The Wayward Debutante. Sarah Barnwell Elliott

But instead all that emerged from his guarded expression was…the same look of intense curiosity that she’d seen on his face several times that evening.

      “You’re a bit of a puzzle, aren’t you, Smith?” he said, taking a step forward and stopping when only a few inches separated them. “But I’m afraid I’d rather like to figure you out.” His head dipped slightly again, only this time to whisper, “I was going to kiss you a moment ago. Unless you want that to happen you’d better run.”

      She still wasn’t at all clearheaded, but for the first time that night she had no trouble making a decision and acting upon it. She took him at his word and turned and fled. She didn’t look back.

      And James didn’t follow. He would have liked to, but he could tell from her expression that he’d frightened her. He just watched her dash up the aisle, long enough for her to disappear through the doors. Then he sat down on the closest seat, not yet ready to return to his box. Jonathon had doubtless observed the whole encounter and would be waiting to rib him. Normally James would have no problem handling his jokes, but for some reason this situation was different. He felt…disappointment at her leaving, and regret that he was the one responsible for her departure. It was an odd sensation since he didn’t even know her. She remained a mystery, and he’d stupidly frightened her off for good. He believed that she was exactly what she claimed to be: a governess who, for whatever reason, simply liked a bit of Shakespeare. Nothing wrong with that. It was actually rather endearing. Like a lot of governesses, she probably had no family and therefore no chaperone. So why, having determined that she was not a doxy trolling the theater, had he treated her like one?

      The answer was pretty obvious. Because, in the short time he’d spent with her, she’d intrigued him more than any woman he could remember. Because she had the most remarkable eyes, and a face that was both sensual and intelligent, a rare combination. Because he did want to kiss her. Because he knew, whether she knew it or not, that she’d wanted him to kiss her, too.

      The curtains parted for the next act and he sighed. He didn’t really want to sit through the play once more. He rose, but as he stepped into the aisle something caught his attention: a reticule, abandoned on the floor. She must have dropped it. He bent over to pick it up, noting that it was made of cream silk and embroidered with birds and flowers. It was obviously expensive. Perhaps it wasn’t hers after all…

      He didn’t mean to snoop, but there was only one way to find out. He opened it, looking for some clue. It contained a long piece of frayed blue ribbon, a small leather-bound volume of the plays of William Wycherley, a mirror and several coins.

      It also contained an invitation: to The Right Honorable Marchioness of Pelham, 5 Belgrave Square.

      Now who was that?

      Chapter Four

      It was a perfect morning for a walk in the park. The sun shone softly through the trees, dappling the path with light, and a mild breeze gently teased Eleanor’s hair, loosening it from the knot at her nape. She carried her scratchy straw hat in her hand, at least for the time being. Eventually, Louisa would notice and insist she put it on once more.

      Right now, though, Louisa was about ten paces ahead of her and gaining distance with every step. Beatrice walked stiffly by her side. They’d been arguing until just a few minutes ago, although Eleanor had been unable to hear what about. It hardly mattered, since Louisa picked fights just for fun. Beatrice had made a few murmurs of appeasement but now, knowing her efforts were pointless, had given up in favor of stony silence. Eleanor was thankful that her sister had come along, although she would have preferred to be alone with her. They hadn’t had a meaningful conversation in ages, and could hardly do so with Louisa listening in. Beatrice tended to understand her better than anyone else, and not that long ago, she’d also been a reluctant debutante. She’d have some words of encouragement or advice. And good heavens, did Eleanor need it, at least if she was going to survive the rest of the season. Of course, she couldn’t confess everything that was on her mind: James Bentley, no matter the impression he’d left on her, was simply out of the question.

      For the moment, though, their conversation would have to wait. She hummed quietly, letting herself be lulled into daydreams by the satisfying crunch of her kidskin boots hitting the gravel path. She allowed herself to lag even farther behind and began to imagine herself away from Hyde Park, away from the stifling governance of spinster aunts, uncomfortable hats and tight stays. There was so much more to life than her petty existence. She had a mind of her own; she had interests that had nothing to do with finding a suitable husband and producing suitable children. What was all the fuss about getting married, anyway?

      And why did the only man to excite her have to be distinctly unsuitable? What on earth did that say about her taste? Granted, he was handsome. Granted, he had wanted to kiss her, and that was certainly a novel experience. No one else had wanted to kiss her before; all the young men she’d met so far only wanted to kiss Lady Arabella Stuart or Lucinda Cator, the season’s two Most Desirables.

      “Eleanor!”

      She looked up with a small jerk, anticipating the reprimand that Louisa’s sharp tone promised. Louisa and Beatrice had halted several paces ahead, but were now standing, waiting for her to catch up. Both women looked annoyed.

      “How many times must I say your name? And where is your hat?” Louisa demanded. She squinted directly into the sun, which made her look even crosser than normal.

      Eleanor immediately began to rearrange her hat and walked briskly to reach them. “I’m sorry, Auntie. I wasn’t attending. Is something the matter?”

      “I asked, Eleanor, why your sister denies having received an invitation to my dinner next week.”

      Eleanor thought carefully before answering, not having the faintest idea how this question pertained to her. Both Louisa and Beatrice were staring at her impatiently. Hoping for a clue, she said slowly, “I didn’t know you were holding a dinner, Auntie. I’m afraid I haven’t put it in my diary.”

      “You’re not invited. It’s for married ladies only. What have you done with the invitation?”

      Eleanor wasn’t prepared for this interrogation, not right now, not when her mind had so recently been indulging in far more pleasurable thoughts. What did they want from her? “But I thought I wasn’t invited. Why would I have the invitation?”

      Beatrice sighed at her continued confusion. “You aren’t invited, Eleanor. Louisa insists she gave you the invitation to pass on to me several days ago, but I never received it. Did you forget?”

      “I knew I should have entrusted it to my footman,” Louisa added resentfully before Eleanor could reply. “But your sister was at my house for a visit, anyway, Beatrice, so I gave it to her instead. Useless girl. I repeat, Eleanor, where is the invitation now?”

      Eleanor had gone pale as the memory came back. She knew where the invitation was, or at least where it had been when she’d parted ways with it. It had been in her reticule, along with other useful things like money to pay her driver. Luckily, she knew where Beatrice’s housekeeper kept a small supply of funds for day-to-day sundries, so she’d been able to pay him on arrival. But given the events of that evening, the invitation had been insignificant enough to slip from her mind entirely.

      Louisa was still looking at her, waiting for an answer that she didn’t actually have. She certainly couldn’t admit that she’d left the invitation at the theater when she shouldn’t have been there in the first place. All she could do was be vague, but that would only send her aunt into a greater rage.

      “It is possible I lost it, Auntie.”

      “It is possible? Did you or did you not?” Her nostrils flared slightly.

      Vagueness wasn’t working, so she tried bluntness instead. “Well, I don’t know where it is now. So I suppose that means I did lose it. Yes.”

      Beatrice sighed deeply. “It no longer matters, Aunt Louisa. I never received it, and I’ve made other plans. Just this morning