One hopes the ball will not be affected by the incumbent snowstorm.

Oh, my. Sebastian was right. There was gossip. Apparently, the entire ton was awaiting their arrival at the Hazeltons’ ball. Veronica bit her lip and winced. How would it be to see her old friends? She’d let her correspondence with all but her dearest lapse while she’d been in the country. There had been too many prying questions about why she’d left and when she planned to return. She’d been so worried about Grandpapa over the last several days, she hadn’t stopped to consider how it would be in London. But now it was all she could think about. What plausible explanation would she give when people asked her why she’d been gone so long? Sebastian had mentioned something about telling people she’d been ill. Would that suffice? If not, she’d have to come up with something plausible and not easily disproved.

When she’d finished both breakfast and reading the paper, Veronica looked up at the clock on the nearby mantel only to realize it was almost noon. She’d spent the entire morning scouring the paper. And Sebastian hadn’t interrupted her. She frowned. Where was he? In his study again? Seeing to business? Wasn’t that what he always said?

Perhaps she’d go peek in on him, see exactly how busy he was. They would need to discuss their story for the ball tomorrow night to ensure they were aligned.

She’d barely started toward the study with a determined gait when she passed the silver drawing room. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a figure, a female figure. She was several paces past the room before she realized who it was…

Veronica froze.

No. It couldn’t be.

It wasn’t.

She swiveled on her heel, her heart beating like a drum in her chest.

Was it?

She took a few tentative steps back toward the drawing room and stopped in front of the open door. She gasped, then quickly snapped her mouth shut, hoping the woman inside the room hadn’t heard her.

There, sitting on the center of the dark-blue settee near the window, rummaging around in her reticule, was none other than…Melissa.

Without thinking, Veronica marched into the room, her arms crossed over her chest. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, glancing around to find that Melissa was alone in the room. Where the hell was her errant husband while his mistress visited?

Melissa’s blue eyes widened slightly when she saw Veronica, but she didn’t stand. Instead, she went back to rummaging in her reticule. Veronica let her gaze slide over the woman. She’d seen her before, once, in the street near the modiste. One of her married friends had pointed her out. The last two years had not been kind to the woman. She had several wrinkles across her forehead and permanent frown lines at the sides of her lips, no doubt caused from frequent bouts of pouting and cajoling and whatever else it was that mistresses did.