Amelia Hillsborough flicked open her fan and plied it vigorously. Under cover of her voluminous skirts, she slipped her feet free of her evening slippers. She had forgot how stifling the small parties, held in the run-up to the Season proper, could be. Every bit as bad as the crushers later in the Season. But there, at least, she would have plenty of her own friends to gossip with. The mothers and chaperons of the current batch of débutantes were a generation removed from her own and at these small parties they were generally the only older members present. Marian Winford has elected to remain at Twyford House this evening, which left Amelia with little to do but watch her charges. And even that, she mused to herself, was not exactly riveting entertainment.

True, Felix was naturally absent, which meant her primary interest in the entire business was in abeyance. Still, it was comforting to find Margaret treating all the gentlemen who came her way with the same unfailing courtesy and no hint of partiality. Maribella, too, seemed to be following the line, although, in her case, the courtesy was entirely cloaked in a lightly flirtatious manner. In any other young girl, Lady Hillsborough would have strongly argued for a more demure style. But she had watched Maribella carefully. The girl had quick wits and a ready tongue. She never stepped beyond what was acceptable, though she took delight in sailing close to the wind. Now, convinced that no harm would come of Maribella's artful play, Amelia nodded benignly as that young lady strolled by, accompanied by the inevitable gaggle of besotted gentlemen.

One of their number was declaiming,

"'My dearest flower,

More beautiful by the hour,

To you I give my heart.'"

Maribella laughed delightedly and quickly said, "My dear sir, I beg you spare my blushes! Truly, your verses do me more Cedit than I deserve. But surely, to do them justice, should you not set them down on parchment?" Anything was preferable to having them said aloud.

The budding poet, young Mr. Dawson, beamed. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Miss Maribella. I'll away and transcribe them immediately. And dedicate them to your inspiration!" With a flourishing bow, he departed precipitately, leaving behind a silence pregnant with suppressed laughter.

This was broken by a singer from Lord Norton, who himself appeared very young despite his attempts to ale the Corinthians, this comment itself caused some good-natured laughter.

"Perhaps, Lord Norton, you would be so good as to fetch me some refreshment?" Maribella smiled sweetly on the hapless youngster. With a mutter which all interpreted to mean he was delighted to be of service to one so fair, the young man escaped.

With a smile, Maribella turned to welcome Viscount Thornbury to her side.

Amelia's eyelids dropped. The temperature in the room seemed to rise another degree. The murmuring voices waged over her. Her was nodded. With a start, she shook herself awake. Determined to keep her mind active for the half-hour remaining, she sought out her charges. Emma was chattering animatedly with a group of débutabtes much her own age. The youngest was surprisingly innocent, strangely unaware of her attractiveness to the opposite sex, still little more than a schoolgirl at heart. Lady Hillsborough smiled. Emma would learn soon enough; let her enjoy her girlish gossiping while she might.

A quick survey of the room brought Margaret to light, strolling easily on the most eligible Mr. Chistlebury.

"It's so good of you to escort your sister to these parties, sir. I'm sure Miss Charmaine must be very grateful." Margaret found conversation with the reticent Mr. Chistlebury a particular strain.

A faint smile played at the corners of Mr. Chistlebury's thin lips. "Indeed, I believe she is. But really, there is very little to it. As my mother is so delicate as to find these affairs quite beyond her, it would be churlish of me indeed to deny Charmaine the chance of becoming more easy in company before she is presented."

With grave doubts over how much longer she could endure such ponderous conversation without running amok, Margaret seized the opportunity presented by passing a small group of young ladies, which included the grateful Charmaine, to stop. The introduction were quickly performed.

As she stood conversing with Miss Denver, an occupation which required no more than half her brain, Margaret allowed her eyes to drift over the company. Other than Viscount Thornbury, who was dangling after Maribella in an entirely innocuous fashion, and Daniel Hammington, who was pursuing Sophia in a far more dangerous way, there was no gentleman in whom she felt the least interest. Even less than her sisters did she need the opportunity of the early parties to gain confidence. Nearly eighteen months of social consorting in the ballrooms and banquet halls in New York had given them all a solid base in which to face the London ton. And even more than her sisters, Margaret longed to get in with it. Time, she felt, was slipping inexorably by. Still, there were only four more days to go. And then, surely their guardian would reappear? She had already discovered that no other gentleman's eyes could make her feel quite the same breathless excitement as the Duke of Twyford's did. He had not called on them since that first ride in the Park, a fact which had left her with a wholly resented feeling of disappointment. Despite the common sense on which she prided herself, she had formed an irritating habit of comparing all the men she met with His domineering Grace and inevitably found them wanting. Such foolishness would have to stop. With a small suppressed sigh, she turned a charming smile in Mr. Chistlebury, wishing for the sixteenth time that his faded blue eyes were of a much darker hue.