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She addressed the maid. "Please see if Lord Middlethorpe is in his rooms. I wish to speak to him."

The surprised maid draped a wrap around Serena, then went off to inquire. Francis was home. He came in and the maid discreetly disappeared. He was in shirt sleeves and his collar stood open, for he had not yet arranged his cravat.

He halted just inside the door, far away from her. "You are unwell?" he asked with reserved concern, but his eyes were not reserved.

Serena stood nervously. "No." She was finding herself alarmingly distracted by his appearance. His state of half-dress was exceedingly attractive.

Roguish was exactly the word that came to mind.

"You wanted something," he prompted, frowning slightly.

She collected her wits. "I wondered if I was going to look right. Beth's lending me a dress. It's very fine. With my hair like this... will I look too bold?"

"My dear, you look beautiful, not bold. And I doubt Beth has a dress in her wardrobe that could make you look unsuitable."

Serena discovered that she wanted, quite desperately, to be held in his arms, but he was on the far side of the room and showed no sign of moving closer. "I want to look right for you," she said earnestly. "I know this evening is important."

"Important for you, too, surely. You want a position in Society."

She clutched the negligee to her. "I have lived without Society all my life, Francis. I could be content in a cottage in the country."

"It's a charming fancy, my dear, but I doubt it. And I wouldn't care for it. I am fond of my comforts."

"I was happy in Summer St. Martin."

"Then I am sorry to have dragged you away."

That wasn't what she had meant. She took a few more steps toward him.

"Serena," he said flatly, "if you come any closer, I'm likely to throw you on the bed and ravish you. It will undoubtedly mess up your hair and make us late for dinner."

She stared at him, not knowing what to make of such a declaration. "Please," she said, intending it as agreement.

He shook his head and produced a smile. "I was joking, my dear. You look beautiful. Now finish dressing or we'll be late." And with that, he was gone.

Serena returned to her dressing table feeling shaken. Had that been a joke or not? Did he really want to ravish her? She was aware of a number of ways he could ravish her without disturbing her hair at all. Nor would they take very long. So why had he not?

She glared at herself in the mirror. She was sure that in some way her beauty was to blame for her wounded marriage, as it had been to blame for just about all the problems in her life.

It was a cocked gun, however. If she couldn't use it to seize her own happiness, at least she could use it to take Society by storm.

Her own happiness.

Her husband's heart.

She caught her breath at that. Was she truly, truly going to aim for the moon?

What else could she do when she loved him?

Her mind wandered over her feelings like a blind person exploring a new and unknown object. Yes, she thought it was. She thought it was love. The care she felt, the tenderness, the desire to fight for him and for his happiness; it was the awful power of love....

A tap on the door brought her maid back with the gown. "The hemming's a bit rough, milady," she said, "so try to keep it up away from anything that might snag it." She flipped the gown onto Serena and fastened the buttons at the back. "But the length's dead right. My, but it does look pretty on you."

Serena looked in the mirror and knew it was true.

The glowing yellow gown was perfect with her coloring. It made her skin more delicate and her hair richer. The neckline was wide, but unlike all the gowns Matthew had bought for her, it was completely decent.

The maid quickly wrapped a long bronze scarf around the high waist and knotted it to hang down one side. Serena put on her topaz set, the bracelet, and then the ivory pieces Beth had sent. There was a carved arm band and a heavy pin that she used to anchor the scarf.

The maid had also brought a cloak to match the dress. It was ivory velvet lined with yellow silk.

Serena knew that she looked the very picture of a Society beauty, and for once in her life there was nothing suspect about her fine clothes.

She dismissed the maid with warm thanks, then used the perfume Francis had bought for her. What would her beloved think?

Knowledge of love made her raw, so that the fine lawn of her shift grated against her skin and her curls weighed heavy at her neck. She knew her breaths as a newborn must, each one a painful wonder. She almost hesitated to face him now, as a saint might fear to face a glowing God....

She gathered her courage and knocked on the adjoining door.

He opened the door himself. He was dressed now in dark evening clothes, snowy linen, and discreet jewels. His valet was nowhere to be seen. She saw his lips part on a breath. "You are very beautiful," he said, and his eyes told her he spoke the truth. But there was something almost agonized in his look.

She searched for his reaction. "But do I look right?"

"Yes, of course you do. You will be a sensation." He raised her chin and kissed her gently, finger and lips like fire. "Don't worry. With the Rogues behind you, you are as invincible as Wellington."

She gripped his arms, intending to make more of the kiss, but he gently disengaged. "We mustn't ruffle your finery, must we?"

As they left the room, Serena knew that her Waterloo was not Society, but her husband's heart.

Francis's mother awaited them, dressed in elegant dark blue. With her slim build and fine bones she somehow made Serena feel blowsy, but she seemed determined to be pleasant. She complimented Serena on her appearance and kept up a flow of light conversation all the way to Belcraven House. Clearly, the dowager had decided that in her son's cause she could do anything.

In that, thought Serena, we are in agreement, my lady. She deliberately pushed the frightening new knowledge of love to the back of her mind and concentrated on her task.

At the ducal mansion, Serena found that their party contained four extra ladies.

Sir Stephen Ball had brought his sister Fanny, a vigorous and much respected bluestocking. Con Somerford, Viscount Amleigh, had turned up and brought his cousin, Lady Rachel Ibbotson-French. Her husband was apparently a highly respected diplomat currently sorting matters out in Italy, and Lady Rachel was also a member of the influential Greville family.

To Serena's delight, Arabella was present and had brought her friend Maud, who turned out to be the formidable Dowager Countess of Cawle.

Even Serena had heard of the Dowager Countess. From her mansion on Albemarle Street—which she refused to give over to her son and his wife—she had been a ruler of London Society for thirty years. Not for her to hold great routs, or dispense vouchers for subscription assemblies or opera balls; the Countess of Cawle merely observed and listened and occasionally passed judgment.

From her reputation, Serena had expected a crone, but Lady Cawle was a full-figured woman and still handsome. If she was of an age with Arabella, she must be in her late fifties, but her smooth skin and big eyes made her look less. She was not a follower of fashion, however. She took up a whole sofa because she insisted on wearing the full skirts of her younger days, with a waist at its natural level. On this occasion, the spreading skirts were in sage-green with black silk ruching.

When Serena was introduced to her, the countess gave the briefest of nods, but her deceptively sleepy eyes missed nothing. Serena quaked in her slippers, not able to believe that this woman would countenance her for a moment.

Throughout the meal, the dowager ignored her. But then all the lady's attention was upon the Marquess of Arden, who was flirting with her shamelessly. Despite the age difference, it didn't seem at all ridiculous, and Beth appeared to find it amusing. Serena wondered how she would feel if Francis flirted with every lady he met. She suspected that she'd be as mad as fire.

This seemed to prove that she was at heart a country bumpkin. Serena was grateful to be seated between Francis and Miles, and relatively comfortable, even if most of the light conversation was left to the Irishman. Francis must be very worried about the evening to be so tense.

When the ladies went apart, Serena suspected that her time of comfort was over. As she had feared, she was beckoned to the countess's side. "Sit, gel," Lady Cawle said in a tone very like Arabella's. "So, you're Riverton's well-trained wife."

Serena's color flared and she bounced up from the seat she had just taken.

Lady Cawle did not blink. "Run, gel, and I'll wash my hands of you."

The matter hung in the balance for a long moment, and then Serena took a deep breath and sank back down into the chair. "Good," said the countess as if without interest. "Pity you're so beautiful. People will think the worst. There's a universal desire to find fault with a beautiful woman."

"Perhaps they should," said Serena, swallowing.

"Should they?"

Serena looked at the woman, who exuded all the warmth of a marble statue. "What do you mean?"

"Have you done anything of which you are ashamed, Lady Middlethorpe?"

Serena knew she should lie, but the night at the Posts' farm rose up in her mind like a label of sin. She lowered her head. "Yes."

Amazingly, the countess chuckled. "So I should hope. I'd never have believed you if you'd said no. But are you ashamed of your life? I am not talking of what has happened to you but of what you have done."

Serena frowned at the puzzling woman and considered the question. "No," she said at last. "I can think of many things I would change, being older and wiser, but I did the best I could at the time."

"Good. I have a soft spot for young Middlethorpe. If I'd had the chance, I would have stopped this marriage, for it won't be easy, but as it's done, I'll try to smooth your way. You, gel, will do your part by
believing
that you're as good as any of 'em. It's mostly true. Cower, and I'll have no more of you. Do you understand?"

Serena felt bludgeoned. "Yes. But what if—?"

"No ifs. No buts. Stare 'em down. Never flinch. Men don't make a cavalry charge with hesitation in their hearts. Make no mistake, this is an assault."

Cocked guns.

Waterloo.

Cavalry charges.

"People die in cavalry charges," Serena pointed out.

"So they do." There was no trace of sympathy or hesitation in the countess's voice.

"You would have made a remarkable general," said Serena, and it was not entirely a compliment.

"I think so. I'm ruthless enough. You would have made a dreadful one. If I'm any judge, though, you'll make a good wife and mother, given a chance. It's as well you are not dressing boldly, for it's the women we have to win over. The men will all just envy Middlethorpe, but that will make it harder to win over their wives. You're what every man wants, you know. A decent woman who can act the whore."

"I'm not—"

"Which are you not?"

Serena shut her mouth resentfully.

The countess fixed her with eyes that no longer appeared lazy at all. "Are you willing to charge Society without flinching, young woman?"

Serena wanted to tell the witch to go to hell, but she said, "Yes."

"Lady Arden," the countess called across the room, "I shall be attending the theater."

Serena hadn't known it had been in doubt.

She was dismissed and escaped to sit by Lady Rachel, who seemed capable of an endless stream of superficial chat. Serena supposed it was an admirable diplomatic skill. As she let the words flow over her, Serena worried about the countess's words.
A decent woman who can act the whore.
She supposed that did describe her, but what then of Francis? She wasn't sure he believed her to be a decent woman, and he didn't seem to want her to act the whore.

Soon Arabella drew her away. "How are you faring, my dear? You're looking very grand. I gather you stood up to Maud. Good for you. It amuses her to terrify people."

"I would have thought she could find something better to do with her life."

"Tush, tush. Don't show your claws, dear. Maud works quite hard at being the Guardian of Society. She don't concern herself with the majority of the fashionable throng, but she watches the fringes. And Society watches her. Many a worthy person has gained the entree through her, and many a scoundrel has been routed. She can sense petty malice and deception like a hound on the scent."

Serena cast a puzzled glance at the countess, who had seemed to approve of her, all in all. "She is extraordinary," she said. "I confess that I am surprised you two are such friends."

"Are you? Women choose their own ways to challenge life. I chose to do without men. Maud preferred to use them. But at heart we're two peas in a pod. Of course, she was always pretty and I was not, which may have had a lot to do with our choices."

Serena glanced at Arabella curiously. Would Arabella have wanted to marry? Nothing, it would appear, was ever simple or quite what it seemed. It made life extremely difficult.