Free Splendor by Brenda Joyce

everyone is as high-minded as you," George said with a smile. "I see I am going to lose this debate. I am afraid to ask how you found out about his wife. In any case, I hope you are not going to write about the princess in your column."
    Carolyn sighed. "Of course not. That would be too low a blow, although I do hope that man is ashamed of himself." She started toward the stairs, her spirits quite high. "Although I doubt he has even thought twice about his

    behavior. ... I am going upstairs to change clothes." "Good idea. I have to go out for a few hours." Carolyn nodded, flying up the stairs to her bedchamber. She hung up her hat and quickly stripped out of her clothing, hanging everything up carefully on wall hooks. She slipped on a chemise, pantalets, and a pale blue gown with a sash that tied just below her breasts. She pulled the ribbon out of her hair and quickly ran a brush through her blond curls—not that that could tame them. She could not get Sverayov out of her mind. She started to smile. Truthfully, she had had a very good morning, indeed.
    And how could she leave him alone? If he continued to provide material for her colunm, why then, she would use it as any civic-minded journalist would. The whole point of Copperville's column was to expose any and all hypocrites to the rest of society—and maybe, just maybe, make some of them think twice about their own behavior.
    Carolyn wondered if he would be at the Sheffield dinner dance a few days hence. Although it was not a ball, a hundred guests had been invited, making it a grand event—for it was to honor Lord Sheffield on his fifty-fifth birthday. Caroline had already surmised just who was on the guest list. She knew for a ifact that Prinny was attending, for there was little that the prince regent did or intended to do that Caroline was not aware of, as she had excellent connections with a member of his household staff, and leading Tories had apparently been invited as well, including Liverpool. She imagined that if Sverayov had not been invited he would probably change that himself. But she knew Lady Sheffield. She would never exclude any royalty, much less a gorgeous Russian prince, fi:om a party of her making. Caroline's diary already listed the fete as a "must-do." She had no intention of missing it.
    She stared at herself in the mirror atop her small bureau and washstand, frowning at her reflection. Her cheeks remained flushed, her eyes very bright. She was seeing an interior lit up with a dozen chandeliers, couples waltzing across a parquet floor, an orchestra playing, just hidden

    from view, with servants rushing to and fro with refreshments. Suddenly she could see Sverayov, standing a head taller than the crowd, watching the dancers with a jaundiced eye. And she did not want to masquerade as a footman again, and be resigned to observing the dinner dance from the ranks of the servants waiting outside.
    But did she dare? Could she give herself a title, gain entree to the fete, and actually participate? Could she avoid detection—and being thrown out on her ear? Surely, once inside, no one would notice her amongst the crush.
    Her pulse went wild. But how could she not try? There would be so much more information to glean if she were on the inside instead of the outside. And she was not taking such a risk because of Sverayov!
    When Carolyn went downstairs a few minutes later, excited now at the scheme taking place in her mind, George was putting on his own frock coat and top hat. He picked up a bundle of books from the counter. *'I shall be about two hours," he said.
    Carolyn nodded, realizing he was meeting a client. The shop was empty, so she walked him to the door. "I am so glad you are home," she said earnestly, kissing his cheek.
    George put his arm around her. "There is no place like home," he declared. "I am taking us out tonight. We'll share a pint or two."
    *'That will be fun," Carolyn said, hugging him again.
    After he had left, Carolyn went to