I. A Stark Gossip

MARCH 1809

THE FLURRY of lovely organza and taffeta gowns that moved in rhythm with the cheerful music of the extravagant Averly ballroom was amongst the most unbelievable and excruciating pain Lady Angela Worthington had to suffer.

The chatter and laughter of everyone not involved in the dancing aggravated the already tight muscles on her neck; and if there was anything else that could have worsened her ordeal, it was the overly lit ballroom and the embossed canary floral walls.

Too yellow , Angela’s mind screamed in protest.

Even the presence of her eldest brother, Jonathan Worthington, Earl of Hargrave, and future Marquess of Hartmour, did not console her. He was currently engaged in a conversation with another man, their topic of no interest to Angela at the very least. It was enough that she had learned how the windmills down south worked. She would have preferred Edward’s company, but her second oldest brother was not attending the season, nor was he planning to leave his estate in the country at all.

The people behind the music were now plucking at their instruments at an unbelievable speed, provoking what remained of Angela’s control and grace. As the tempo climbed into a climactic phase, her jaw tightened and her eyes flickered to all corners with growing desperation.

She could endure further, to be honest, but the vestibule to the garden was calling out to her, tempting her into the peaceful quiet beyond. She had been throwing a look at the delicious escape since they arrived an hour ago.

Adding to her silent, albeit demanding predicament, was the woman who just sat beside her not five minutes ago. The said young lady, in Angela’s assessment, was bound to the wallflower chair for the rest of the season if she did not control her desperate ogling at every gentleman that walked past them.

While Angela’s straight black hair was neatly set by a dark blue chignon, the woman sitting beside her must have sat hours in front of a mirror while her maid worked with a heated iron to form the blonde ringlets that framed her face.

Angela did not realize she had been staring too long until the woman turned and their eyes met.

Drat it, Angela, she mentally cursed at herself.

Having been caught, she only had two options: smile or look away. The former would lead to a conversation that may lead to a series of tedious social exercises. The latter, however, may cause the other woman to develop an unpleasant opinion of her.

Angela’s mind raced with the fast and springy music around them, and as all instruments and dancers came to a dramatic halt, she reached a verdict: she blinked and turned away from the woman just as the music and dancing resumed in a livelier explosion.

The woman may not know her, and if she did, she would understand why Lady Angela Worthington snubbed her at the Averly Ball.

She weighed the possible ramifications of what she deemed as a simple yet graceful act and was put at ease, confident that she would be spared of even the slightest gossip. The chance of that Worthington girl—meaning she , Angela, the only daughter of the Marquess of Hartmour—to be the subject of gossip was highly slim.

Now that she had made her decision about the wallflower, she went on to deal with the next problem; the woman was still a possible threat.

Angela had been to enough balls to know that the longer a woman stayed in the wallflower chair , the more desperate she would be to find a semblance of belongingness by finding someone they considered to be in a similar situation as them. At the moment, the blonde girl and Angela were the only ladies sitting along that side of the wall with their dance cards empty, but although their circumstances may appear the same, their purpose of attending the ball had nothing in common.

The woman was certainly here because she was searching for a possible match. Angela, on the other hand, was here because she was curious about Mr Ramsbury; and because her brother wanted her to be here; and her father who was not even here had been insisting that she gave this season a chance.

Looking past her brother’s shoulder and that of his friend, Angela could strongly sense that the woman beside her was about to speak—to her .

Damnation! She should not have stared too long! In fact, she should not have stared at all!

She was given no other choice. It was now or never. She stood abruptly from her chair, distracting her brother and his friend, a baron from the country.

Her sea-green eyes met Jonathan’s grey globes. “I will go to the gardens,” she informed him in a curt, strained voice before an objection was spoken. With a forced smile, she curtsied at the two men and made her escape, finally.

A passing feeling of guilt came to her as she walked away. Was it wrong to have left a fellow wallflower alone?

Angela quickly brushed away the feeling. Surely, the woman had a companion—a brother or sister. Or perhaps a mother currently walking around the ball to find her daughter a hopeful match. And there was another wall of wallflowers at the other side of the ballroom adjacent to them. The woman may go and find others who may be more willing to welcome the company.

The music lingered and persisted in her ears for a few more seconds when she stepped out into the wide terrace of the Averly estate, where the smell of winter still lingered in the chilly spring air that greeted her.

Her brother was an acquaintance of the eldest son of Mr Phineas Ramsbury, the man who built Averly out of the overflowing fortune of the famous Ramsbury Circus.

As this was a ball attended by many of Coulway’s elite, Angela decided to evade any sort of scandal by staying far from prying eyes. She stepped down from the colonnaded terrace and idly walked further and deeper into the darkness of the garden.

Tall hedges lined the path at both sides. Angela wondered if it was a maze garden; she would not be surprised if it was, considering Mr Ramsbury’s reputation for entertainment.

But is it safe?

She had heard enough gossips breaking out from similar gardens. Many women found themselves engaged and shackled in less than a week, while men either ended up the same or in the middle of a field in a duel.

But it was highly unlikely that Angela would ever land into a scandal.

She took the path between two long hedges and slowed her pace, enjoying the quiet and the muffled music coming from the ballroom. Then she smiled, realizing that she was indeed in a simple maze garden.

She stole a look at the disappearing rear façade of the Averly estate, her mind wandering to the upcoming Season Fair. She had heard that Mr Ramsbury had been planning many surprises this year for all circus fanatics, and she wanted to know every detail in the next week or so.

She continued to idly walk down the path beside a wall of green hedges, and then she stiffened as she heard hushed voices approaching from behind.

Slowly, she turned her head over her shoulder and realized that she was still alone, and the voices were from the other side of the hedge.

“…and as one of my chambermaids told me, he paid a handsome sum for it.”

“And who is the woman he shall marry?”

“Well, who can tell? It is still a mystery.”

A soft chuckle followed, joined by another.

Three women , Angela assumed. She remained motionless, deciding to let the women walk away and disappear into the maze of the garden.

“I never took him to be a desperate man. Surely, he can find a match this season.”

“He is a busy man as I was told,” replied the source of the gossip. “I rather find it interesting—the method, I mean.”

“Rather professional, if you ask me,” concurred the third voice. “Should I ask my husband to join Stark’s? Perhaps he can acquire the same service at the gentleman’s club?”

“It shall be a hefty sum, Margaret, I warn you.”

“If a man who owns a small business can pay for it, I’m confident my husband can afford it. My daughter is in danger, darling.”

A laugh. “Your daughter should first learn how to speak, Margaret.”

A long sigh. “No matter, if the gossips are true that Mr Stark has an outstanding success rate in this rather odd matchmaking service, then I am willing to spend days begging my husband to seek membership into his club.”

“But who do you have in mind for your daughter?”

The voices grew faint as Lady Margaret and her friends continued their walk.

“I am thinking either of the two young Worthingtons.”

Angela jumped at the mention of their name. She followed the voices, her footsteps slow and without sound.

“Do you mean Jonathan and Edward Worthington?”

“Yes.”

Angela silently scoffed and shook her head. It was almost hilarious how others aspired for her brothers.

“The eldest is an earl, yes?”

And childish, too, Angela silently replied.

“The younger one, I am not certain, but I heard he studies animals.”

And prefers them over humans, yes , she added, Edward’s unkempt form flashing in her mind.

“Both very handsome, too, would you not agree? Although I have only chanced upon the younger one once.”

The rare time he decided to be human, Angela replied with a smirk.

“If only your daughter is not an involuntary mute, darling, she may have a chance.”

Angela raised her hand and started to nibble on one finger, her feet following the voices, meanwhile hoping that the hedges lasted long enough for tonight’s entertainment.

“Do not be absurd. My daughter will force herself to not stammer in front of a man if she does not want to live the rest of her life alone and unmarried. She has managed to speak one full sentence to our footman last week!”

Angela was able to muffle her incredulous scoff by biting on her thumb.

“Are you certain about the Worthingtons, Margaret?” asked the third voice. “I have heard stories.”

Angela frowned. Now, now, this is interesting…

She looked ahead and found that the path was soon to make a turn. Praying the hedges would not end there, she followed the voices.

Are they not going to sit and rest? She wondered to herself.

Apparently, not, because the women continued their sluggish walk, carrying their interesting conversation with them.

Angela followed, crossing her finger as she reached the turning point. She smiled inwardly when she realized the hedges continued further.

But her excitement disappeared as soon as she realized that she was no longer alone.

It was not another gossipmonger or another woman searching for a refuge or lover in the garden.

It was a man silently standing near the hedge, his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

Angela blinked as he turned his amused-looking face in her direction.

Her breath caught.

Dashing.

II. Leather Shoes and Wooden Soles

GERARD STARK did not expect to find another soul in that part of the garden, but he did.

He was not certain if he was more surprised than she was because while her eyes widened at the sight of him, she also almost immediately ignored his presence, shamelessly walking past him.

He let out a silent scoff of amusement as he turned, pulled his hands from his pockets, and followed her and the invisible Lady Margaret and her friends.

Hands clasped behind him, his lips twitched into a small smile when she threw him another glance that invited him to move along and disappear.

And so he took hurried, silent steps and squeezed between her and the hedge to their right.

Her eyes followed his movement, her face perfectly impassive.

He offered a small bow of his head as he fell into pace with her and the voices on the other side. The woman’s jaw tightened. She did not expect that move, he thought.

“The sister? Why will she be a concern?” asked one of Lady Margaret’s friends.

“Come closer. I will tell you what my niece shared with us…”

The lady beside him increased her pace to overtake him and position herself back beside the hedge. Gerard bit his lips, took three long strides, and settled to her left.

He hung his head back in a relaxed fashion, arms behind him, ears focused on the conversation, and eyes slanted to the side to steal his mysterious walking companion a glance.

Any woman who had any sense of propriety would either silently express their horror or scurry away the moment he boldly walked beside her, but this woman was doing none of those. Here he was, a stranger, walking alone with her in a dark garden, and yet she was in no way showing signs of interest. In fact, she seemed to have completely decided that his presence was insignificant enough to threaten her reputation, which made him wonder if she had one to keep at all.

Surely, she did , he quietly thought.

She was in a deep green gown that was in the latest fashion, albeit simple and far less expensive. Her black hair, although not as intricately done like most women inside the ball, was neatly gathered and wrapped in a chignon, leaving him to wonder how long it was or how it would feel between his fingers. Locks of her black hair fell over her forehead in a straight fringe, teasing her eyebrows. Her nose was small and straight. The only telling sign that she was not pleased with his company was her heart-shaped lips that she held tightly closed.

He did not shy away when she turned her head to look at him, while Lady Margaret’s friend chanted the many flaws of the sister of the two Worthington men. He may not have seen her brows entirely, but Gerard was certain one was arched as her sea-green eyes locked with his. He could not read the expression on her face, or what her splendid eyes were trying to convey, because for a few seconds, he was entranced. Her lashes were thick, lining her almond-shaped lids. He allowed room for disappointment given that the moon was the only lighting at the moment, but he could somehow tell this woman’s face and eyes had more to offer in daylight.

“But she is titled. I am certain that despite your niece’s experience, the young Lady Worthington—her mother was the Lady Hartmour, yes? The one who was in that accident?”

“Yes.”

Gerard smiled at his companion and she stiffly turned away.

“Well, as I was saying, the young Lady Worthington must have tremendous connections. Should your daughter marry into the Worthingtons, your husband, dear Lady Margaret, may just have a chance in the House of Lords.”

They reached another turn. They both stopped. She waited while he checked if the path ahead was clear. With a mocking gallant bow, he spread his arm to the side to let her walk on and she did as though it was ordinary to have a leisurely walk in a dark garden with a stranger while eavesdropping on gossipmongers, all the while pretending to each other that they were not eavesdropping on three women on a marital scheme.

“Both Hartmour and Hargrave are old, prized titles, dear. Their estates are also entailed. I hereby suggest that you go for the eldest Worthington. While waiting to be a marchioness, your daughter can enjoy the title of a countess. Imagine the life it shall offer her and that of your entire family!”

“Good heavens, I blush even as I imagine it,” Lady Margaret said with a sigh. “I should seriously consider Mr Stark’s service.”

Gerard’s eyes stayed with the woman, all the while absorbing Lady Margaret’s plans with her friends on how to present her brilliant idea to her husband, Baron Stourton.

And then he stopped listening as his senses became more aware of the woman standing a little too close than the acceptable distance. He was here because he luckily heard Lady Margaret speak his name while on his way into the ballroom, and he followed her and her friends here out of curiosity. Now, however, he was also curious about how his silent and odd companion came to be here.

Was she truly just taking a leisure walk in the garden as she was pretending to do?

Or did she have other ulterior motives like him?

“How do you reckon Mr Stark creates his matches?” asked Lady Margaret.

He bent his head as he listened, and he noticed the woman’s footwear. Leather with wooden soles. He frowned. Leather shoes and wooden soles?

Who was this woman?

“I heard—and this may be scandalous—that he orchestrates the meetings should his clients wish for the match to feel natural and fated ,” the voice behind them said. “I heard the parents typically make those requests. As for those who acquire the service for themselves, it can go however they desire.”

He looked up and found his companion’s sea-green eyes again. If she was appalled by what she heard, it did not show. What he read in her expression, however, as she cocked her head and narrowed her eyes, were plain bafflement and curiosity. She turned to him, maybe also curious about his opinion. He gave a tiny shrug in response.

“That is very conniving and manipulative, almost evil!”

Gerard raised his brows at the woman, silently asking if she agreed. Her answer was a blink and a turn of the head.

Astonished, he realized she did not know she was walking with the subject of the gossip behind the hedge.

Or did she and was only pretending?

The ladies had finally stopped walking and so did Gerard and his companion.

Lady Margaret’s friend continued, “But I believe that most matches are made with careful deliberation, making certain that the match is plausible. One lord, they say, has tried to take Mr Stark to the courts because Mr Stark refused to make a match between his son and the daughter of the Duke of Remington.”

Gerard had to slowly nod his head for it was true.

“But the duke’s daughter is already betrothed.”

“Yes!”

“Then there is a fair chance that Mr Stark may oppose a client’s idea of a match?”

Again, he nodded.

“Apparently so, yes.”

“Then he may oppose to the eldest Worthington?”

He narrowed one eye. He knew Jonathan Worthington, but he may have to find out more. The man was an earl and a future marquess. His standards may be too high.

“Darling,” said Lady Margaret’s friend, “Mr Stark may oppose to your daughter for both Worthingtons.”

For the first time, Gerard saw a reaction from his companion.

She let out a condescending scoff, not too loudly, but loud enough to catch the attention of the three women who immediately fell silent and retreated without another word spoken.

---

The intruder let out a dramatic sigh. Angela turned to look at him, growing more uncomfortable with each passing second.

At first, she did not think he would stay, but of course, he did.

And he dared walk with her!

And then she thought that he may know her or her brothers. But they both listened to the three ladies talking about her, and she saw no sign at all that he made the connection.

The stranger did not move even after Lady Margaret and her friends left. In fact, he let out a sigh, clearly to catch her attention.

At that point, Angela thought of endless possibilities.

Did he think I endured his presence because I welcomed it? If so, would he dare make an advance? She silently asked, studying the man’s appearance.

He was dressed to impress both genders of the elite. His dark blond hair was cut in a Brutus fashion, as most men wore them nowadays; his brows and lips curled in a way that may lure a woman, while his eyes, which appeared to be blue, were filled with amusement and awe.

Is he hoping to predispose me to think he is interested in me? And if I am indeed hoping for it like most normal ladies, will he take it as a chance to entice me to engage in a possible exchange of romantic interest?

It was hard to conclude, but she may be right. After all, she often was.

Angela continued to assess the man’s face.

His nose, she realized, told her a different story. It was slightly crooked.

An injury from a fight or an accident. That feature was why she found him dashing, but it also turned him into a dangerous ground for any woman, most particularly one in her station and status. She may not be prone to scandal, but this man could very well be scandal itself.

Although she was secretly interested, she realized that he was too dangerous. She had spent more than enough time with him; she should not test her luck further.

Making her decision, Angela haughtily lifted her chin and took the few initial steps to escape.

“You are quite intriguing.”

Angela stopped, hearing his voice for the first time. It was deep with an odd accent. He must be from overseas.

Very dangerous ground, indeed . She took another step, but his additional words, laced with amusement, stopped her. “Mysterious, in fact.”

Should she reply?

She would love to stare longer at his face, actually. He may not be that dashing, after all.

But he could be setting a trap .

“Or is it an act?” he added.

Her leather shoes dug into the graveled path. Her face as impassive as it naturally was, Angela stiffly turned, taking liberty at studying his beautiful face from a different angle. She hastily accepted that he was indeed dashing, and at the same speed dismissed the fact to say, “It may be a valid accusation, but I shall not waste time to argue.”

“Then answer one question,” he hastily added when she made another motion to leave. “Why are you here?”

Angela regretted not walking away sooner. “Why are you interested?”

“Because I find you a curious case. Why would a woman be alone in here—” When he did not finish, she looked at him and found that he deliberately waited to add, “Were you waiting for your beau? Or looking for one?” He cocked his head, looking for answers by reading her face. “But I also wonder if you are here pretending to be someone else.” When she merely frowned, he stole her feet a look. “You are wearing leather shoes with wooden soles.”

She did not reply. Instead, her jaw tightened and she narrowed her eyes. He was trying to coax her into an argument. He wanted her to be offended and defend herself, thereby prolonging her stay.

Should I?

Perhaps this man knew who she was, and like Lady Margaret, was also planning to be part of the Worthingtons to elevate his status in society. It was plausible, considering how he judged people by their shoes.

He leaned closer, giving her a good view of his eyes.

Sapphire.

She was highly intimidated by the closeness, but she was also too proud to step back and maintain proper distance.

Angela took the chance to study his face closely. He had a tiny flat mole on the crown of his right cheek, merely an inch away from his eye.

“It is astounding how you maintain such an impassive look. You make it a challenge for anyone to decipher your thoughts.”

Angela scoffed. “The muscles of my face do not coordinate well in the presence of an obtrusive…” Angela scoured him from head to foot with an insulting twitch of her brow before finishing, “stranger.”

---

Her eyes were a brilliant shade of green when trying to contain fury.

And she is a master at it , Gerard concluded.

He would have loved to be more obtrusive . He wanted to know why someone wearing a pair of leather shoes with wooden soles was in this party, but thought against it and stepped away, hands up in the air, grinning from ear to ear.

She stiffly turned away with a condescending and satisfied curl at the corner of her lips.

He followed her until she reached the exit of the garden where he stayed slightly hidden in the dark, hedged path.

With great regret and silent fascination, he let her walk away from him and into the light of the ballroom. Whoever she was, wherever she had been all this time, he would love to know, but Gerard blinked away the urge to follow and find out who she was.

A client was waiting for him in the gaming room.

Miss Leather Shoes and Wooden Soles was not the goal for now.

III. The Worthingtons

THE FOLLOWING day, her brother found her in the quiet drawing room of his villa, one he purchased years ago to be far from their father’s doting presence. And perhaps, in Angela’s opinion, to gain more freedom to chase skirts, one thing he could not easily do in the country where one’s secret was spread with much dedication.

Jonathan skidded to a stop and looked around. “Why is it dark in here?”

“The sun is too bright,” she murmured, eyes on the book she had not been reading, but now was, as soon as he came in. Hidden between the book and her lap was the schedule of activities for the Season Fair.

Jonathan strode to the curtains and none-so-gently threw the drapes to the side. In less than a breath, light besieged the entire drawing room, highlighting the green and red damask walls. Angela sighed and looked at her brother who positioned himself across from her in a settee.

His grey eyes regarded her coolly. “You did not tell me last night why you disappeared into the garden,” he pointed out.

“You did not ask.”

He cocked his brows. He was asking now.

She returned her gaze on the page of her book. “I was sitting beside a woman with an empty dance card.”

She could tell he was frowning. “I do not understand.”

Careful to keep the small poster out of sight, she closed her book and sighed, squinting at the bright window to view the long driveway. “Whoever brought dance cards to Sutherland must have thought it a necessary additional flair to standards.”

“I still do not understand what you mean, my dear. You are talking to the wrong brother.”

She turned and met her brother’s eyes. Lady Margaret was right to aspire to have Jonathan for her daughter. Four years older than her at the age of eight and twenty, Jonathan was at his prime. His grey eyes and black hair in combination with his wit and humor were indeed quite appealing. Perhaps his education in London was an added value. And of course, the current title and the one he was waiting to inherit.

On the other hand, Edward, merely a year younger than Jonathan, was different. He was not here for the same reason Angela did not want to be here: they both hated being around people they could not understand.

Angela was only here because she was on a mission . And Edward, in his missives, had given her his permission after she swore to him in writing that Jonathan shall never have to know.

If she were to judge her brothers in the eyes of the ladies of the polite society, she would most definitely choose Jonathan. Jonathan was endearing the way Angela and Edward could never be. He liked to dress extravagantly, befitting the Worthington name and his title.

But looking at Jonathan now, Angela wondered for a passing moment what he would do if he discovered the true reason of why she came to Coulway. He may be a tad less stiff than Edward, but he could effectively impose his authority at any given time. He was far from the arrogant and conceited aristocrat, but he could induce fear if need be. And he was truly wise if he found the need to use his brain.

Jonathan was not without his imperfections, of course. For one, despite being one of probably only five people who knew her too well, Jonathan still struggled to make sense of his siblings—most particularly Angela. And so, she tried her best to convey her logic in the simplest way she knew how.

“During the season, a woman is judged by two things,” she began to explain. His brows rose higher, waiting. “Their social status and their dance cards. I have heard that Miss Shirley keeps hers as souvenirs. Millie also told me that the woman is having a display cabinet built for them.”

Her brother’s face crumpled in disbelief. “Surely you are jesting.”

She shrugged. “Millie’s gossips are rarely wrong.”

“That still does not answer my question.”

“I told you I went to the garden.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “To avoid the woman with the empty dance cards.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows could have risen higher, but they had reached their threshold.

She groaned inwardly. Oh, how she missed Edward!

She clucked her tongue with impatience. “She was desperate to make acquaintances,” she explained.

Jonathan blinked. “With you?”

“I was sitting right next to you.”

He frowned. “And you feared that she may express an interest to receive a dance invitation from me through you?”

“No, of course not. I know you ask whomever you like and ignore those you do not.”

“Get to the point, Angela,” he wryly ordered.

“In her desire to get your attention, I feared she would start a conversation at all ,” she replied, baffled as to why her brother came to a different conclusion.

Jonathan swore under his breath as he shook his head. “You should have gone and joined Edward in Rutherford. Why did you even decide to join the season in the first place?”

Her hand absently traced the edges of her book, keeping the small poster in place and safely hidden.

She provided the best reason she could. “Father, of course.”

“Now, now,” a voice said from the direction of the door.

Both Worthington siblings turned to find Spencer Pembroke striding into the room, his face breaking into a wide, bright smile. He removed his bowler hat to reveal the mass of messy brown curls. Angela swiftly used Jonathan’s momentary distraction to fold the poster and tuck it into the book before she rose to her feet and offered her hand to Spencer who approached her first.

“I was meaning to write you a missive,” she said, breaking into a smile.

“Please forgive me, I was not at Averly last night,” he said after planting a quick kiss on her hand. He turned to Jonathan and asked, “What did I miss?”

“Not much, to be honest,” droned Jonathan, crossing one leg over the other as Spencer sat on the settee beside Angela.

Spencer turned to her, light brown eyes glinting with familiarity. “I gather you enjoyed the dancing?” He teased.

She rolled her eyes.

“What?” Spencer asked in mock horror. “Dare not tell me no one asked Angela Worthington for a dance!”

“She escaped to the gardens without a chaperone,” Jonathan provided, “for God knows how long.”

“My head was throbbing. The music was a total sore in my ears,” she explained to Spencer.

“But Averly is famous for its great music scores!” Spencer cried out.

“I found it chaotic. And my eyesight can hardly keep up with the movements and dancing; and that horrible yellow wall!”

Her friend turned to Jonathan who rolled his eyes. Spencer chuckled.

She stood to her feet. “Now that you are here to entertain my brother, I must change for tea.”

“You are dressed fine—”

“I planned for an afternoon walk with Millie.”

“When did she start to enjoy afternoon walks?” she heard Spencer ask Jonathan who only grumbled a reply that sounded like, “My sister can be human, too, Spencer.”

While in her room, Angela lay sprawled on her bed, blinking absently at the ceiling. Her afternoon dress was ready, but it could wait while she took a moment of quiet.

The events of the night prior came back to her and she scoffed.

That silly, dashing man.

She wondered who he was. Now that she could not name the face that frequented her recent waking hours, she regretted not asking for it.

She sighed, rolling her eyes at her thoughts. She was woolgathering again.

That man must have countless lovers—or a wife!

She should focus on her mission . Once she had fulfilled it, she could go home as though she had not committed a crime.

It was nearly twenty minutes later when she was alone in her room that she realized she had left her book—and the poster—in the drawing room. Scrambling off her bed, Angela ran down the stairs. As she reached for the door handle, she heard Spencer mention her name and she stopped.

“And do you believe that her reason for joining the season is because she is looking for a husband?”

“No, of course not,” replied her brother.

Angela moved to lean against the wall. Nibbling on her nail, she smiled as images of last night’s little adventure came back to her.

“She is here because the old man wants her here,” continued her brother.

Oh, if I can only trust you, Jonathan, you will make a good accomplice .

“Then your father still hopes that she will find a man?”

“Well, of course!”

Angela softly scoffed. Then she shook her head when the face of the dashing man flashed before her eyes. Pulling away from the wall, she decided to interrupt the two men.

“My affections for Angela are true, Jonathan.”

Angela’s hand froze around the handle. “You mean as her friend?” Jonathan asked, sounding confused.

“No, of course not. As a man who wishes her for a wife.”

Angela blinked, arrested in the spot.

There was a very long silence before Jonathan finally broke it, his words sounding careful and considerate. “I may not know her at the same level Edward does, but I know her. She will oppose the idea for many incredulous reasons that would be valid only to her. And mayhap Edward as well for they do think alike.”

“Or she may welcome it,” Spencer quickly retorted. “She is very comfortable with me. I can talk to Edward and your father, of course. Bloody hell, I will even visit your mother’s grave if you want me to.”

“A proposal of marriage may highly be different from courtship in Angela’s mind, Spencer. Perhaps you should consider taking matters slowly. You know how she can be—”

“We have been friends for years, Hargrave, since my father procured the estate across Bromstone nineteen years ago and we became neighbors. We all practically grew up together since then. I would consider that a very long courtship. All I need to do is just propose to her.”

Jonathan’s laughter filled the room at the other side of the door. “Good Lord, I want to see you try.”

“I shall, with your blessing.”

“Any man who can make my sister say yes to being his wife has my blessing.”

At her brother’s words, Angela jumped away from the door as if the handle was burning hot.

Stiffly, she turned and briskly walked to the stairs.

Her hands were beginning to shake and she steadied herself at the top of the second landing, swallowing hard as she grasped for the wooden balustrade.

Spencer Pembroke, her true and oldest friend, wanted to marry her.

She pushed away from the balustrade and followed the path back to her bedchamber.

Did she hear it correctly?

Her heart seemed to have stopped beating before it hammered fast and strong against her chest again, resounding with her footsteps against the carpeted corridor.

She burst into her room, closed the door, and leaned against it, her breathing heavy.

Her eyes were wide with panic, her body stiff with dread.

This was not good.

Her promising life as a spinster was in danger!

IV. The Starks

GERARD CAME downstairs from his bedchamber to find his younger sister, Sabrina Stark, arguing with the butler, McKenna, with his valet, Vinson, right in the middle. The valet was not attempting to stop the argument. But rather, he was joining it, as evidenced by his hands on his hips while he glared up at the giant butler the same way Sabrina was.

“All I am saying, McKenna, is that Miss Sabrina can do whatever she desires so long as Mr Stark allows it. And he allows it!” Vinson said while his sister looped her arm around the valet, nodding her dark blonde head in agreement.

McKenna sighed with controlled patience as he focused his eyes on Sabrina. His deep voice echoed around the hallway as he asked, “Have you asked your brother, Miss Sabrina?”

“Well, I do not have to, do I, Vinson?”

Vinson shook his light blond head. “You need not, Miss Sabrina.”

“Then our discussion is over,” McKenna sternly replied. “No permission from Mr Stark, no going out.”

Vinson turned his head to Sabrina. “We should ask Mr Stark.”

Gerard saw his sister’s hand tighten around Vinson’s arm.

His valet reluctantly turned and glared at McKenna. “I am his valet. I know he will say yes.”

Sabrina eagerly nodded. “I am his sister. I very well know what he will say.”

“Which is?” Gerard asked, loud enough to make the three people turn toward the staircase in varying states of surprise.

Sabrina’s face brightened at will. “Ah, brother! A pleasant morning, isn’t it?”

“What’s this commotion?” he asked instead.

“Oh, nothing,” Sabrina said, eyes evading his while she pulled Vinson away. “By the by, it passed my mind that I have instructions for you, Vinson. Come with me to the garden.”

“But we can ask—”

“Hush!” Sabrina hissed at Vinson, dragging the man down the hall.

Eyes narrowed, Gerard turned to McKenna and asked, “What did they want this time around?”

McKenna’s eyes rolled as he stretched from left to right, as though he had just been through a laborious day. “They want to get tickets for the Season Fair, sir.”

“They are already selling tickets?”

“For some shows, yes.”

He slowly nodded his head. “You did a good job, McKenna. But I have a feeling that if I didn’t interfere sooner, you would have folded.”

“I would have wrung your valet’s neck, that’s what I would have done, sir.”

He chuckled. “Vinson!” he shouted as he walked away from McKenna. “Your master is looking for you and he might just throw you in front of a running carriage if you do not show yourself this instant!”

Vinson’s running footsteps followed him into the breakfast room, and soon the valet breathlessly came to stand nearby.

“What are you planning with my sister, Vinson?”

Vinson blinked, feigning innocence. “Nothing, Mr Stark.”

He narrowed his eyes at the man as the maid entered the room and served him tea. “You dare lie to me?”

The valet blinked multiple times. “I’m not lying, Mr Stark.”

“You’re deliberately hiding something from me.”

Vinson blinked. Then he nodded after stealing the doorway a look.

“Ah, you cannot speak about it.”

Vinson nodded once more.

Gerard scoffed. “She’s here merely five months, and she already has you around her fingers.”

Vinson frowned, eyes rolling upward in thought. Then he shrugged.

“Is she meeting a man?” he asked, brows raised in question.

“No, of course not, brother,” Sabrina replied, sashaying into the room. “Stop interrogating my best friend. I have no other plans whatsoever other than spending an afternoon with Vinson as friends should. He and I have nothing much to do while you spend the rest of the day at the club.” She settled in her seat to his right. Her cheeks were red from her escape into the garden, her lips innocently smiling as though they had not been spewing secret plans with his valet, her sapphire eyes meeting his with no trace of deceit.

Therefore, she was lying.

Not about meeting a man or having fun with Vinson, Gerard thought. She lied about having no other plans .

He let the matter slide for now. “You will not go until I have made my decision.”

“What deliberation is there for you to make? The fair, they say, is an annual event, Gerry. It’s harmless.”

“It’s also a very crowded fair.”

“Well, as fairs should be!”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Vinson nodding his head vigorously.

“Not for someone like you.”

“What?” Sabrina asked, blinking in confusion. “What am I?”

She was provoking him until he conceded. “Someone who should know that she’s no longer in the Americas and that there are protocols to follow here.”

“Such as bringing along a chaperone,” she said, waving her hand at Vinson. “My best friend!”

Gerard patiently sighed. “Vinson is my valet, Sabrina.”

“And he is a fun friend if you can only see him as one!”

Again, Vinson nodded.

“If you truly wish to go, bring Annie with you.”

His sister’s eyes widened. “No,” she hissed.

Vinson was vigorously shaking his head now.

“Why not?”

Sabrina pursed her lips and let out a dramatic sigh as though she was trying to be very patient with him. Her long blonde hair fell over her shoulders as she leaned forward to conspiratorially whisper, “Annie has a disease.”

He frowned. “I was not informed of any maid falling ill.”

Sabrina nodded and straightened in her chair. She picked up her knife and fork with a shrug. “Well, she is. And it’s quite contagious.”

“And what disease is she suffering from?” he asked.

She stole Vinson a look and snorted. The poor bastard, however, was trying his best not to do the same by covering his mouth with his hand and clearing his throat, lifting his chin, and blinking away the restrained laughter from his eyes. His sister veered her gaze back to him as she chewed, face serious as though she was not about to say something utterly absurd.

“What disease, Sabrina?”

Sabrina chewed some more and swallowed. “Irritability with bouts of peevishness.”

Gerard rolled his eyes and continued with his meal, mindful of his sister’s tendency to manipulate him in an unconventional yet effective way.

“She also has occasional anger spells,” Sabrina added, causing Vinson to once more nod in agreement.

Gerard gritted his teeth. His young valet had become his sister’s pet the very day she arrived, and it was getting worse.

“Perhaps because Annie can see that you’re not behaving properly as a young Sutherland lady should.”

“No, of course not! I behave tremendously.” More nods from Vinson and, “She believes I am too American.”

“You are.”

“No, of course not. I’m a Sutherlander.”

“You were born in Sutherland and left a month later. You grew up in the Americas. You’re more American than you are a Sutherlander.”

“Sutherland and England are somewhat the same, yes? Same obsession for propriety and scandal and other things boring.”

“Sabrina,” he said, catching his twenty-year-old sister’s gaze, “You made such a mess in England.”

She pursed her lips. “I did not.”

“Yes, you did.”

“It was not my fault. Or yours,” she said with emphasis on the last word, then smiled as his jaw clenched. “Should we continue discussing why we left London?”

He sighed. “No.”

“Then are we going to decide how I should enjoy this season in Sutherland?”

“Yes, and you are not manipulating me to allow you and Vinson to go out and enjoy today.”

“Tomorrow?” Vinson asked, biting his lips as he realized he spoke out loud.

“No,” Gerard sternly replied, eyes not leaving Sabrina. “You’re going to your gown fittings tomorrow. It’s about time you attend a ball.”

“The day after?”

“You will only be allowed to go to the fair if you are in a company of women who are your friends or are under my employ. Vinson does not belong in either category.”

“Why? He is under your employ!”

“I meant the category of a woman and a friend.”

“Vinson is my best friend.”

Vinson nodded.

“Eat your food, Sabrina.”

His sister let out a frustrated sigh. “I should not have joined you here. I should be with Mama and Papa in the Orient!”

“Then you’re free to board a ship and sail to the other side of the world,” he replied with a mocking smile.

Her nostrils flared.

“Do not look at me that way, young woman. I’m doing my best to fit you into Sutherland society.”

“You mean you’re doing your best to find someone perfect to sponsor me this season and introduce me to the high and mighty polite society.”

“Precisely, but I’m yet to find someone willing to risk their reputation. By doing so, I should protect yours and you shall help me do so by not roaming around the fair with Vinson,” he wryly said and quickly finished his meal before she could strike again.

“Am I expected to find a match this season?” she asked as he stood.

“No, of course not. Unless you wish me to.”

“You’re not planning to use your connections to find me a husband, are you not? Gerry, you promised not to play your tricks on me.”

“I keep my promises, Sabrina.”

“Then I will join the season with no expectations from you?”

He nodded. “As we agreed, but should you find someone—and given that he is within my standards—I will gladly agree to give him your hand.”

She pointedly looked at him. “You’re desperate to get rid of me.”

“I’m desperate to make you happy and I will be pleased if you can find more friends who are not employed by me,” he wryly stated. “Now,” giving Sabrina and Vinson a stern look each, Gerard added, “the two of you shall stay indoors, or you shall face McKenna.” He walked out of the breakfast room and called over his shoulder, “Vinson!” when he noticed his sister beckon for the valet with her hand.

The young man jumped and followed him upstairs to his room.

“How many times do I have to remind you that you are forbidden to tolerate her whims?” he hissed at the man.

“I try not to, sir.”

“Try my arse,” he grumbled under his breath. “You are a willing participant!”

Moments later, while the man helped him into his clothes, he read letters from the club. And then a thought came to him.

“Vinson,” he started, dropping his arm. Vinson looked up from his task of buttoning his waistcoat. “How common is it for a lady to be wearing leather shoes with wooden soles?”

Vinson blinked. “I am yet to encounter a lady that is not a servant or a laborer who wears one, sir.”

He nodded.

“May I ask why, sir?”

“No,” he murmured in reply, his thoughts on the lady from last night.

---

Angela was no longer calm and collected as she was when her brother found her in the drawing room earlier that day. She paced Jonathan’s study, biting her nails while he relayed everything he discussed with Spencer.

“Now, I am only telling you this because I know that you would want to know.”

She nodded, acknowledging his considerate act. “And also, by telling me, I can make plans.”

Jonathan sighed, leaning back against his chair. “Yes, of course.”

“Did you tell him to wait before proposing?”

“I told him to wait a month or two before surprising you with a proposal and also to assess his feelings.”

She stopped and rushed to his desk and planted her palms flat on the table, eyes blinking in concentration and confusion. “A month or two? That’s not enough time!”

“It is not?”

She shook her head. “What do I do?”

Jonathan tugged at an earlobe while squinting one eye. “Consider?”

Her eyes shut and she groaned. “No!” she cried out, pushing away from the table. “No, I can never consider Spencer as my husband!” She said the last word with as much contempt as she could.

Jonathan pressed the tips of two fingers against his temple. “Then tell the man when he proposes to you, Angela. How hard can it be?”

She stiffened and huffed in disbelief. “How hard can it be? I will most likely lose a friend!”

His brows fused. “No, you will not.”

“Of course, he shall pretend that my refusal will not mar our friendship, but we all know it shall never be the same again.”

“Men often encounter refusal more than you think, Angela.”

“Well, I do not encounter the chance of giving it! If I reject him, he may be fine with it, but I will never look at him the same way again because I will always have the thought at the back of my head that he may still possibly wish to be more than just friends. The only chance that I will feel at ease in our friendship is if he is with wife and—” she stopped, blinking three times as a brilliant idea came to mind.

“What? What?” Jonathan asked, leaning on his chair, and pointing at her face. “That look is quite familiar, but I’m afraid I vaguely recognize it. What does it mean? What are you thinking?”

She smiled and scoffed in incredulity. “Of course!”

“What? What is it?” Jonathan warily asked.

She excitedly walked back to the table. “We have to find him a wife, Jonathan.”

Jonathan’s face scrunched in disbelief. “You are insane!”

“He is obviously in need of one!”

“Well, that wife is you !”

“No, it can be anyone. I know Spencer. He must be under intense pressure to marry. You know how Mr and Mrs Pembroke can be. I will not even be surprised if they planted the idea in his head to propose to me, even urged it. He may have only considered me because he’s completely comfortable with me as his friend, and because I’m the richest and safest candidate.” While her brother gaped at her with a mixture of disbelief and awe, she resumed her pacing, biting her fingernail. “Now, we only need to find someone who will suit him well; someone safe and rich.”

“Angela, you do not have any friends or acquaintances in Coulway.”

Her eyes flickered with annoyance. “I can easily find them.”

A sardonic chuckle rolled out his throat. “I’m not so certain about that. You are friends with all walls in this villa except another human.”

She ignored him, her mind already making invisible calculations.

“Why can you not just give the man a chance?”

“I already did,” she said, tapping her temple, showing where and how she gave Spencer a chance.

“Good Lord, you’re just like Edward and Mother.”

She stiffened at the mention of their mother, but she quickly veiled the reaction. Brushing any thoughts or memories of Eleanor Worthington, Angela made plans in her head. “How do courtships typically work? Are they the same here in Coulway as they are in the country?”

“They tend to move faster here, I believe. That is, if you have any reference at all in Hartmour… or any place, really,” Jonathan replied. As she continued to ignore his sardonic remarks, Jonathan sighed. “Angela, if you introduce Spencer to another woman, he will instantly know what you’re trying to do and he shall skin me alive because I told you about his plans.”

She clucked her tongue, frustrated with her brother’s spoken comments. “I will find a way that he will not think so. But how?” The question was addressed to herself.

“Spencer has to naturally change his mind or accept your decision, Angela. You do not manipulate it.”

It took a while for his words to sink in. Her brows furrowed as she directed her gaze at her brother. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I meant it as how I said it. I gave him the most of two months to reconsider a change of heart, but he must also be prepared to accept your decision. I do not see any reason why you need to plan anything—”

“Yes, of course! How can I be so bloody stupid!” she interjected, breaking into a triumphant smile. “It’s perfect!”

Jonathan blinked, perplexed. “What is?”

Proud of her wit, she placed her hands on her hips and said, “I shall employ external help to ensure that he changes his mind—or heart, as you have said it.”

Jonathan frowned. “Angela, the natural thing to do is refuse his offer if he proposes!”

She shivered at the thought. “It will be a disaster.”

“Oh Lord,” Jonathan groaned. “Why? Because you abhor confrontations?”

“No, of course not. I only wish to avoid them. They are tedious and taxing.” She started for the door. “I will go out with Millie this afternoon.”

“Where are you going?”

She stopped outside the doorway and poked her head through the door to say, “As I said, brother, I require professional help!”

---

Gerard arrived late at Stark’s that afternoon because Sabrina had made another attempt to leave the villa with Vinson. They eventually agreed that she may visit the fair if she could find a willing friend during her first ball, and he would send Vinson along to serve as her chaperon.

But he worried that Sabrina would find the wrong friends . He needed her to be in the right circle of acquaintances, ladies from the polite society if necessary. He considered introducing her to a few of his clients’ female acquaintances, but he may appear too desperate and ambitious in their eyes. Sabrina had to do her part, but knowing his sister, she would simply find anyone and chat with them, learn their names and consider them her dearest friends thereafter.

He was ten when Sabrina was born, and now, twenty years later, he regretted not having as much influence on her. She was too carefree, too boisterous. He was partly at fault, leaving her when she needed strict guidance in America. Their parents were too lenient with his sister and he was paying the price.

He withdrew from his thoughts as the manager of his club, Mr Jacob, stiffly and briskly approached him, his white hair illuminated by the bright candles.

“Good afternoon, Mr Stark,” Jacob greeted while the footman took Gerard’s coat. “Someone is waiting for you in your office.”

“I do not recall having an appointment at this time, Jacob.”

“Yes, I agree,” the man said, tone turning sour, his white beard hiding what Gerard presumed to be a tight line of very strained lips. “She was very persistent and threatened to cause quite a scene outside if I did not let her in.”

Arrested, Gerard, stopped walking. “Her?”

Mr Jacob stiffly nodded. “Her.”

Gerard sighed in annoyance. “I gave specific instructions, Jacob, that any women who intimately associate themselves with me are not welcome in my club,” he said through his teeth. “Who is it this time?” he asked, remembering if he had promised a recent flame anything more than a good and unforgettable tumble in bed.

“I do not believe she is amongst your—” The man was not able to finish his statement as Gerard made a sharp turn, completely vexed. He rushed down the narrow corridor of the club lined with dark and rich wood paneling. Flying past the variety of paintings he brought from London, Gerard dug his shoes into the marbled floors. He made a turn to the left, causing a candle mounted on the wall to flicker, and another left until he reached his office.

His jaw had gone tight, eyes narrowed and purposeful. He had told them many times they were not welcome in his club, yet one or two would still believe that they had satisfied him enough to be granted a special pass after only one passionate night.

The scandal in London played in his mind again.

He should have learned from London, he heatedly thought, reaching for the door.

“Mr Stark!” Jacob was calling from the far end of the corridor just as Gerard turned the handle and pushed his door open.

“I have been clear that my bed is—”

He meant to say that his bed was separate from his club and that it stayed where it was in his villa, but he was unable to finish his statement the moment his eyes landed on the woman sitting stiffly in front of his table.

V. A Stark Deal

SURELY, THE heavens must be playing with her!

What bloody good luck . The voice echoed around Angela’s head while a rapid thought came to her: she could not appear stupid in front of this man.

And so, she tried to put aside her surprise and remained seated.

She had to admit with internal shame that she had imagined many ways to interact with him if she ever came across him again. She even reimagined and revised their encounter in the garden! But none of those prepared her for this surprise.

“Your bed is what?” she heard herself ask. It was not the best greeting, but it was an effective distraction. While waiting for him to recover, she used the time to gather her wits.

The anger in his eyes diminished, replaced by plain surprise as he eyed her up and down. “We can discuss my bed later.”

She did not understand what he meant and cared very little to know. Her concern was her throat. It was too dry. “You are Mr Stark,” she managed.

He blinked, the initial surprise now replaced by amused ambiguity. “And you are the lady with the wooden soles,” he said, walking into the room. Eyes never leaving her face, he shut the door closed on the club manager who was about to say something. “Good Lord, you are indeed a magnificent view in full light.”

That is unexpected , Angela thought. This conversation was not mirroring any of the ones she had imagined.

A deep chuckle vibrated from his throat. Angela thought it sounded pleasant. His sapphire eyes bore into hers as he expertly, without looking, settled behind his table. “Were you following me, madam?”

She blinked, realizing something. “That is why you were in the garden. You were curious about their conversation,” she stated. “Has Lady Margaret acquired your services?”

The smile on his face remained, but the glimmer in his eyes was fading. “I do not divulge my business transactions with just anyone.” He folded his hand under his chin. “Who are you?” he asked, eyes traveling from her eyes down to her mouth, and even lower.

She had heard stories from Millie, her maid, that there were men bold enough to stare at women in such vulgar ways. The best way to handle them, as Millie said, was to make them feel unimportant.

Her ears were burning, but she did not blink, nor flinch. “Did your manager not tell you?”

“No, he made me believe I will be facing an unwelcome lover.”

He was too blunt. She should not, but she liked it. “Well, fortunately for you, I am neither.” When he frowned at her last word, she elaborated, “I’m not a lover. Nor was I unwelcomed.”

“My manager claims otherwise.”

“I was reluctantly welcomed, then.”

“This is a gentleman’s club, madam.”

“Yes, I’m very much aware.” She looked around his small office. Not a window in sight; all paneled walls and a good number of books. “I prefer that we avoid tedious small talks. May I proceed with my business?”

His brows rose. She could tell from the way he was smiling at her that he would reject her. She was only here this long because he was choosing to prolong her stay for whatever reason.

“As you may know, I have become aware of your club’s special and discreet services in the Averly Ball—at the garden,” she added the last three words with emphasis out of habit because she knew that her thoughts and spoken words did not always have the best relationship now and then. Also, she was too aware of his intense attention on her, and it was making her more uncomfortable to formulate the correct sentences. For assurance, she added, “The garden where Lady Margaret and her friends were gossiping about—”

“I know what you’re trying to say, madam. Go on,” he interjected with a wave of his hand.

“Thank you,” she curtly replied. “I want you to find my friend a match.” And then she belatedly added, “He is a man.” He only blinked. “I wish to find a woman for him.”

His eyes filled with amusement. “Is this friend of yours a member of Stark’s?”

She searched her memory. “He’s a member of three clubs. I believe Stark’s is one of them.”

“And what’s his name?”

“More information shall be divulged upon your acceptance of my offer.”

He assessed her with mirth. Did he find her ridiculous? Did he think she was jesting? “And why would I do that?”

“I’ll pay you, of course, for your professional service.”

“No, I mean, why do you want to find your friend a match?”

She blinked. “Is it a piece of information that might convince you to agree to my request?”

The corner of his lips curled even more. He had fresh bristles. She liked that as well. “Perhaps,” he replied.

She considered her answer. Tedious but necessary , she thought. “I learned that he intends to propose to me.”

His smile disappeared, and he blinked. “Then I see no problem.”

“I do not want him as a husband.”

“Ah, now I see your problem.”

“Well?” she asked, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders. “Will you accept my offer?”

“How will you pay for my services?”

“With my own money, of course. I receive enough allowance.”

His brow arched high in doubt.

Does this fool think I cannot afford it?

Then she remembered that he did not know who she was. Did his manager not tell him?

Angela could laugh at his expression, but who could blame him? She was amongst those whose name but not their face was familiar to many.

“I can pay you handsomely, given that you make a successful match between my friend and a lady that fits the standard of a good wife. She must be rich and have good standing in society, of course.”

He scratched his slightly crooked nose and said, “No.”

As expected , she thought.

Angela nodded and stood. She pursed her lips as she faced him. “Very well, good day.”

His surprised and amused laughter brought her to a stop. She twisted her head to the side and found him looking at her while shaking his head. “Good Lord, woman, you truly know how to play your game.”

“I do not know what you mean. You refused my offer. I am leaving to find the same service elsewhere as I have no time to waste. Did you expect me to beg?”

“No, but I expect you to tell me who you are.” The amusement was no longer there. He was now eyeing her with suspicion, and that was the baffling part. Why would he?

“If you talked with your manager, you should know by now,” she said. “Quite incompetent of him to have not told you my name.”

His eyes studied her from head to foot. His voice was almost scornful when he spoke. “Who are you, really? What do you want?”

“I told you what I want.”

He scoffed. “Do you truly expect me to believe that story?”

“Are you suggesting I have a ploy against you?” That must be it. He must think I’m a charlatan!

He shrugged, standing to his feet. “You attended a ball wearing leather shoes with wooden soles. And then you go out and eavesdrop on gossipmongers in the garden, and

accidentally crossed paths with me.“

“I’m surprised your memory is far better than your deductive skills, Mr Stark.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t know what scheme you are playing, so cut the chase and tell me who sent you or what plans you have.” He hitched his hips on the table, arms folded over his chest. The air around him had changed. His eyes had gone dark with no sign of amusement from earlier. “How much are you getting to set me into a trap?”

Angela could only scoff and chuckle, astounded by his ignorance and delusional assumption. She would love to see his face the moment he found out who she was, but that was not her goal now.

Her goal was to make him chase after her and the money he just refused because he deserved the humiliation for the false accusation.

Instead of giving him what he wanted, she smiled and said, “You are pathetic, Mr Stark.”

---

Gerard watched her stiffly turn and reach for the door. And before he could figure out what was going on, she was already walking away.

He stopped in the middle of the corridor and watched as she turned into a corner. She moved like a proper woman, yet why could he not make himself believe that she was? Was it the shoes? Or the rather plain dark dress she was wearing? Or the lack of ornaments in her hair?

He could never allow himself to be fooled again, but—

Did she just call him pathetic?

He did not realize that Jacob was standing beside him. “I hope that you have satisfied her inquiry, sir,” the man said, his words laced with a bitter tone, and Gerard wondered what that woman said to Jacob to cause it.

“I’m not certain I satisfied either of us, Jacob,” he murmured, still at a loss.

“Did you not accept her offer?”

He shook his head in reply.

“That might be well, then. After our short encounter earlier, Lady Worthington may be the last person I would want to work with, if I may be honest to say.”

Gerard stiffened, and he snapped his head at Jacob. “Who?”

Jacob looked up at him, baffled. “Who? Did she not introduce herself?” Reading Gerard’s expression, Jacob continued, “The only daughter of the Marquess of Hartmour, and sister to the Earl of Hargrave,” Jacob supplied. “Lady Angela Worthington.”

Gerard racked his brain. He knew too many names, but most often they would either lead him to a face or nothing at all.

And then it occurred to him.

The garden.

Lady Margaret.

Marquess.

Earl.

Sister.

“Worthington,” he breathed out. “ That woman is a Worthington?“

Jacob nodded with a frown. “Forgive me, sir, but I thought you already knew—”

With a sharp turn, he grabbed the man by the arms. “Tell me, Jacob, what is the possibility that you may be wrong?”

Jacob shook his head. “I am not. I’m confident she is Lady Angela Worthington. She lives in the country with her father in their estate in Hartmour and is currently taking residence in her brother’s villa. And she’s friends with one of our members, Mr Spencer Pembroke—”

“Bloody tarnation!” Gerard roared, swiveling on his feet, his mind racing.

That was why she was eavesdropping in the garden! The ladies were talking about her brothers!

And she was friends with Spencer Pembroke, the only son of a very rich man who owned dozens of estates all over Sutherland.

“Lady Worthington!” he called, running as she reached the entrance of the club.

She stopped, and he slowed down. When she turned, her face was impassive, yet her sea-green eyes were filled with satisfaction. She slowly blinked, a corner of her mouth curling ever so slightly, telling him she had planned and expected this to happen.

His pride slightly pierced, Gerard tightened his jaw. Then he broke into a smile and said, “I am ready to discuss business, my lady.”

Her lids fluttered as she rolled her eyes and sighed. “That was rather tedious but worthwhile,” he heard her murmur before walking past him to retrace the steps back to his office.

---

“All services my club offers are exclusive to its members.” Gerard clasped his hands over the table, eyes on the stoic woman sitting in front of him. “The person you want me to apply my special services to is a member of this club. Unless Mr Spencer Pembroke himself approaches me, I cannot accept your offer.” He leaned back with a sheepish grin. “But I’m willing to make adjustments.”

Her long lashes were a mesmerizing sight as she blinked. Without a word, she nodded, satisfied with his last statement.

“But I have a question.”

She lifted her brows, waiting.

“Why do you not want Pembroke?” When she only stared, he added, “This is for me to assess if you are irrevocably certain about this. You may change your mind and—”

“We are not a match,” she interjected.

“But you are friends,” he pointed out.

“Yes.”

“Friends can be great as lovers.”

She blinked. “No.”

“Are you certain you do not want Pembroke? Perhaps you have another man in sight?”

“I do not need one.”

“You do not need a man?”

“Nor a woman, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“But why?”

“Why are you asking too many questions?” she asked.

He eyed her sitting stiff and proud in the chair. “I’m a very curious man.”

She did it again. She rolled her eyes with lids fluttering halfway closed. “Your curiosities are misplaced, sir. May we resume discussing business?”

He nodded. “Yes, of course. I will not be taking payment from you.”

His statement surprised her. “You do not look like a man who does charity.”

Gerard’s deep chuckle echoed around the room. “No, I do not. The only charity I do is for myself.”

“Clearly.”

He ignored the insult with a wave of his hand. “I cannot take payment from you as I abide by the rules of my club. My services are only available to the members. But yours will be a special project .”

“What do you want?” she asked.

Gerard smiled. She was quick-witted. He liked that. “I want you to take my sister under your wing for her first Sutherland Season.” He watched the frown slowly form on Angela Worthington’s face as he continued, “In return, I will help you find a match for Spencer Pembroke.”

She blinked a few times. “You have a deal.”

His browse cocked high in surprise. “You have no objections? I was expecting you would want to meet my sister first.”

She shook her head. “There’s no need. But I want to put our deal in writing.”

“Of course. Right away, if you wish.” He could not help but break out into a wide grin, already imagining the number of acquaintances his sister would make after one ball with a Worthington.

---

Angela’s lips stretched into a satisfied smile as soon as she boarded her carriage an hour later.

In her hand was a copy of the sealed agreement with Mr Stark.

“The fool,” she said with a shake of her head.

“Was it a success, milady?” Millie asked across from her. Her maid was wearing an expectant smile, dark blue eyes filled with wickedness as they always were.

“Yes, Millie.” She could not help the tiny, excited squeal in her voice. “Ah, you cannot imagine my relief at the moment!”

Millie frowned. “But why is he a fool?”

She handed the agreement to Millie. “Oh,” Millie said after a while, hands to her lips. “He walked right into a trap.”

Angela looked out the window. “He is clearly driven to climb the social ladder, and he is willing to use his sister. He thinks I can introduce her to my circle. He offered me the proposal upon learning who I am—or rather, who my father and brothers are.”

Millie started to laugh, but then stopped. “But this will pose a problem, milady. You will have to do your part of the bargain. You do not have a circle here . Or anywhere,” Millie added the last word under her breath.

“Well, clearly, I have to find a circle. Sponsoring a young woman this season shall not pose a problem. I have witnessed many do it and can very well imitate.”

She sensed her maid’s doubtful look. “Do you know how they do it?”

“Of course. They teach them manners and push them to unmarried gentlemen.”

“I don’t think that’s the whole of it, milady.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “I can manage it, Millie.”

Millie continued to stare at her.

Angela gritted her teeth and stared at the woman. “I can befriend a duke if I choose to. The woman could be a duchess before the season ends should I will it. I can make friends and introduce this young Stark woman to as many people as I can,” she declared with confidence. “Making acquaintances should not be a problem.”

The maid blinked. “How many do you have in mind?”

Angela cleared her throat and looked out the window. They passed by a group of three women who coincidentally turned and looked on at Angela’s passing carriage. She immediately pulled the curtain close.

Clearing her throat, she looked ahead and lifted her chin. “Enough,” she retorted.

VI. A Stark Contrast

ANGELA HAD to admit that Gerard Stark was quite a capable man.

The Garden Ball was among the much-awaited events during the season. It was not just one of the largest and most lavish balls; it was also one of the most exclusive. Hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Remington, the attendants varied from members of the House of Lords to members of the royal family themselves.

Angela was invited because she was a Worthington, also because of her brother’s amiable reputation within the polite society. But for someone untitled like Gerard Stark, she was relatively impressed.

If he gained an invitation here, there was no need for her to sponsor his sister. Angela could not fathom why he seemed keen to climb higher. Surely, he already gained society’s nod of approval.

What more was there to achieve?

The question lingered in her mind as she watched Gerard Stark wait outside his carriage. He looked stunning that evening, just as when they first met. He was dressed in a black coat, an emerald waistcoat over a white shirt, finishing the look with a white cravat. His dark blond hair looked tousled yet arranged at the same time, inviting close inspection. Her gloved fingers twitched as she imagined how the locks would feel on bare skin.

She closed her hand into a fist, aware of the absurdity of her thoughts.

A woman in a bright yellow dress descended from the carriage like a bright firefly. Not only did her blonde hair and dress remind Angela of the Averly ballroom from a few nights ago, but the smile on the woman’s face also painted a series of frightening images in her mind.

She looked overly bright. She could have worn the darkest of dresses and that smile would still outshine everyone else in the ball and therefore attract people.

And with people came trouble.

Angela’s mind raced as the pair approached her and Jonathan.

“Is that her?” Jonathan asked.

“Apparently so, yes,” she said through her teeth.

“Well,” Jonathan said with a resigned sigh, “you would not have a problem introducing her to anyone. I wager she will soon be a crowd favorite.”

“She will also be a handful.”

“Quite beautiful, too. You should consider introducing her to Spencer.”

Angela stiffened. “Why?”

“Have you forgotten that he wants a wife?”

Gerard Stark’s eyes met hers as he guided his sister toward them. His gaze raked over her, studying her as much as she did him earlier. She swallowed and blinked. “Spencer thinks he does, but I do not believe Mr. Stark’s sister is a good match.”

“Why?” Jonathan inquired, eyeing the woman walking arm in arm with Stark.

“Because she is not gentry.”

Jonathan snapped his head down to look at her. “Spencer is not gentry, Angela.”

She shrugged. “I’m saying he deserves one that’s not a potential scandal.”

Her brother shook his head and broke into a smile when the siblings finally reached them.

“Good evening, my lord,” Stark greeted, giving Jonathan a slight bow before he turned to Angela to take her hand and kissed it, his hand and lips lingering on it a second longer than they should, the warmth seeping through the fabric of her glove. “My lady.”

The woman beside Stark was smiling brightly at them, her eyes glimmering expectantly. “Please allow me to introduce my sister, Miss Sabrina Stark,” he added to Angela, motioning to his sister who dutifully curtsied, albeit clumsily. She introduced him to Jonathan until they were all acquainted.

And Angela finally heard the woman speak. “I’m honored to be sponsored by the Worthingtons on my first season in Coulway.” Goodness, the woman might as well start singing. Sabrina stole her brother a look. “I do not know many people in Sutherland as I have not been here long, but my brother told me you are rich.”

The smile on Stark’s face remained, but he clearly stiffened. “Pardon my sister, she does come up with the most awkward jokes.”

“I assume it was not a joke, for it is true,” Angela said, eliciting an involuntary cough from her brother.

Sabrina laughed and faced Angela. “I hope you will be able to introduce me to people richer than you, my lady. My brother and I enjoy being surrounded by them.”

Angela blinked, rendered speechless just as Jonathan burst into a laugh. “Your sister will soon capture the hearts of the polite society, Mr Stark.”

“Oh, believe me, my lord, that is what he desires most,” Sabrina said to Jonathan. “He may also be planning to find me a rich husband. If you happen to be looking for a wife, I will strongly consider you just to escape all these.”

It was only when Jonathan laughed again did Angela realize that the woman was merely joking.

Stark’s sapphire eyes caught Angela’s sea-green globes. “I did try to warn you, but you seemed quite eager to agree.”

Angela’s brow twitched. “I can manage your sister, Mr Stark.” And then she turned to Sabrina to say, “You shall be introduced with me, Miss Sabrina. But before that, I should discuss a few rules.”

“Rules?” Sabrina turned to her brother. “You did not say anything about rules.”

“Everything we do has rules,” said Angela. “I’m not saying you will have to follow them all. You simply need to be aware of them.”

Sabrina turned to her brother with amazement. “Now, I see what you meant, brother. I quite like her.” And before Angela could say a word, she turned to climb up the stairs to the main entrance. “Very well, Lady Angela, what is the first rule?”

For a few seconds or longer, Angela was rooted in her spot, looking up at Sabrina with apprehension.

“If you think you cannot handle her, I will be right behind you, my lady,” Stark said, voice amused.

Her eyes flickered toward him. “I would rather you do not follow us. You are here to fulfill your part of the bargain.”

Stark grinned down at her. “I suggest you go now, my lady, before you lose my sister. She has a habit of disappearing at the most unfortunate times. I would hate for her to make her own acquaintances. I very much rather they be your acquaintances.”

Angela turned to Jonathan who only shrugged, giving her a look that said, “This was your idea.”

Her jaw tightened, and she squared her shoulders. Lifting her chin, she followed Sabrina up the stairs. “Number one rule, Miss Sabrina, is that you avoid scandal. There are also a few rules attached to it…”

---

“Mr Stark,” the Earl of Hargrave spoke beside him, “I truly hope you do not regret this odd deal with my sister.”

Gerard turned to the earl. “Just Stark, my lord. And pray tell, why would I regret my agreement with your sister?”

Jonathan Worthington’s amused and knowing smile stirred alarm in Gerard. “Just Hargrave, Stark. I believe this situation you have with my sister calls for a need for us to be friends.”

He saw the warning in the man’s eyes and he smiled. “I hope you do not misunderstand my intentions. I am not looking for a wife, nor seeking any form of bond with your sister.”

Liar. Of course, he wanted to do more than just kiss Angela Worthington’s gloved hand. He was a hypocrite, that’s what he was. He was facing the woman’s brother and claiming to be honorable, yet his eyes had been stripping Angela Worthington’s hand of her gloves, wondering how it would feel to have her fingers brush through his hair and her palms flat on his chest and back, or her nails digging into his skin…

He cleared his throat to cleanse his thoughts.

He may desire the woman as he would any other, but she was not to be touched. He learned his lesson in London.

The earl’s laughter drew him back to the present. “I’m not talking about your intentions toward my sister, Stark. She can very well handle herself in a situation, albeit in the most incongruous ways. You will not survive her unless she allows it.”

Stark felt challenged, wanting to prove to this man that his sister was a woman he could very well have for himself, but then again, he had learned his lesson. “What then did you mean when you said I will regret this?”

Jonathan Worthington let out a long sigh, eyes on his sister who was now at the top of the stairs, giving Sabrina the rules of avoiding scandals. “I fear that you have misjudged her status in society.”

He frowned, following the earl’s gaze. “Why? Is she a bastard?”

Jonathan chuckled. “I will let that ignorant comment pass, Stark. However, you are unfortunately wrong. She is a Worthington from the roots of her hair to the tip of her toes. She is simply different.”

“And why is that?”

The earl gave him a quizzical look laced with amused bewilderment. “You truly do not have any idea, do you?”

“I believe I do not, seeing how you are looking at me as though I’m stupid.”

Jonathan laughed. “I am awed that you never realized. She must have been quite convincing. Or elusive.”

“The brief time I spent with her made me realize she’s smart. Sabrina needs a little of that.”

“Beyond smart to have fooled you then, I should say.”

He felt like a fool now, and he did not even know why. “I do not like the sound of that.”

“Fooled? Do not take it seriously, most particularly where Angela is concerned. She will always make you feel like a fool.” Gerard snapped his head at Jonathan. The young earl chuckled. “Fret not, my friend, that’s why I’m here for.”

Gerard frowned. “And what is your purpose here?”

“I am to introduce them to my friends, of course.” Seeing the confused look on his face, Jonathan added, “Because she does not have any.”

“Who?”

“Angela, who else?”

Gerard froze, trying to gauge if the earl was trying to be funny. “Surely you are jesting. She has promised to introduce my sister to her friends this season and—”

“My sister is one step away from a recluse, Stark. She does not come to Coulway unless she’s dragged. Her friends back home are limited to her horse, her maid, and a few animals at the nearby woods,” Jonathan interjected, eyes glistening with delight at Gerard’s confused state. “Do you feel like a fool now?”

“No way in bloody hell—”

“I do thank you nonetheless, for this deal the two of you have may just do our family good.” He motioned at Sabrina. “I will help my sister with yours. It shall not be long before Miss Sabrina will find herself the apple of society’s eyes. Unlike my sister, I have many human friends.”

Gerard gritted his teeth, unexpectedly feeling trapped. “I can smell another deal.”

Jonathan broke into a wide grin, stretching his divided chin. “I’m glad you are smart.” He directed his grey gaze back to the two ladies. “Your sister will have an amazing first season in Sutherland if you can find my sister an excellent match. Miss Sabrina will never be short of ball invitations and introductions. That will be taken care of.”

Gerard slowly shook his head, feeling indeed foolish for having been deceived by Angela Worthington, but he could not help but be amazed by this new opportunity. “If you seek membership into my club,” he said to the earl.

Jonathan shrugged. “I have figured you will require as much. Very well, that shall be done. I will send you a list of specifications I wish to have for her match.”

“Not Spencer Pembroke?”

Jonathan’s face turned serious. “Pembroke is not who my sister wants. It’s your job to find someone she will at least consider.”

Gerard slowly nodded. “I am assuming this shall be a secret?”

“Of course, it is ,” the earl replied with a scoff. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a Miss Sabrina Stark to introduce to my friends,” Jonathan added before joining both ladies at the doors.

---

When the footman intoned their entrance into the ball, Angela was aware that the interest they drew from the crowd had nothing to do with her.

They were interested in Jonathan, the handsome young Earl of Hargrave, and the young woman walking beside him and his sister. Sabrina seemed fascinated by the attention, whispering to Angela, “I now understand the clamor over the Worthingtons.”

She had no response to that as she found no clamor over their family’s name. There was merely interest. Jonathan should be married by now, and yet he was not, and that raised questions amongst the polite society.

Too in love with his freedom? Too much of a rake? Involved in an unrequited love? Involved with a woman he should not have?

There were rumors, but Jonathan was charming enough to dissuade anything more serious.

“Stay by my side, Miss Sabrina,” said Angela when the woman started to turn. “Remember what I told you earlier.”

“I do not think I will find scandal in a packed ballroom, my lady,” replied the woman. “But I am quite excited to meet your friends. Wherever are they?”

Jonathan rescued her by saying, “Lady Angela’s friends can wait, Miss Sabrina.”

“Please, just Sabrina, my lord. And to you as well, my lady.”

Jonathan nodded, offering his arm to the woman. “What say you to me introducing you to my friends instead?”

It was not long before Sabrina was in the middle of the dance floor with one of Jonathan’s acquaintances.

While her brother chatted with his friends nearby, Angela stood in one corner, pleased and internally proud of herself, really. It was a task to convince Jonathan to do this, but after she told him all the details of her agreement with Stark and the consequences she would face if she failed to do her part, he ultimately agreed.

Tearing her eyes off Sabrina, she immediately spotted Spencer on his way toward Jonathan. He had not seen her yet, but he would in no time.

Making a sharp turn, Angela hurried away.

“Lady Angela, good evening!” a young man said, blocking her path.

She blinked and frowned. Then her jaw tightened. “Lord Barnes,” she greeted through her teeth with a curtsy. Barnes had been introduced to her by Jonathan on her first season. Since then, the man had been the one consistent person to always ask for a dance.

“I hope that you’re having a lovely night.”

“Yes,” she replied without meeting his gaze. He was a fine-looking man, but his presence was never a comfortable one. They had danced together once, and she never wanted a second.

He cleared his throat and asked, “May I pen my name on your dance card?” 

“No,” was her fast and stern reply, stepping to the side. She left Barnes, whose face had hardened at her blunt reply.

“That was rather harsh,” Stark murmured beside her.

She turned to him in surprise. He seemed amused. When their eyes met, he must have thought her gaze was an invitation, and he immediately fell into pace with her, reminding her of their time in the garden.

“Was that a sample of manners you plan to teach my sister?”

“Towards men who cannot keep their hands at the right parts of a lady’s anatomy during a dance, yes,” she retorted, jaw tight as she maneuvered through the crowd, away from Barnes and Spencer.

He stopped walking, and she paused with curiosity. He was looking over at Barnes.

“If you think it will impress me should you confront him, then you are wrong. I can handle myself, Mr Stark.”

He slowly turned to her, his face serious. “Your brother has said the same, but I wonder what he’ll do if he finds out that his sister has been—”

“I said I can handle myself,” she stonily interjected. Stepping closer, she added under her breath, “You are in no position to report anything to my brother or feel any sort of responsibility other than fulfilling your end of our bargain.”

He said nothing for a while. Just looked at her. Then he broke into a smile. “Very well.”

“Good.” Angela turned and started walking, her eyes on the dance floor at Sabrina and her partner.

Stark walked with her and leaned lower. “You tricked me.”

“Which trick are you talking about?” she asked without looking, blindly making her way through the crowd, eyes tracking Sabrina.

“Into thinking that you can introduce my sister to your friends.”

It was easy how he figured it out fast, considering the time he spent with Jonathan earlier. “I intend to do that after I make my friends.”

He chuckled. “Good Lord, I want to do two different things to you at this moment,” he murmured under his breath.

“Which are?”

“I want to strangle you.”

She turned to look up at him. “And the other?”

His eyes caught hers. “I would rather not put it into words.”

She looked away with a frown, curious. Was he trying to be mysterious, or was the second thing he wanted to do to her too abhorrent to mention? “I would not have signed our agreement if I did not have any means to hold my end of the bargain,” she said instead, motioning toward his sister. “My brother has a tremendous array of friends and acquaintances.”

“Resourceful,” he grumbled, pressing closer to her as they squeezed through a group of men and women.

“Thank you.”

“But I was still hoping you would have your own circles that will welcome my sister.”

She stopped walking. He stood beside her, facing the dance floor to watch Sabrina. “I may not have the best social circle, Mr Stark, but I was trained how to act like a proper lady in society.” Her gaze lingered on the tiny mole under his right eye, one that was barely there. “After meeting your sister, I believe she needs the same training. Making friends can come after.”

He did not immediately offer a response. He turned his head and for what seemed an endless moment, he just held her gaze, making her feel pleasantly uncomfortable. “I am afraid she does, yes,” he finally spoke before he blinked and tore his eyes away from hers. Clearing his throat, he searched for his sister again.

Angela took the liberty to assess him.

He was doing this for his own personal gain. Him willing to throw his sister into the fray so he could climb up the ladder did not settle well with Angela. He was like many others, after all. She wondered then how he would react when he found out that the very place he wanted to be a part of was nothing but a dark room with scattered shards of expensive glass—so broken that everyone had to pretend it did not hurt when they danced around it.

With those thoughts in mind, Angela said in a low voice, “Mr Stark, I want to find the woman I wish to match for Spencer.”

He blinked a few times in confusion. “Is that not what we agreed?”

She shook her head. “I mean that I will seek for this woman myself, not you.”

“Then what do you expect me to do?”

She looked around to be certain no one was listening. “What you do best, of course. Stage ways for them to meet and know each other.”

“Why do I have a feeling that you find my ability to find a match for your friend lacking?”

“No, of course not, but I realized that the principles that guide you into making a match may be… mistaken.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She shrugged, looking at Sabrina and the young lord she was dancing with. “You judge people by their status.”

She stiffened when his hand came to her elbow to get her attention. When she met his gaze, his eyes were already in slits. Her words offended him. “I am sorry, my lady, but was it not you who said that I should find your friend a rich woman with good standing in society?”

“Yes, because it’s apparent that you are not the only person who judges people by the materials of their shoes. As Spencer’s friend, I want one who has good shoes with durable materials. She must also be adorable.”

“And you think I cannot spot an adorable woman? Or good shoes?”

She blinked. “Certainly, yes. You found me quite fascinating.”

He blinked. “I still do, yes.”

“Then that’s why you are not an excellent judge of character. I do not just want status for Spencer, Mr Stark.”

He gaped at her. “How do you expect to find someone and judge them by their character if you lack the ability to make friends with them, my lady?”

“Your sister will do that for me.”

“Oh, no, not Sabrina.” He leaned closer to hiss, “If you do that, you will end up introducing your friend to a chambermaid.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what she does. She makes everyone her friend.”

Angela thought for a moment. “Jonathan will accompany us to many more balls and events. With your sister’s natural social charm, she can use my status to make friends with the right people. Under my guidance, of course.”

“This is not what we agreed on,” he insisted.

In a voice so low it was impossible for any eavesdropper to hear, Angela said, “We agreed I shall sponsor your sister this season and I am sponsoring her with the help of my brother; you agreed to find Spencer a match and I will take that task from your very capable hands, so you can efficiently do what I ask whenever I ask for it.”

“That is not in the agreement.”

“It is stated that you will facilitate the match, which you will do once I find a woman suitable for my friend.”

“And if I do not agree to whatever plan you come up with?”

“You will.” She turned away. Under her breath, she added, “I do not make silly plans.”

“Trust me, my lady, that the moment you walked into my office was the first of your silly plans.”

Her head snapped back to stare at him. “I have thought of every possibility before you found me in your office, Mr Stark. My plans were ready while you were too busy thinking about beds.”

She watched his jaw harden. “I’m beginning to think your brother may be right.”

“About what?”

“That you make people feel like a fool.”

She froze. “Jonathan said that?”

He hesitated. “Are you offended?”

“No,” she lied. “Perhaps he is right.” Stiffly, she turned and walked away. Much to her relief, he did not follow.

Did she truly make people feel like a fool?

Why would they think themselves fools if they were not?

VII. Wallflowers

“I KNOW you do not have many friends here in Coulway.”

Angela turned to Sabrina and met the woman’s sapphire eyes and found no trace of judgement. There was nothing but pure curiosity and amusement in their depths. “No, you are wrong,” she said, lifting her chin in defiance.

“I am?”

“I only have one.”

Sabrina rapidly blinked in surprise, mouth hanging open. “Then how do you suppose you can show me around this season?”

“That is why my brother has graciously offered his help. He can take care of the social part. I will teach you how to be a lady.”

However, Jonathan was engaged in what appeared to be a fun conversation with his friends . Half an hour ago, he left their side to find himself a glass of wine. The glass in his hand had been refilled twice now, and he had not yet found his way back. After Sabrina secured dance partners, he must have thought it was enough.

Stark’s sister looked around the ballroom. “Very well, if you cannot find us friends , then perhaps we should make them. I am not saying your company is boring, but it would be nice to have variety.”

“I would rather we let my brother do the honor. Your dance card is full. That should be enough for tonight.”

“Nonsense! A dance is a dance—a partnership that lasts as long as the music sheet. It is far from having friends. We should at least try. That’s what my brother wants and I’m keen on pleasing him so he would allow me a few liberties.”

Angela cleared her throat and moistened her lips, eyes darting everywhere. She would rather find a good corner.

Sabrina narrowed her eyes. “Are you anxious, my lady?”

“You may call me Angela. I can tell that you struggle with honorifics. And no, I am not anxious about making friends.” She could never get away with her pride, even in the presence of this woman.

To her surprise, Sabrina laughed, grabbing the attention of a few guests nearby. Angela had to force a smile on her lips so as the lady would not appear crazy, but she could not really point out the source of Sabrina’s amusement.

“You differ greatly from most women in your station and I quite appreciate that, Angela.”

Does she have a motive by telling me this? Is she keen on pleasing me as well so she can have more liberties as she would put it? If so, what does she want?

“Now, as I was saying, making friends will not be a problem. I can take care of that. I know that you and my brother have entered an agreement, otherwise you would not have agreed to sponsor me.”

She blinked. “I do not understand what you mean. I took you in because your brother and I—”

“You and my brother can never be friends. Trust me, one look and I can very well tell.” Sabrina scanned the ballroom and leaned closer conspiratorially. “Now, I know he means well, and that you are only doing this so you can benefit from whatever service he has offered you. Can I ask what service you expect him to fulfill? Are you looking for a potential match?”

“No, and no.”

Sabrina blinked at her in confusion.

“I mean no, I cannot tell you what it is about. And no, I am not looking for a match for myself.”

“Then it is for someone else. Your brother, Jonathan?”

“No.”

Sabrina pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. Then understanding dawned on the woman’s face. “Ah, then it must be for the other brother.” She laughed when Angela only blinked at her. “You are very easy to read.”

Amused by the woman’s utter confidence in her wrong deduction, Angela softly scoffed. This woman was a rare kind. No one had ever deemed Angela easy.

Sabrina shrugged, understanding Angela’s unspoken question. “I have dealt with different people during my travels. Reading them has become an instinct.”

Suddenly curious, Angela wanted to ask the woman about her travels, but Sabrina had something else in mind. She stepped closer to Angela.

“I am dying to explore Coulway, but I have no friends Gerard can trust. Do you think you can spare more time to invite me once in a while? I am desperate to go to the Season Fair and—”

“Yes,” Angela cut in. “We can go to the Season Fair together. Every day, if you wish it. I will bring my maid as our chaperone.” Angela stepped closer to Sabrina to mumble, “But we cannot tell our brothers about our trips to the fair.”

“Why?”

Angela looked away just in time to see Barnes sauntering toward them. “Jonathan can be quite overprotective,” she lied.

Sabrina hooked her arm around hers, making her stiffen. No one had dared touch her with this level of familiarity before, and she had always appreciated that. But she let this one slide just once, thinking she could endure a few minutes of having someone cling to her. She could be patient with discomfort, she added to herself.

“Do you have a secret plan during the Season Fair?” Sabrina asked in a hushed voice that sounded like an excited squeal.

“Yes.” There was no point in trying to hide it from someone who also had suspicious plans of their own. “And what about you? What is your mission for the Season Fair?”

“Mission?”

“I mean, what secret plans do you have during the Season Fair?”

“Oh, no, I have nothing illicit in mind. I simply want to go around. I heard there will be a circus and that it is quite a famous one.”

“The Ramsbury Circus,” she replied. Looking over her shoulder, she caught Lord Barnes’ determined gaze. The music had just ended, and another one was coming. She stiffly turned away and murmured under her breath, “We should walk around.”

Sabrina looked over her shoulder and blinked. “Are you by any chance avoiding a gentleman?”

“A lord, yes.”

Sabrina replied, pulling her to the right, “Why?”

“I dislike him.”

The woman nodded, her face tight. “Then we have a problem. Would you like to return to your brother—”

“No.”

Sabrina sighed. “Why?”

Angela shook her head. “Nothing. I’m only afraid he will deal with Lord Barnes differently.”

“Different how?”

“Swords and fists.”

“But how can you tell he will not deal with it like a gentleman?”

“Because I know my brother.”

Sabrina turned and frowned at her. “You’re afraid he will find out the reasons he will go for swords and fists.”

Angela’s jaw tightened.

It was fortunate that Sabrina was intuitive and did not press further. The woman looked over her shoulder and walked faster. “My brother is also making his way toward us. He is probably curious why I stopped injuring more feet.”

Angela looked, and indeed, Stark was making his way toward them. But his eyes were not on them—they were on Barnes.

“Who would have thought this ball will be so thrilling?” Sabrina murmured. “In a battlefield of gowns and etiquette, women soldiers need comrades.”

“What do you mean?”

“Friends, Angela, friends! Ones with fans are much preferred. Great weapons, they are.”

The suggestion brought as much feeling of dread as the thought of dancing with Barnes did. If she were to find friends, she may need a moment to prepare. “We can do that later once—”

Her breath was snatched out of her when Sabrina suddenly tugged her arm and dragged her to a corner where a group of women sat close together. “Oh, please forgive us, but we are being stalked,” Sabrina said to the group in her cheerful voice, interrupting a conversation.

The four women stared at her blankly. Angela was ready to flee, but Sabrina stepped closer, pulling her along. And then she leaned down and whispered, “We need help.”

The four ladies, two of them with black hair, one red, and the other blonde, were now staring at Sabrina with interest.

The two black and curly-haired women, one of them wearing a green chignon around her head, leaned to each side of Sabrina to look behind her. The woman with the red hair was staring straight at Angela, her gaze knowing and her lips curling with a secret smile. The blonde was looking utterly bored.

“They are behind us, are they?” Sabrina asked the two black-haired ladies. They nodded their heads simultaneously.

Angela stole a look and blinked in surprise to find that Stark had blocked Barnes’ path and engaged the baffled man in a conversation.

“One with black hair?” The two women’s naturally curly strands sprang up and down when they gave a vigorous nod. “And one with dark blond hair,” added one of them in what seemed like a dreamy sigh, her brown globes glimmering with interest.

“Bristled jaw,” said the other, tilting her head with a small smile.

“Dangerously handsome,” the woman with the green chignon willingly finished.

The one on the right frowned, unsure, scrutinizing Stark and Barnes and asked, “Which one?”

“The blond, of course!” hissed the woman beside her.

Angela stole another glance at Stark and Barnes, and this time she caught his gaze. Stark’s, not Barnes’. He gave her a slight nod as if telling her it was fine and she could be at ease. A part of her disliked his unwarranted need to protect her, and another was fighting a smile which she suppressed because Stark should not see her as a princess in distress because she was not.

“Would you like to sit with us?” The soft voice came from the ginger-head lady. Before Angela or Sabrina could utter a reply, the women stood and spared two chairs for them.

“We apologize for this, but I believe my brother is quite persistent tonight, introducing us to his friends and all,” Sabrina said in a hushed, rushed tone. “The other man, well… we do not know him. Unimportant but equally dangerous.”

“As men always are,” droned the blonde woman sitting beside the redhead.

As she stiffly settled in her seat, Angela saw Stark lead Barnes away and the two of them disappeared amongst the crowd.

Sabrina smiled at the four ladies who were looking at them with interest. An awkward stillness reigned for a moment now that danger had walked away.

The blonde woman did not seem interested, but she was still staring, perhaps because it was the only thing to do.

“Oh, forgive us!” Sabrina laughingly said, breaking the awkward silence, reaching for Angela’s hand. “Allow me to introduce ourselves. I am Miss Sabrina Spark and this is my friend and sponsor this season, Lady Angela Worthington.”

“Good evening,” was all Angela could muster as she lifted her chin and studied each woman gaping at her and Sabrina in different states of surprise, curiosity, and excitement. These women were wallflowers. The blonde was perhaps one because she had very little interest in anything as apparent in her demeanor; the two black-haired girls seemed too eager, a dangerous formula for any eligible gentleman; the redhead, on the other hand, was striking and appeared to be soft-spoken enough and carried herself in a practiced manner expected of a titled lady, but there was something off about her.

She should not be sitting among wallflowers , Angela thought, her gaze lingering on the redhead. She is here because she likes the company of the three .

“You are the sister of the Earl of Hargrave,” the girl with the green chignon said with awe before she turned to Sabrina to whisper, “and the dark blond was Mr Stark? You own Stark’s!”

“No, I do not. My brother does,” Sabrina corrected.

“My name is Lady Leah Crew,” the redhead softly said, stretching her full lips with a smile. Her light green eyes traveled between Angela and Sabrina before settling back on Angela. “I know of your brother, Lady Angela, and I have heard about you as well.”

“Everyone heard of at least one Worthington,” said the girl with the green chignon. “I am Grace Blessing and this is my younger sister, Charlotte.”

Charlotte motioned her hand to the blonde woman. “And this is our friend, Abigail Smith.”

Angela quietly assessed the ladies. She did not know Abigail Smith, but considering she was at the ball, her father must have enough connections. She was not also familiar with the two siblings, but she had heard of the Blessings as amongst the oldest and richest untitled families in Sutherland. As to Leah Crew, she knew she was the daughter of the Earl of Kerndall, who was cousin to the king.

But is she worthy? Or is Spencer worthy?

There were hundreds of girls who were taught to be prim and proper, but they lacked substance. Angela hoped Leah would prove to be one of the better few so that she did not have to suffer the tedious task of searching further.

Sabrina was fast to take the lead in the group, advancing rapport by asking the ladies about their curly hair, dresses, fans, gloves—everything else that would have never entered Angela’s thoughts.

While the women continued their conversation, and while Angela listened half-heartedly, she caught sight of Spencer from the corner of her eye and the sudden urge to escape came over her before she realized she was safe where she was. Her gaze swung to Leah Crew who was quietly listening to Sabrina talk about her torn stockings yesterday, her thoughts taking rapid turns, like the silly game children played where they guessed the face of the cards before randomly flipping them to find out if they were right.

She swallowed hard when she saw Spencer and Stark talking with Jonathan.

She could tell Stark that they could start tonight.

Her eyes went back to Leah.

No, she could not do it tonight.

It was too early, and Spencer would realize what she was up to. She had never made friends before, much less introduce anyone to him.

“Yes, of course, we would love to join!” Angela’s brain registered Sabrina’s cheerful voice first before her exact words made sense. “Angela will be happy to go with me.”

She stiffened. Go where? She had not been listening. She thought she was, but she must have gotten lost somewhere.

Fortunately for her, Sabrina could indeed read her easily. The woman grabbed her hand and said, “Their book club, Shelf Absorbed .”

The guilt was instant after the unstoppable snort. Five pair of eyes watched her with curiosity. It was too late to save face. “Forgive me, but the name of your club sounds tacky.” A tense silence followed, and she belatedly added, “But do not let my opinion deter you. My brother, as well as my father, will agree that I have terrible taste which does not complement my tactless way with words.”

She waited for them to react, her jaw taut, her stomach clenching. Was she trying hard not to be detested by these women? Her, Angela Worthington, trying to win someone’s favor? The heavens must have opened a gate in hell .

But the ladies laughed.

Are they mocking?

But their laughter seemed genuine.

Then she must have said the right thing? Good .

“I told you many times,” Abigail wryly said to her friends. “It is tacky. And it conveniently sends potential members scurrying away.”

“Do not mind Abigail,” said Charlotte, smiling at Sabrina and Angela. “She enjoys watching other ladies running away from us.”

“It is their loss to be missing your marvelous company. We would love to join you this Saturday.” Sabrina turned to Angela with excitement. “I think we have found ourselves good friends, Angela.”

Angela did not comment. Stark’s voice rang in her head.

Because that is what she does. She makes everyone her friend.

Now Sabrina had found them potential friends. But it was yet to be determined if they would prove to be good ones.

---

A long moment later, Gerard found Angela in one corridor leading to the gaming rooms.

“Where are you going?” he asked, running up to her.

“I’m searching for my brother.”

“Why are you and my sister spending time with those wallflowers?”

She stopped walking and faced him. “I told you I can take care of myself where Barnes is concerned.”

He blinked. “I did what I did earlier, my lady, because I was concerned for my sister.” He smiled at her when she frowned. “I was afraid Sabrina will steal Barnes’ attention and we both know how his hands behave.”

She lifted her chin and looked at him. “And there is a problem with wallflowers?” she asked, returning to his question.

He blinked. “A few, yes.”

“For a man with your ambition, yes. But for Sabrina and I, we both believe we have found good company.”

He followed her when she turned and resumed her search. “And what is your definition of a good company, my lady?”

She stopped outside a door and peered inside. She immediately closed it, but not fast enough that a puff of cigar smoke escaped into the corridor. He waited for her reply, but Gerard realized she was deliberately ignoring him. When she opened another door that he knew led to an empty room, he grabbed her hand and pulled her inside. Closing the door behind them, the room was suddenly dark.

She pushed him away and reached for the handle, but he was fast to pull her back toward him. “I hate it the most when I am being ignored.”

“Then perhaps it is time you learn how to deal with it. Would you like to meet our new friends? Wallflowers can teach you everything there is to know about being ignored.”

He gritted his teeth. “I see your point. I beseech forgiveness for how I spoke about your friends.”

“Wallflowers.”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“How you spoke about wallflowers,” she corrected.

“Very well. Forgive me if I offended the entire wallflower community, my lady.”

“I will if you let me leave this room now.”

“I will if you answer my question,” he said, stepping closer. He could barely see her. There was very little light coming through the drawn curtains of the room.

“Dare not touch me or I will scream.” Her voice was stern, but he heard it shake at the last word.

He lifted his hands. “I only want an answer, my lady.”

“About my definition of a good company?” she asked. He nodded. Then she scoffed. “Well, definitely not this one,” she replied, looking him up and down. “Fret not, Mr Stark. Your sister and I are in good company. We are now members of a book club called Shelf Absorbed. And if it will interest you, one of those wallflowers is a daughter of an earl.”

That captured his interest. He dropped his hands. “Which one?”

“I was only asked to answer your first question,” she replied, pushing him away. “I did not promise more.”

He frowned as she walked to the door as if in a hurry to escape him. He did not mean anything when he pulled her inside the room, but she was treating him as if he was a threat.

“You were not bothered to have a walk with a stranger around a dark garden,” he commented.

Her hand tightened around the handle. “In the garden, you gave me a chance to escape.”

That made him freeze.

“You see, Mr Stark, I escape the likes of Lord Barnes because I hate to be placed in a state such as a dance where I cannot exercise control. You dragging me inside this room was just another version of a waltz with Barnes. While you may think women find it appealing and romantic to be brusquely dragged into dark rooms by a handsome man, Mr Stark, you are wrong to think that all of us do.”

In no time, Gerard found himself alone in the room, stupefied. Angela Worthington had just said he was handsome while conveying her dislike for him.

What he did was indeed uncalled for. He should not have done it.

He was reminded of London again, where he did things confidently and recklessly. He had been careful since he came to Sutherland.

Until this woman.

He did not like that he could lose control whenever she was around.

Danger , his mind warned, adding, and an enchanting one at that .

VIII. Shelf Absorbed

THE ESTATE owned by the Earl of Kerndall did not shy away from the extravagance of its neighbors: white, bold, and very much imposing.

“How long are we going to wait here, milady?” asked Millie, leaning low to stare out the carriage window.

“Once Sabrina gets here,” Angela replied.

“We have been here one hour. I knew we should have come later than planned.” Her face painted the same irritation that was simmering inside Angela. “I heard that the American girl gives little regard to time.”

Angela frowned. “I never mentioned she is from the Americas.”

“I was with my cousin yesterday, milady, see? Her mistress is Madam Maude.”

“The modiste?”

“The very one, yes.” She leaned closer to whisper, “I heard that Mr Stark ordered more than a dozen gowns for his sister and they are planning for another visit.”

Angela turned to stare at Millie when the woman did not add more. She did not like useless gossips, but this time she thought she needed valuable information. “And?”

It took that one question for Millie to spew more. “The Starks are Sutherlanders, but their parents took the entire family to travel the world, and that’s how they grew up. Miss Sabrina stayed long in the Americas before she traveled to London a few years ago to join her brother. Something unfortunate happened that forced Mr Stark to return to Sutherland to settle, they say. My cousin said that Miss Sabrina coming here to join him may cause another stir like in London. Madam Maude is eager to see that happen here, saying Coulway needs more scandal.”

“What happened in London?”

Millie shrugged. “I’m afraid my cousin never found out. Miss Sabrina is careful with her information, she said. She may seem the blabbering kind, but she is careful, my cousin said.”

“Hmm,” Angela uttered. “Curious.”

“Indeed!”

Angela gave Millie a small smile. “You may spend as much time as you like with your cousin, Millie.”

Her lips stretching with a wicked smile of understanding, Millie nodded. “Oh, it shall be my pleasure, milady.”

Twenty minutes later—Angela knew for she had been closely monitoring—Sabrina finally drove into the driveway of the Kerndall estate. Soon, Angela’s carriage was behind and she joined Sabrina by the door.

“Another important lesson you ought to learn, Sabrina,” she said in greeting, “is that you can never be late.”

“Oh, it is my brother,” said Sabrina. “He has been giving me lectures on—”

“Then he should have known better,” she cut in, stiffly turning to step through the doorway that a butler was holding open for them.

“This way, my ladies,” the old man said, guiding them down the hall, into another corridor and into a drawing room that opened to the extravagant garden outside.

Leah was the first one Angela noticed. The woman glowed. It was as though she had her own personal reserve of sunshine—warm and magnificent.

She is perfect . Now, Angela only had to prove that the woman had the brains to match. Spencer always appreciated someone smart.

“We apologize, ladies,” Sabrina said, gliding into the room as though she had been there before. Angela could not tell whether to be scandalized or proud. The woman could own any spot and steal the limelight, just as she was doing now. Suddenly, Leah’s own light had dimmed, giving way to Sabrina’s cheerful one. “We will not be late next time.”

Grace Blessing, who was wearing a pink chignon, jumped to her feet and excitedly pulled Sabrina to sit beside her. Her sister Charlotte looked up at Angela and patted the space between her and Abigail. The latter was frowning down at the book she held in her hand.

Leah was smiling at them, her hands holding a similar book. She sat separate from the rest in a winged armchair. Next to them was the giant window with the view of the garden, the gentle morning light streaming into the room. If only she was alone and spared of all human noise—breathing very much included—and her mission , Angela would have considered it a lovely day.

“We were just about to start,” Leah informed them.

“With much thanks to Grace and Charlotte,” Abigail dryly added.

Grace guiltily chuckled. “Charlotte and I had a little misunderstanding earlier.”

“Their misunderstanding leading to involve two footmen, a broken teacup, and Grace’s button flying across the room,” Abigail added, looking at both sisters. “And a few scratches.”

Angela’s eyes went to Grace’s arm. There was a fresh scratch. “You had a squabble?”

Grace and Charlotte looked at each other and burst into laughter. “Oh, she thinks we had the row,” Grace said to Charlotte, pointing at herself and then at her sister.

“Then who had the row?” Sabrina asked, innocently turning her head from one sister to the other.

“We did,” replied Charlotte, “but it was trivial, a little misunderstanding. Grace’s cat, however, became a little sensitive and the real row started.”

Sabrina immediately searched the room. “Cat?”

“He is in the carriage at the moment to reflect on his behavior,” said Charlotte. “He scratched Grace. Then he climbed over my back, hanging on my dress by his paws.”

“They danced around the room like crazed animals. One woman with an actual animal hanging on her back and another trying to tear the cat from the dress,” Abigail said, painting a vivid picture with her dry tone.

“And that is when the footmen came in,” said Leah.

“And the teacup?” Angela asked.

“I threw it on the floor to distract the cat,” said Abigail.

“It worked,” Grace said, grinning proudly.

“Then how did Grace’s button fly across the room?”

Grace and Charlotte blinked in confusion for a moment before they burst into laughter. “Oh, we meant Button, my cat,” Grace explained. “Went swooshing across the room when the teacup shattered, jumpy old thing that one is.”

Sabrina’s laughter rang around the room while Charlotte said, “Thank goodness the earl is not home. Right, Leah? He would have kicked us out of the estate. The last straw after the last one.”

Leah nodded. “He will be home next week, ladies. I hope that this will be the last Button will misbehave. The last time was the last straw, I’m afraid.” To Sabrina and Angela, she explained, “Button shredded one of my father’s books.”

Angela studied the clock. “Are we not going to start?”

Sabrina was suddenly excited. “What book are we reading today?”

The members of the Shelf Absorbed looked at each other. Then Leah said, “We might have missed one important detail.”

“What?” asked Sabrina and Angela in unison.

“You should have already started the book. We are to discuss the first five chapters today.”

Sabrina leaned over her lap to stare at Angela. “Perhaps we should ask your maid to buy us the books?”

Angela nodded. “That can be arranged, although I do not think we have much to contribute today.”

Sabrina turned to Leah. “Tells us what the five chapters are all about,” she said. “Then we can continue on with the rest once we have our copies.”

Leah frowned, looking unsure. “We will be happy to retell the beginning of the novel, but I still suggest that you also enjoy the pleasure of reading it.”

Angela saw Sabrina nod. But it was the kind that meant to satisfy rather than agree. She knew then that Sabrina would not read the first five chapters later. In fact, she could sense that the younger Stark would not even touch the book. She may try, but she would fail.

“The novel starts with our heroine, Miss Johanna Goodhart, overhearing a gossip,” Leah started.

“She is a young notorious gossipmonger, see,” said Grace, eyes wide with excitement. “She has started countless gossips and caused many scandals that ruined reputations, her cousin one of them.”

“What about her cousin?”

“She caused a gossip that forced her cousin’s fiancé to back out.”

“What gossip?”

“That the woman is keeping a lover.”

“Her gossips are rarely right,” Abigail droned.

Charlotte nodded. “But this time in a ball she was attending, she escaped to the garden.”

“To harvest gossip?” asked Sabrina.

“Yes. But this time, she uncovered a very vicious plot. Now, the man and woman she came upon were unknown to her. She did not recognize them, hearing only their voices. They were not lovers as she initially thought. They were plotting something evil.”

“What?” asked Sabrina.

“A murder,” Grace dramatically replied.

Sabrina gasped, eyes growing wide.

“Whose murder?” Angela could not help but ask.

“A new duke,” Leah answered.

Then Grace sighed. “Lord Percy Towle, Duke of Ellingham.”

Then Charlotte dramatically added, “Johanna’s cousin’s former fiancé.”

“Oh, this is delicious!” Sabrina squealed.

“And?” Leah asked, eagerly watching Grace. “What happens next?”

“Johanna went to the duke, of course, despite the fact that he hates her.”

Grace did not continue, so Angela and Sabrina raised their brows in question.

“That is the end of the fifth chapter,” Leah said with a smile.

Sabrina’s face fell with disappointment while Angela was already thinking of how the story would end.

Her eyes were on the book Abigail was holding. She waited until she could get an unobstructed view of the cover.

“What is the title of this book?” Sabrina asked the question Angela could not.

Leah laughed. “Oh, forgive us. It is called The Gossip .”

“Shall we move on with the discussion?” asked Abigail. “I will go first. I think the first four chapters are a bore save for the fifth.”

“But it sounds interesting!” Sabrina said.

“It drags the main conflict for five chapters. The first chapters talk about everything Johanna has done to her cousin and many other ladies, all of them horrible. If we did not pick up this story for our reading, I would have thrown it out by the first three chapters. Johanna’s character is despicable. It was a pain to be in her head.”

“But I disagree,” said Grace. “I like being in her head.”

“What say you, Leah?” asked Charlotte.

Angela turned to the woman with interest. “I agree with Abby that the first few chapters were a bore and that Johanna’s character is distasteful. But I think it is necessary.”

“Why?” asked Charlotte.

Leah shrugged. “The author wishes to establish Johanna’s personality and why most women in her station are wary if not furious at her. Instead of pleasing us, the writer wants us to develop our own opinions of Johanna, which we did. And I believe she intends for those opinions to change in the next chapters.”

Angela slowly nodded, a little impressed. Leah was putting herself in the writer’s mind instead of the characters.

For the next hour, the ladies discussed how they thought the story would progress, what Johanna’s move would be, and the consequences of her past actions against her goal.

“I think she will undergo the biggest change,” said Charlotte.

“I think her reputation will be redeemed,” said Leah.

“From a notorious gossipmonger?”

Leah shrugged. “Yes. I have a feeling the author is still not telling us something.”

“Such as?”

“Why Johanna did what she did to her cousin. We have to agree that it was the most harmful of all. It cost her cousin a fiancé, after all. The lady was forced to marry someone she did not want.”

“I think I will not like this Johanna now that you mentioned that,” Sabrina said. “What do you think, Angela?”

Angela was surprised that they sought her opinion. “I think we will have a typical end to a romance novel.” When the ladies merely blinked, she added, “Obviously, the duke will not die. He and Johanna will end up together.”

Leah smiled. “How can you be certain?”

“I am quite certain that is what will happen, considering the author is a renowned romance writer.”

“But not all romance end happily.”

Angela frowned. Then she blinked. “Not all?”

“Yes, of course!” Grace and Charlotte chorused.

“Including the works of this author?”

“Yes! She wrote one or two that did not end well.”

“Hmm.”

Sabrina chuckled. “What does that mean?”

“I did not know that.”

The ladies laughed.

“Do not tell us that this is your first romance novel, Angela.”

“It is my first novel, in fact.”

Even Abigail turned her head to gawk at her. “You cannot be serious.”

“I do not enjoy reading fantasies.”

“No, darling, romance is an adventure!” Grace said. “Now, now, we should convert this one,” she said to Leah.

Leah smiled and nodded. “I believe this book shall.”

Angela’s odd pride made her want to say that she would never like this story, but she was also surprisingly curious about the story. For one, she wanted to know how the duke would handle the news from the gossipmonger.

While the book was intriguing, Angela had to remind herself later that day that she had other things to prioritize. After another hour of tea and biscuits with the Shelf Absorbed members, she told everyone that she had to leave. They all gracefully bid her farewell.

Sabrina stayed a while longer, which was fine with Angela. A part of her wanted to stay as well, but she would rather be alone again. At the moment, her bedchamber in her brother’s villa was far more inviting.

After procuring the two copies of books for her and Sabrina, Angela ordered the carriage to drive by the venue for the Season Fair.

“It is humongous,” Millie said with awe as she gaped at the giant poster being hauled over the entrance of the Ramsbury Circus. Angela couldn’t care less. Her eyes were on the closely guarded iron gate at the side of the entrance. “I can already imagine a magical experience.”

“Me too,” she absently replied as the carriage rolled by the giant gates. Her heart quickened. She had not even started with her plans yet, but the thrill was already making her feel ecstatic and anxious at the same time.

If she succeeded, this mission would be her life’s greatest achievement. And she wrote this to Edward that same night.

It has not yet commenced, Edward, but I believe that with good planning I will succeed. I simply need to pinpoint the exact time and place to do it. It cannot be in the city as it shall be disastrous. For the meantime, I will use the entire duration of the Season Fair to plan the best plot. I need to study the behavior of the circus first.

Until then, wish me the best.

If you can spare the time, I will appreciate you leaving your forest to join us in Coulway. I have much to tell.

Yours,

Angela

She smiled with satisfaction after sealing the paper with a wax.

She looked out the window.

The unprecedented dilemma about Spencer was proving to be useful. Along with the rush of the season and the Stark siblings, it was an added distraction for Jonathan.

Angela could not have her brother find out that the Ramsbury Circus would soon lose all its animals, and his own sister would be behind it all.

IX. A Homeless Club

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X. A Magical Tragedy

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XI. The Spirit Experiment

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XII. Spirits and Kisses

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XIII. Club Secrets

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XIV. Stark and Storms

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XV. Prelude to an Accident

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XVI. Stark Fate

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XVII. Not-So-Perfect Plan

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XVIII. A Stark Prospect

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XIX. A Stark Failure

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XX. Stark Success

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XXI. Secret Corridors

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XXII. The Carriage Driver

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XXIII. Stark Misunderstanding

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XXIV. End of the Season

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XXV. Awkward Problems

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XXVI. The Ramsbury Plan

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XXVII. The Engagement Ball

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Esta historia pertenece al programa de Historias Pagadas, una selección exclusiva de historias con las que apoyas a escritores de Wattpad. Da click aquí para seguir leyendo en la aplicación.

XXVIII. The Ramsbury Heist

This story is part of the Paid Stories program, a selection of exclusive stories that help support Wattpad writers. Click here to continue reading on the Wattpad app.

Esta historia pertenece al programa de Historias Pagadas, una selección exclusiva de historias con las que apoyas a escritores de Wattpad. Da click aquí para seguir leyendo en la aplicación.

XXIX. Fears

This story is part of the Paid Stories program, a selection of exclusive stories that help support Wattpad writers. Click here to continue reading on the Wattpad app.

Esta historia pertenece al programa de Historias Pagadas, una selección exclusiva de historias con las que apoyas a escritores de Wattpad. Da click aquí para seguir leyendo en la aplicación.

XXX. Friends and Benefits

This story is part of the Paid Stories program, a selection of exclusive stories that help support Wattpad writers. Click here to continue reading on the Wattpad app.

Esta historia pertenece al programa de Historias Pagadas, una selección exclusiva de historias con las que apoyas a escritores de Wattpad. Da click aquí para seguir leyendo en la aplicación.

XXXI. Stark and Storm

This story is part of the Paid Stories program, a selection of exclusive stories that help support Wattpad writers. Click here to continue reading on the Wattpad app.

Esta historia pertenece al programa de Historias Pagadas, una selección exclusiva de historias con las que apoyas a escritores de Wattpad. Da click aquí para seguir leyendo en la aplicación.

XXXII. The Coward

This story is part of the Paid Stories program, a selection of exclusive stories that help support Wattpad writers. Click here to continue reading on the Wattpad app.

Esta historia pertenece al programa de Historias Pagadas, una selección exclusiva de historias con las que apoyas a escritores de Wattpad. Da click aquí para seguir leyendo en la aplicación.

XXXIII. Oasis

This story is part of the Paid Stories program, a selection of exclusive stories that help support Wattpad writers. Click here to continue reading on the Wattpad app.

Esta historia pertenece al programa de Historias Pagadas, una selección exclusiva de historias con las que apoyas a escritores de Wattpad. Da click aquí para seguir leyendo en la aplicación.

XXXIV. Free

This story is part of the Paid Stories program, a selection of exclusive stories that help support Wattpad writers. Click here to continue reading on the Wattpad app.

Esta historia pertenece al programa de Historias Pagadas, una selección exclusiva de historias con las que apoyas a escritores de Wattpad. Da click aquí para seguir leyendo en la aplicación.

XXXV. The Visit

This story is part of the Paid Stories program, a selection of exclusive stories that help support Wattpad writers. Click here to continue reading on the Wattpad app.

Esta historia pertenece al programa de Historias Pagadas, una selección exclusiva de historias con las que apoyas a escritores de Wattpad. Da click aquí para seguir leyendo en la aplicación.

XXXVI. A Stark Match

This story is part of the Paid Stories program, a selection of exclusive stories that help support Wattpad writers. Click here to continue reading on the Wattpad app.

Esta historia pertenece al programa de Historias Pagadas, una selección exclusiva de historias con las que apoyas a escritores de Wattpad. Da click aquí para seguir leyendo en la aplicación.

A Stark Engagement

This story is part of the Paid Stories program, a selection of exclusive stories that help support Wattpad writers. Click here to continue reading on the Wattpad app.

Esta historia pertenece al programa de Historias Pagadas, una selección exclusiva de historias con las que apoyas a escritores de Wattpad. Da click aquí para seguir leyendo en la aplicación.