It was very easy sometimes to believe one was the only person who had ever suffered troubles, Wren thought, especially when one totally isolated oneself. But here was a clear reminder that in reality everyone had, even presumably pretty, well-connected eighteen-year-olds who had the world spread at their feet.

“Lady Overfield,” she said, “I believe you are very sly.”

The lady looked taken aback for a moment and then smiled again. “If you meet one person at a time,” she said, “eventually you will have met the whole world. But I mean it when I say you do not have to come down. No one will think the worse of you.”

Wren got to her feet. Yes, she did have to go. She was a guest here. “I never did mingle, you know,” she said as she smoothed out her dress and touched her hair to make sure everything was in place. “Whenever my aunt and uncle entertained at home, I remained in my room even though they never seemed to tire of inviting me and occasionally trying some gentle persuasion.” She turned to her hostess then and smiled. “Lead the way.”

But Lady Overfield did not immediately open the door. “I would love to have you call me Elizabeth,” she said, “or, better yet, Lizzie.”

“Lizzie,” Wren said. “I am Wren.”

“Wren?”

“Like the bird,” Wren said. “My uncle called me that when he first saw me, and it stuck. I was Rowena before then, but never since.”

“Wren,” Lizzie said again. “It is pretty.” And she led the way down to the drawing room.

The first person Wren saw there was the Earl of Riverdale. He was standing not far inside the door, looking tall and handsome in a formfitting coat of dark green superfine with dark pantaloons and gleaming Hessian boots and very white linen. His gaze met hers with smiling eyes—he shared that look with his sister. Wren offered a hand and he took it in a warm clasp and she felt a bit as though it were her heart he had clutched. She had forgotten how … masculine he was.

“Lord Riverdale,” she said. “I must thank you for inviting me to come here and for moving out so that I would not feel too awkward about staying. It was very thoughtful of you.”

“As soon as you mentioned a gentlewoman’s hotel,” he said, “I knew it must be my mission in life to rescue you. I had an instant vision of brick mattresses and bars upon the windows and a massive landlady with a large bundle of keys jangling at her waist.”

“Oh, it was not quite as bad as that,” Wren assured him. “I do not remember the keys jangling.”

He laughed and she slid her hand free of his before it got irredeemably scalded. She had forgotten his laugh.

She had not forgotten his kiss.

“Allow me to introduce my cousin,” he said, “or second cousin, to be quite accurate. Lady Jessica Archer is the daughter of the late Duke of Netherby and half sister to the present one. Miss Heyden, Jessica.”

The young lady was pretty and fair haired and youthfully slight and graceful in build, though her loveliness was somewhat marred by a slightly scowling face and a petulant mouth.

Wren smiled. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Jessica,” she said.

“How tall you are,” the girl said. “I am very envious. I suppose you tower over most men, but sometimes I think that would be wonderful. There are some men I would dearly like to look down upon.” And surprisingly, considering the fact that she had delivered the greeting with the near scowl still on her face, she suddenly smiled dazzlingly and laughed with girlish glee. “Are you not envious too, Elizabeth? Of course, Alexander does not have to fear having any woman look down upon him.”

“Being tall would certainly make it easier to look distinguished and elegant,” Lizzie said. “However, it would be harder to hide in a crowd, and that can be a very handy thing to do on occasion.”

And that was done, Wren thought as she took a seat to one side of the fireplace. The world was being conquered one person at a time. The girl had not run screaming from the house at the sight of her.

Lady Jessica sat close by while Lizzie and her mother sat on a love seat some distance away. The earl was standing beside them, ready to hand around the cups of tea his mother was pouring. Lord Riverdale brought their tea and then retreated to stand by the love seat again and converse quietly with the other two ladies. Wren had the feeling that the positioning was deliberate, that the others were giving their young relative a chance to recover her spirits with a new acquaintance, someone from outside the family. And perhaps they were giving her the opportunity to meet someone else without the comfort of her veil. As she had said upstairs, Lady Overfield—Lizzie—was very sly. All three of them were. She felt a rush of unexpected affection for them.

“You lost your uncle and aunt last year, I heard,” Lady Jessica said. “Did you live with them?”

“I did,” Wren said. “I was terribly fond of them.”

“And there is no one else?” Lady Jessica asked.

“No,” Wren said without hesitation. “Just me.”

“Sometimes,” the girl told her, “I think it would be lovely to be all alone, to have no relatives. It is not because mine do not love me, Miss Heyden, and it is not because I do not love them. Love is the whole trouble, in fact. I adore my half brother. Yet he married someone I hate, though I love her too. She was my uncle Humphrey’s only legitimate daughter, but no one knew it until last year. Even she did not. Do you know what happened?”

“Some of it has been explained to me,” Wren said, but her young companion continued anyway.

“My uncle’s other three children—my cousins—were dispossessed,” the girl said. “They even lost the legitimacy of their birth. Can you imagine anything more horrible? Anastasia inherited everything except Brambledean, which is just a heap anyway, and Avery married her. They love each other dearly, and they have the most adorable baby, and I both love and hate her—Anastasia, that is. I wish I loved her entirely. I try to. It makes no sense whatsoever, does it?”

“It makes perfect sense to me,” Wren told her, and it did. “You were close to your other cousins?”

“I love them,” Lady Jessica assured her. “Well, Camille was always a bit starchy and humorless, though I was fond enough of her. Harry—he was very briefly the Earl of Riverdale after my uncle’s death, you know, or perhaps you did not know—is gorgeous, though he is only my cousin and was never my beau or anything like that. And Abby has always been my very best friend in the world. She is a year older than I and she was disappointed last year that my uncle’s death prevented her from making her come-out. I was secretly a bit glad, for that meant we could make our debut together this year. It would have been the best thing ever. But now she can never have a Season of her own or marry anyone respectable, and my heart is dead inside me. Sometimes I wish it had happened to me instead of to her. It would be somehow easier to bear. If I had no family, you see, I would not be unhappy. There would be nothing to be unhappy about. Am I talking nonsense?”

Wren set a hand over one of hers and patted it. At the same time she caught the eye of the Earl of Riverdale, and it seemed to her that there was concern, even perhaps … anxiety in his look. But was the concern for her or for his cousin? He was looking directly at her, though, until he turned his head to reply to something Lizzie had said.