dona and the Duke of Ainstey two nights past?”

Gillian shook her head.

“They were in the King’s Theater, you know, and it’s said that she sat right on his lap. In front of everyone. And kissed him!”