W ithin ten minutes Griselda had lost Josie. And that was annoying, not because she felt any particular urge to chaperone Josie too closely, but because Josie was wearing a dazzling gown, delivered that very afternoon by Madame Rocque, and Griselda would have loved to judge its reaction.

Josie’s eyes had shone like stars when she realized that the ball was an impromptu masquerade. “No one will know I’m the Sausage,” she had breathed in Griselda’s ear.“No one would ever think such a thing in that gown,” Griselda had said back. Josie was all curves and beauty and youth. Her seductiveness struck one in the face, at least if one were quite as tired as Griselda felt. She was conscious of muscles that she didn’t know she owned, and they were all twinging.

By two hours later she was even more tired. Josie was a tremendous success, and Griselda had every belief that most of her newfound suitors would hotly pursue her on the morrow, mask or no mask.

“Superb planning,” the Duke of York boomed as he passed Griselda in the corridor, his hand plumply encased in that of an actress from the Adelphi Theater. She knew who he was, of course; the duke was wearing his commander-in-chief uniform, fringe and gold braid everywhere, with his ceremonial sword dangling at his side. Apparently he thought she was his hostess, Lady Mucklowe.

Far be it from her to correct him. “I’m gratified to hear it, Your Royal Highness,” she murmured, curtsying so deeply that her knee almost touched the ground. York hastened off after the actress, his stays visibly creaking as he trotted along. Behind him billowed a cloak with yards of deep gold fringe, gold frogs, and a red taffeta lining.

“Do you suppose that he has the Order of the Bath embroidered on his undergarments?” came a husky voice at her ear.

Her mouth curved into a welcome smile without conscious volition, and her heart started beating quickly.

“One has to assume that someone is making those garments,” he said, his hand warm on her back. She was walking with him before she realized what she was doing. “Smalls, by order of His Highness.”

She gave a gurgle of laughter.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said into her ear. “Smalls that aren’t so small, eh?”

“You, sir, should be out looking for a wife.”

“I could say the same to you of a husband. Alas, I can’t tell one heiress from the next.”

“You managed to find me without any trouble.”

“I saw your hair the moment I entered the door.”

Her heart was beating quickly. “This is not what we planned!”

“Life is full of tempting surprises. You look ravishing, enticing, and a wee bit fatigued.”

Griselda bit her lip. It was because she was all of thirty-two.

“God knows I am,” Darlington continued. “Muscles ache in areas that I don’t generally think about.” He whispered in her ear, “My ass. Who knew that was so exercised by our activities last night?”

“I did,” she murmured back, unable to resist. She could feel herself turning pink.

Now she knew where they were going. After all, she’d been to Lady Mucklowe’s parties before. Slowly but steadily, he was steering her through the second ballroom and toward the French doors, and then (she would guess) out into the garden. “I’m not going into the garden with you,” she said, digging in her heels.

“I wasn’t asking you to,” he said, unperturbed.

“I’m not going anywhere in private,” she said, panicking. He was too luscious, and she was too weak, or perhaps it was the other way around. She had to look for a spouse, and so did he. “I saw Cecily Severy,” she hissed at him. “She’s wearing dark lavender.”

“An old maid pressed in dark lavender,” he sang, dreadfully off-key but perfectly audible.

“Hush!” she said, choking back a laugh.

“Was surprised to marry someone not of her gender. I’ve never seen such a thing!”

Griselda was giggling hopelessly.

“Here, take back your ring!” he caroled. And then, putting on a commanding voice: “I won’t, her groom cried, you must surrender!”

They were in the corridor, and before she could tell him that ditties were supposed to rhyme and actually be funny, he pulled her against him.

“Oh,” she said, and the laughter died. He was kissing her desperately, and yet the taste of laughter was in his mouth, because it always was.

“Surrender,” he growled at her.

“No!” she said, her breath coming in quick gasps. “I’m a chaperone—I have to see what Josie’s—I have to—”

“She’s fine,” Darlington said, his tongue curling a burning line on her throat.

But Griselda took a deep breath and pushed him away. She straightened her mask with unsteady fingers. “I do not kiss at balls, ever,” she told him. “I do not engage in this kind of behavior. I’m sorry, but our…our tryst is over.”

She turned to leave, but he stopped her. “Take me to my fate.”

“Who shall it be?”

He shrugged. “You choose.”

“Cecily Severy,” she said after a moment. “’Tis markedly improper of me to say so, but she’s a very kind woman, and a lovely one.”

“She lisps.”

“We discussed that already.”

He pulled her close again, but not too close. “She’s scrawny,” he whispered. “Do you know I haven’t been able to think of anything but you all day? I can’t go from your body to one of those scrawny debutantes.”

“The first thing you are going to do,” Griselda said, pretending she didn’t hear him, but actually filing away the words as memories she could treasure later, “is bring my Josephine into fashion.”

“I owe you that,” he said.

“You owe her that. And yourself,” she added.

She led the way into the first ballroom and stopped in the door. It was a welter of ruby and saffron and peacock blue silks, dotted as if with pepper by black masks.

“Christ,” Darlington muttered, just low enough so that she could hear it, “this is enough to persuade me to take up Brummell’s mode of dress.”

Griselda had just glimpsed Josie in the corner. “I want you to meet Miss Essex.” She thought Darlington uttered a little groan, but she wasn’t sure. No one likes to be presented with his crimes.

And as they came up to Josie, she couldn’t help grinning. Griselda had no idea how or why the transformation had happened, but when Josie decided to accept the nature of her God-given body, she had done so with a vengeance. Rather than wear her hair down, like so many debutantes, she had scooped it all on her head, great curlicues of shining hair held in their place by diamond clips given to her by Tess. The dress delivered by Madame Rocque was really too risqué for a debutante, Griselda thought. She should have put her foot down.

It wrapped Josie’s body like a kiss, all dusky violet with a low neck marked by the smallest ruffle standing up around the bodice. Rather than attempt to give her the sticklike figure that the current fashion demanded, Madame Rocque had clothed her in a way that showcased her woman’s body. Next to her, all the floating gowns caught up with ribbons under tiny pert breasts looked boring.