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Soon the men joined them, and the whole party left for Drury Lane. They all traveled by coach except for the countess, who invariably used her own sedan chair, with her own chairmen and escort. Moreover, as there was a hint of drizzle in the air, she commanded the chair be brought right into the house for her to enter.

At the theater, eight of them sat in splendor in the ducal box, while Miles, Felicity, Fanny, and Stephen Ball cheerfully settled in the lively gallery, intent upon doing their best to spread gossip.

Certainly, there were many glances at their box, for though it wasn't a busy time of year, the theater was well attended, and people in a ducal box must be of interest, especially once it had been discerned that two of the inhabitants were the marquess and marchioness. Beth was playing up to the occasion in a splendid tiara and high necklace of diamonds.

The presence of the Dowager Countess of Cawle also attracted attention and whispers.

Serena saw an increasing number of looks at herself—the unknown. Francis sat beside her and paid her a great deal of attention; the truth must be obvious to all. Serena raised her chin and smiled at him, at anyone else who spoke to her, and out, at the rest of the audience. Though it hurt her face, she relentlessly smiled throughout the evening.

She rather thought she could have enjoyed the performance if she hadn't been so intent on smiling.

There were three intermissions, and at each one Serena, Beth, Francis, and Lucien went out to promenade. Serena walked on Beth's arm, in the manner of an old friend. Each walk was a constant stream of introductions, but they always moved on before people had time to ask questions.

The looks were curious, sometimes admiring, occasionally jealous, but never suspicious.

It was not nearly as difficult an event as Serena had expected, but still, by the end of the performance, she was exhausted.

After the theater, the marquess conveyed them to Emile's for a fashionable supper. There, a whole new range of people stopped by the table to pay their respects and to be introduced to the unknown. The choice of lady-sponsors proved to be genius. The intellectuals stopped because of Fanny, the diplomatic and government set because of Lady Rachel, and the social butterflies because of the countess and marchioness.

Serena continued to smile. She thought the expression had become fixed and quite possibly resembled a grimace rather than a look of happiness. She did note, however, that though there was much admiration directed at her, and one or two intrigued looks at Francis, no one seemed to realize that she was Randy Riverton's widow.

Yet.

She was constantly alert for a face she knew, but saw none. Perhaps Beth was correct, and her husband's cronies didn't move in these circles. But at some point Francis would have to announce the wedding in the papers, and all these smiling people would know who she was. Who she had been.

She was worried enough to confess her fears to the countess as they made their farewells.

"No, my dear," said Lady Cawle quite kindly. "There will be talk, but as long as you behave as you did tonight, no one will dare to make trouble. They have already accepted you, you see, and cannot admit to have made a mistake. And anyone who makes trouble will risk offending some very important people, including me."

On impulse, Serena kissed the woman's powdered cheek. The countess was startled, but then laughed. "I can see why Arabella has taken a fancy to you, gel. Be good to Middlethorpe." With that command, she entered her ornate chair and was borne away.

Serena would be delighted to be good to Middlethorpe, if only he would give her the chance.

Everyone seemed elated with success, but Serena just felt fortunate to have survived. This time. It was all to do again tomorrow.

When they arrived home at three in the morning, Francis escorted her to her room. "It all went well, I think," he said.

"I hope so." To her dismay, she yawned. But what else could anyone expect? She had never been in the habit of staying up late.

"You're tired. Tomorrow I'm sure Beth will want to gad about to show you off in as many places as possible. Don't do more than you wish."

"I won't mind." Though he appeared composed, something was humming about him, humming between them. Her head and her heart wanted him to make love to her, but her body wanted to go to sleep.

He entered her room with her and took her hands. She thought his trembled slightly. She felt as if he were about to say something, something of significance, but he merely raised her hands and brushed them with a kiss. "Sleep well, my dear."

And he was gone.

Serena looked at her big bed, where she apparently was to sleep alone again. She was exhausted and in no mood for bed-work, but it would have been lovely to have shared the bed with him.

* * *

Francis went to his room and got drunk again. He was sure Blanche's advice was good, but he still couldn't bring himself to rut upon a tired woman. Tomorrow. Perhaps even a morning visit to his wife. Yes, he thought, pouring more brandy. In the morning. Serena in the sunlight, drowning in her hair...

When he woke up, however, it was afternoon and he felt worse than the day before. On dredging his sodden memory, he realized that his valet must have had to put him to bed. He groaned with more than the throb of his head.

If he went on at this rate, he'd be a wreck.

It was as well that Serena was already out of the house, apparently in the company of Beth.

Chapter 14

Serena was finding that Francis's prediction had been correct. The assault on Society was to continue, but now in an entirely feminine way.

She had awoken at the decadent hour of eleven and taken her breakfast in bed. Along with the tray was a note warning her that Beth would arrive at noon to collect her.

First they had gone to Belcraven House to inspect Beth's wardrobe. Serena was astonished at the quantity of gowns there, and she accepted a few more.

After a luncheon, Beth and Serena paid a morning visit to the countess and were granted twenty minutes of her time. There were a number of other ladies present who accepted Serena without question. But then, Lady Cawle, Arabella, and Beth managed to deflect any attempt to question Serena about her origins.

Then they went to Hookham's, where they browsed the shelves and—almost incidentally—encountered any number of people who were delighted to make the acquaintance of the new Lady Middlethorpe.

Serena could see that Beth's sponsorship was almost a foolproof entry to Society. No one would lightly risk offending the future Duchess of Belcraven.

As they drove on to Gunter's, she said as much to Beth.

"It's true," said Beth. "And while I still hate the power of rank, I have come to see that attitude to be as pointless as hating the wind for blowing. Instead, I try to find ways to use it for the best."

They had arranged to meet Lady Rachel at the pastry shop, and she had brought her brother, Sir Jeffrey Greville, as escort. This witty gentleman was apparently known to half of London, and a whole new range of introductions interrupted their refreshments.

As they emerged onto the pavement, Serena shook her head slightly. "I feel as if I have been introduced to the whole of London!"

"Not quite. But a good part of it," admitted Beth, surveying the crowded street. "The important part. How busy it is today. See, the coach is down the street, unable to come closer. Horror of horrors, we will have to use our legs!" They shared a grin as they made their way toward the crested carriage. Beth's perturbed footman was hastening forward to escort them.

"As if," murmured Beth, "we were in danger of assault in a few yards of rather busy pavement..."

It was no easy matter to make progress, however, for the fine weather had brought a good many ladies and gentlemen out of hibernation, and many of them seemed as intent on sauntering and chatting as on purchasing. In addition, servants on errands threaded their way through the crowds.

Two ladies came out of a linen-draper's shop, and Beth and Serena stopped to allow them to cross in front to enter their coach. The older lady noticed them and paused with a pleasant smile. "Lady Arden. Somewhat busy today, is it not?"

"Indeed it is, Duchess. A burst of premature spring weather has us all in a frenzy, like March hares...." At the end of this chatter, something in Beth's tone changed, and Serena looked at her, wondering if she were taken ill.

"Beth...?"

The duchess looked between them, mildly curious. Duchess of what? The duchess's companion was a young woman whose good looks were given dignity by an aura of neatness and composure.

The duchess moved to fill the awkward silence. "I don't believe you are acquainted with my second daughter, Lady Arden. Anne, make your curtsy to the marchioness, my dear. Poor Anne has not been well. We are going to spend a few weeks in Bath."

"How nice that will be, Lady Anne," said Beth, still in that strange voice. Serena clearly heard her sigh before she said, "May I introduce my companion, Lady Middlethorpe?"

When Lady Anne's face went sheet-white, the truth finally dawned on Serena. This pretty, dignified young woman was Francis's Lady Anne. She appeared fragile, for she was of slight build with pale blond hair, and the shock made her appear more so. Now, however, her pallor was drowning under a wave of pink embarrassment.

Serena could feel the same hectic color in her own cheeks.

The duchess was also red, but red with anger. At any moment there was going to be a truly disastrous scene. Serena wondered desperately what one was supposed to do in this situation. Just walk on? Apologize?
Lady Anne, I am so sorry for stealing your future husband....

Then Lady Anne dipped a curtsy. "Lady Middlethorpe, I'm pleased to meet you." It was said rather woodenly, but it was said.

Deeply grateful, Serena curtsied in turn. "And I you, Lady Anne. I hope you enjoy your stay in Bath."

Lady Anne managed a flicker of a smile. "I don't suppose I shall enjoy the waters." She looked around vaguely. "We are blocking the pavement, I'm afraid."

The duchess came to life and nodded curtly. "Lady Middlethorpe. Lady Arden." Then she swept her daughter into their carriage and it rolled off, but not before Serena had noted that Lady Anne walked with a limp. It somehow made everything ten times worse.

"I'm sorry...." Both Beth and Serena said it together, then shared an appalled glance.

They continued on toward their coach. Serena was fighting tears and knew she must not shed them here. She already felt as if the whole street had been witness to that scene, even though there was no sign of anyone else having noticed.

"What an awkward business," murmured Beth shakily. "But really, what could we have done?"

They climbed into the carriage with relief. "Nothing, I suppose," sighed Serena. She swallowed hard. "Lady Anne seems a lovely person."

"She certainly did well then," agreed Beth.

Serena sniffed back the gathering tears. "I can see w... why Francis w... wooed her."

Beth took her hands. "Serena, stop this! If Francis had truly wanted to marry Anne, he would never have made love to you."

Serena covered her face and wept.

Beth ordered the carriage to go directly to Hertford Street. As soon as they entered the house, Francis was there. "What happened?"

Beth had her arms around Serena. "We met the Duchess of Arran and Lady Anne."

He turned pale. "Here in Town?"

"We hardly drove down to Wiltshire, now, did we?"

"Don't snap." He took Serena into his own arms and held her tight. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Serena said, trying to free herself from his embrace, an embrace she did not deserve. An embrace she had
stolen
from a better woman.

Ignoring Beth, he swept Serena into his arms and carried her up to her room. Once there, he laid her on her bed and gently removed her bonnet. "What happened?" he asked again. "You didn't become this upset over nothing."

Wearily, Serena sat up. She found her handkerchief and blew her nose. "Truly, nothing happened. We were all incredibly well behaved. Lady Anne went out of her way to smooth over the awkward moment."