The rest of the family had not gone untouched, either. The scandal following the duel had been so great that both Honoria and Sarah had been forced to forgo what would have been their first season in London. It had not escaped Sarah’s notice (nor Honoria’s, once Sarah had pointed it out, repeated it, raged about it, then flopped on her bed with despair), that 1821 had been an uncommonly productive season as judged by the matchmaking mothers of London. Fourteen eligible gentlemen had become engaged to be married that season. Fourteen! And that wasn’t even counting the ones who were too old, too strange, or too fond of their drink.

Who knows what might have happened if Sarah and Honoria had been out and about in town during that matrimonially spectacular season. Call her shallow, but as far as Sarah was concerned, Hugh Prentice was directly responsible for their rapidly approaching spinsterhood.

Sarah had never met the man, but she hated him.

“I’m sorry,” Honoria said abruptly. Her voice caught, and she sounded as if she was fighting a sob. “I must leave. Now. And we must find my mother. If she sees him . . .”

Aunt Virginia. Sarah’s heart plummeted. She would be a wreck. Honoria’s mother had never recovered from her only son’s disgrace. To come face-to-face with the man who’d caused it all . . .

Sarah grabbed her cousin’s hand. “Come with me,” she urged. “I’ll help you find her.”

Honoria nodded limply, letting Sarah lead the way. They snaked through the crowds, trying to balance speed with discretion. Sarah did not want her cousin to be forced to speak with Hugh Prentice, but she would die before she allowed anyone to think that they were running from his presence.

Which meant that she was going to have to stay. Perhaps even speak with him. Sarah would have to save face on behalf of the entire family.

“There she is,” Honoria said as they approached the grand ballroom doors. Lady Winstead was standing in a small clutch of matrons, chatting amiably with Mrs. Dunwoody, their hostess.

“She must not have seen him,” Sarah whispered. She wouldn’t have been smiling otherwise.

“What shall I feign?” Honoria asked.

“Fatigue,” Sarah said immediately. No one would doubt it. Honoria had turned ashen the moment she’d spied Hugh Prentice, setting the grayish smudges under her eyes into stark relief.

Honoria gave a quick nod and dashed off, politely pulling her mother aside before whispering a few words in her ear. Sarah watched as the two of them made their excuses, then slipped out the door to the waiting line of carriages.

Sarah let out a pent-up breath, relieved that her aunt and cousin would not have to come into contact with Lord Hugh. But every rainbow had a black and grimy lining, it seemed, and Honoria’s departure meant that Sarah was stuck here for at least an hour. It would not be long before the gossips realized that Lord Hugh Prentice was in the same room as a Smythe-Smith cousin. First there would be stares, and then whispers, and then everyone would be watching to see if they crossed paths, and did they speak, and even if they didn’t, which one would leave the party first?