He hated that the blighter caused her to have so much as a single doubt about herself. “You’re Fancy Trewlove of the Fancy Book Emporium. Fancy Trewlove who is taking London Society by storm.”

She gave a small laugh. “More like a gentle breeze.”

“In the life of a Season, two balls hardly signifies. By its end, you’ll have won them all over.”

She looked at him, averted her gaze, sipped her wine. “Today I received an invitation to the Fairhaven ball.”

So Sylvie, bless her, in spite of her protests had issued the invitation at his request. He would have to send her a gift. Although Fancy didn’t seem as pleased as he’d expected her to be.

“I met the marquess and marchioness at Gillie’s ball,” she continued. “None of my relations are related to them. It’s the first sign that I’m being accepted.”

“And that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Normally, yes. But I’ve been reflecting on the Collinsworth ball, the next for which I have an invitation. I’m thinking of not going, of ending my Season.”

He didn’t like the thought of her flirting with other men but preferred even less that she would give up on something she’d worked so hard to attain. “You’re intending to let him win?”

“No, I just . . . in a year or two I’ll go back. Maybe. I’ve been ruminating about what you told me earlier. I could keep this secret, but I worry it would fester and that I would live in fear of it coming out. Would it not be better to admit the truth of things? Especially if I am to have any hope at all of having the sort of marriage I desire.”

Weary of going through the motions of eating when his entire focus was on her, he shoved his plate aside and leaned toward her. “What sort of marriage do you desire?”

“One of love, respect, admiration. Honesty. Devoid of secrets.”

“People seldom share everything.”

“But this isn’t some trifling thing, Matthew. It’s the ugly truth of how I came to be.” She rubbed her hands briskly up and down her arms. “I told you earlier how dirty I feel, tainted. I took yet another bath this afternoon and failed once again to rid myself of the filth. It inhabits me.” Tears gathered along her lashes, and it was as though a storm pounded against him. “I’m ashamed. Ashamed that he’s part of me. Ashamed that I haven’t the strength to cast him off. That he continues to haunt me. How can I burden a husband, a family, with all that?”