“Just gone six, Miss Petra. It’s time you was dressing for dinner. I was waiting for you to ring, but when you didn’t I thought I’d best come an’ see.”

“I’m glad you did. Viscount Aldershot is supposed to be taking me for dinner before a party later. He’ll be here around seven thirty.” She swung herself off the bed, feeling for the buttons of her crumpled skirt. “The lavender silk, I think, with that wonderful purple feather boa,” she decided, stepping out of the skirt and beginning to unbutton her shirt. “I’m in the mood for flamboyance.” She walked into the bathroom, unpinning her hair as she went. “I think I’d like to do my hair in a pompadour this evening. You do it so well, Dottie.”

“Right you are, miss.” The maid began to select garments from the wardrobe, laying them out on the bed. “Will you wear the silver comb in your hair?”

“Yes, and the silver ear studs,” Petra called back from the bathroom.

Half an hour later she examined Dottie’s handiwork in her dresser mirror. Her rich auburn locks were piled up over pads on top of her head and twisted into a thick, elaborate chignon on her nape. Petra liked the style which, she thought, gave her much needed height. She stood up to step into the lavender brocade evening gown and Dottie fastened the plain purple sash at her waist, adjusting the low sweep of the neckline. She opened the jewel box on the dresser. “Pearls, Miss Petra?”

Petra considered, her fingers trawling through the glistening contents of the casket. “Too demure,” she decided. “I like the emerald pendant to go with the lavender and purple. It’s a striking combination.”

Dottie made no demur, she trusted her mistress’s dress sense, even when she insisted on putting together colors that traditionally would not be considered compatible. She fastened the emerald pendant and nodded as the large, deep stone nestled against the whiteness of Petra’s throat.

Petra swung the feather boa around her shoulders, catching the edges on her elbows, and twirled in front of the pier glass. She nodded her satisfaction. The complete look was exactly as she’d envisioned. Charlie Aldershot would be appropriately captivated. Not that it took much to captivate the viscount, she reflected, making her way downstairs. She’d known him all her life and enjoyed his friendly company, but sometimes Charlie seemed to think that more was expected of him and every time he ventured beyond the easy friendly kiss she would gently remind him of the time when Joth had thrown him into the duck pond for breaking the bow of his archery set. It usually reminded him of where things stood between them.

The doorbell rang as she reached the hall and she waited for Foster to open the door. “Lord Aldershot, good evening, sir.”

“Evening, Foster. Is Miss—”