It was only when they entered their box, George ushering his daughter and her beautiful friend, and then his wife, to their seats, that he realized just how correct his wife actually was. It had been quite a while since he heard a true hush fall on the audience at Drury Lane. But it fell like a cool snow over all the upturned faces, and was instantly replaced by a rising tide of whispering voices and shuddering fans. Lord, he thought. It was going to be a long night. He couldn’t stand Shakespeare in the first place—he didn’t care how many ballads they added; it made him deuced sick to his stomach. And now he foresaw a very ugly interval as well. Probably be swamped by beaux, he thought gloomily. Well, looking at his daughter and Lady Charlotte, seated in the front of the box, certain to be. And then there’s that earl. Bound to be here. It looked as if the whole world had decided to see this blasted play on the same night.

Charlotte sat quietly in the front of the box, trying not to furl and unfurl her fan too many times. She was wearing Madame Carême’s white gown with the black ribbons. Somehow since she bought it—was it only a few months ago?—it seemed to have become smaller, or her bosom had become significantly bigger. She felt as if she were falling out of it. And the white! Why didn’t she notice how delicate the fabric was when she ordered the gown? Even now she fancied she could see the pink of her leg through the cloth and her petticoat, which was itself made of handkerchief cloth.

She looked over at Sophie and a small smile crept to her mouth. Sophie might be petite but she wasn’t small on top, and she too was wearing a very daring empire-style gown. The bodice was made of midnight blue fabric and appeared to be about two inches at the widest spot. Sophie caught her glance and impudently winked at her.

“Don’t you love making an uproar?” she murmured behind her fan.” I vow, Charlotte, if I didn’t love you so much anyway, I would insist that we become friends, because we must sit together. If only out of kindness, so the gossips don’t gain a crick in their necks by turning from your box to mine!”

“Oh, Sophie!”

“Of course they are really all looking at you, not at me. I am only gaining celebrity by association,” Sophie said sadly. “Oh, where is an earl for me?” She rolled her eyes up to the heavens. “Send me a notorious lover—please!”

“He is not my lover!”