Free Raven's Ransom by Hayley Ann Solomon

chaise, I warrant I might have something to recall!”
    “No doubt.” Primrose allowed her tone to become contemptuous, causing Lavinia Pemberton’s eyes to narrow at the veiled insult. She was not mollified by several giggles behind her. How dare Miss Chartley! Particularly as it was she who had been caught flagrantly disobeying society’s conventions! Lavinia stifled several pangs of jealousy, for Lord Rochester was the catch of the Season besides being deliciously good-looking when he wasn’t staring frostily into the middle distance and ignoring one entirely.
    She decided that pointed politeness was wasted on Primrose, so she turned her back to the amber-gowned beauty and whispered something rather nasty to Miss Redding, who looked alternately amused and disbelieving. Unfortunately, the whisper was rather audible—possibly by ill-natured intent—and caught the attention of Lady Rochester, who had just been striding purposefully in Primrose’s direction. Ignoring both young ladies, who scrambled to curtsy to her—she placed her arm in Primrose’s and thanked her once again, in bell-like tones, for alleviating her suffering. “You really are a marvel, Miss Chartley., for I swear my headache was quite shocking before you ministered to it. How thoughtful of you to take me back to the quiet of my chaise, and how very solicitous. I really must invite you and your sisters to Rochester, sometime, for I feel certain my son Gareth would wish to meet with you and thank you personally.”
    She shot a mischievous look at Primrose with these words, but otherwise preserved a haughty and entirely convincing demeanor. Miss Pemberton looked sick, but never one to miss any opportunity, clapped her hands elegantly and declared that a party to Rochester would be the very thing to lift poor dear Primrose out of the dismals and she would talk to her mama about it at once. Whereupon Lady Rochester looked upon her with ill-disguised contempt and commented that it was not a party she had in mind, but rather a quiet country gathering of friends. She emphasized this last word rather cruelly, Primrose thought, but she would not have been human had she not rejoiced a little at the tone. Miss Pemberton deserved a hearty set-down, and in truth, she had received it, albeit in the sweetest of language and only with the very slightest raising of haughty brows.
     
     
    In another part of Almack’s entirely, Miss Lily Chartley was holding court to as lively a collection of rakes and rogues as a young lady of first Season could wish for. She was entranced by Lord Damson’s desire to paint her, and torn between agreeing to sit for him, or giving the honor to Mr. Ravensbourne, a quiet-spoken man with dangerous eyes that made her shiver quite delightfully. Of course, there was always the sadly impoverished Lord Windham, but he would do nothing more daring than lavish fulsome glances her way and fetch endless supplies of lemonade. All this, of course, was thoroughly satisfactory, for Lily was a spritely creature who cared nothing for the questionable motives behind her sudden spate of popularity.
    True, Grandfather had been rather naughty to leave his inheritance in such an equivocal fashion, but it was his, after all, and she was having the most agreeable time as a consequence. She flattered herself that the attention was not all due to the will, for even Lady Cowper had commented that she was in high good looks. She smoothed down the crisp white lines of her shimmering satin and glanced, for a moment, in the mirror. Yes, Primrose had been right, the simple clasp of pearls had been better than the diamonds she’d yearned to borrow. And how clever Daisy had been with the dewdrops! They framed her face perfectly. She was just turning to thank a gentleman in a stiff, starched collar, whose name she could not quite recall but who had just likened her dark hair to a night hallowed with the luster of moonbeams, when her eyes caught, in the mirror, a