It had been a week since her foray into a new world with another identity at Lady Atwood’s house. It was strange, really — while nothing had actually changed, in the same breath it felt as if everything was different. For once, Olivia had taken the opportunity to do something that made her feel well and truly alive.

She opened the correspondence in front of her, pleased to find an envelope from the Duchess of Carrington — one of her greatest friends, formerly Miss Isabella Marriott. It was an invitation to a dinner party she and her husband were holding at their London home at the start of the season, and they requested her presence. Olivia was delighted. She had not been to their townhouse in the city and it had been some time since she had seen her friend, who was most often at their country home. She wondered who would be present at this dinner, her thoughts touching on Lord Kenley — no, she reminded herself, he was now the Duke of Breckenridge. The Duke was a close friend of Isabella’s husband.

She wrote back swiftly, telling her friend she would be more than happy to attend. Unfortunately it also meant her mother would be along as her chaperone, which caused Olivia to groan aloud. Out five seasons and her mother still had to accompany her. At what point could a spinster attend such events without a chaperone, she wondered. She had never deemed to find out, but as she was near to reaching such status, she supposed she should look further into what that would mean for her. Shrugging her shoulders, she rose to find her mother, as well as the butler to send her response posthaste.

* * *

The Carrington’s London home on Queen Street was one that spoke of wealth through its subdued charm and elegance, not the garish display of her mother’s home, Olivia noted as their carriage pulled up to the front of the columned townhouse.

“How quaint,” her mother said with a sniff as they alighted, causing Olivia to roll her eyes at her back. Perhaps she should marry simply to be rid of her mother’s constant presence at such events, Olivia thought.

As they walked through the arched entryway, Isabella came forward to greet them, holding Olivia in a tight embrace for a moment.

“It is wonderful to see you!” she exclaimed. “How I have missed you.”

“And I you,” answered Olivia, stepping back to look at her friend. “Marriage certainly agrees with you, Isabella. Why, you are positively glowing.”

Isabella waved a hand at her and bade them enter, her husband standing to greet them as they entered the parlor where the dinner guests awaited.

“Lady Olivia,” he said, his dark head bowing over her hand. “I am very pleased you are joining us this evening. I do not believe I have ever properly thanked you for your assistance in my affairs at the house party last year.”

“Oh, it is I that would thank you, Your Grace,” she responded. “It was the most thrill I’ve had in all my life!”

Her mother snorted as she walked by them, hearing Olivia’s words. She had found the entire affair quite sordid, of course, however she never knew the entire story behind all that had happened.

Isabella joined them then, her hand coming onto her husband’s arm as she smiled up at him. How happy they looked, thought Olivia. Their love story had been one of adventure and intrigue, and she had been pleased to have taken part in it during a turbulent week at the home Isabella’s parents had left to her upon their passing. While Olivia found the Duke to be a serious sort, she was rather fond of him. Above all, he made Isabella happier than one could ever imagine possible, and for that Olivia would always be grateful to him.

There had been one other person who was a part of their allegiance last year, who had helped Bradley in his quest — Alastair Finchley, who was now walking up to them, with a devilish look in his eyes and a mischievous smile on his lips. Her heart began to beat faster despite her best efforts to be unaffected by his presence.

“Ah, if it is not my co-conspirators all together, awaiting me!” he exclaimed as he greeted them. “Lady Olivia, I must tell you, I met a woman the other night who looked just like you, but for the color of her hair. A Mrs…. oh drat, I have forgotten her name. Oh yes! Mrs. Harris.”

“Mrs. Harris?” said Isabella with a look of confusion on her face while Olivia shifted from one foot to the other, the skirts of her mint green silk dress shifting with her. “I don’t believe I have ever heard of a Mrs. Harris, have you Olivia?”

Olivia concentrated on stamping down the heat rising in her cheeks.

“I have heard the woman is something of a card player,” she said. “That is all I know.”

“Yes, she won me a great deal of money as my whist partner at Lady Atwood’s. You must all keep an eye out for her about town so that I can find her and properly thank her. She had hair the color of midnight, topped with a turban and a feather kissing the side of her cheek. She also had a rather fetching beauty mark, right here,” he said, pointing to the place on Olivia’s face where she had painted it on. “And her dress, well … it was quite memorable, though certainly not one you would ever see at a place where the woman of the ton were in attendance.”

Olivia cleared her throat as Bradley and Isabella looked back and forth from one of them to the other, obviously picking up on the subtle underlying tension simmering between them.

“Come, man, allow me to pour you a drink,” said Bradley, leading Alastair away to where the full decanter stood with crystal glasses in front of it.

Isabella turned to Olivia

“Would I be so out of line,” Isabella began, lowering her voice to ensure she would not be overheard. “To believe that this Mrs. Harris is none other than the same person as Lady Olivia Jackson?”

“You would be correct,” she said, with a grin. She told Isabella the story of the late night escapade, and Isabella shook her head at her. “It’s a wonder you did not get caught,” she said. “And Alastair told no one?”

“He did not,” said Olivia, “Although it looks as if he may be telling your husband at the moment, by the look of amusement he is sending my way. I do thank God he said nothing while at Lady Atwood’s. In fact, he was actually rather helpful.”

“If he had told anyone, I would never speak to him again,” said Isabella, with conviction in her tone. “You are a daring one, Olivia. Are you still rather fond of our Alastair?”

“Fond of him? I was never fond of him, Isabella,” she said. “Why would you think so?”

“I seem to recall a few comments regarding the man’s backside.”

“Oh, well, yes, he certainly does have a nice one,” said Olivia, stealing a look at the man who had now been joined by two young ladies, one she recognized as Lady Frances Davenport, a close friend of Lady Hester Montgomery. She was not quite as evil, but well under Hester’s control. “Though I believe most women notice his backside, and if not, they certainly notice the front. His face, I mean!” She laughed at herself while Isabella shook her head.

“Yes, Alastair has his choice of women, it’s true,” she conceded. “But he did seem rather taken with you, and it seems he still might be. He has inherited his father’s title and all its endowments, Olivia. He will be needing a wife in due course.”

Olivia shook her head resolutely. The Duke was not the sort of man she would ever marry. “That wife,” she said, “will not be me.”

* * *

The young ladies currently batting their eyelids at him were comely enough, thought Alastair, though he had far preferred the company of Lady Olivia Jackson. She held nothing back, and it was rather refreshing instead of the sighs and tittering of the other young unmarried women present this evening.

He had not expected to see her again so soon, and he had been unable to get her off his mind, try as he might.

“Is there something of interest across the room?” murmured his friend Carrington in a low voice. “I certainly hope it is not my wife at whom you continue to steal glances.”

“Steal glances? What am I, a schoolgirl?” he asked his friend with a laugh. “I am simply comparing Lady Olivia tonight to the woman she was in the disguise last week. Now that I see her without the wig and costume, I do realize how well she had disguised herself. It was the eyes, however. They gave her away.”

Bradley nodded. “She’s a handful, that one. ‘Tis why she has been out so long without a husband. And the fact she continues to turn down all who ask for her hand. Apparently she feels none will suit her, and most have stopped asking to avoid the embarrassment. She seems somewhat taken with you, however, old chap. Have you a mind to pursue her?”

“Pursue her?” Alastair repeated with a laugh. “Certainly not. I am in no need of a wife.”

“How could you not be?” asked Bradley. “You have inherited and are in charge of decently large estates. A wife would be of great help.”

“Yes, but I enjoy my current life far too much. The cards, the drinks, the gambling,” he said. “Already I feel guilty if I’m out carousing. What would I feel with a wife at home? I think not. Besides that, do you feel Lady Olivia would be one to sit quietly at home while her husband was about town? Certainly not.”

Bradley shrugged. “Perhaps you would enjoy marriage more than you might think.”

“Absolutely not,” Alastair replied adamantly. “I promise you, Carrington, I shall be a bachelor for some time to come. Marriage, man, is not for me.”

Bradley gave him a questionable look but finally agreed. “Whatever you say, Carrington,” he responded, and then set out to find his wife before they were called into dinner.

Alastair found himself seated beside none other than Lady Olivia, which, he was rather pleased about, despite his conversation with Carrington. He may not have any inclination to marry the woman, but he would enjoy the time to have his flirtations with her. Though his intentions were somewhat dampened by the fact her mother sat down across from him and looked at him with the gleam in her eye that he had seen far too many times on the faces of mothers and daughters intent on securing him as a husband. He turned to her daughter instead.

“I have been remiss in telling you that you look lovely tonight, Lady Olivia,” he said. “Your dress becomes you. Though perhaps not nearly as much as a red gown I saw you wear recently. There was something about it that was quite … appealing.”

She nearly choked on her wine as she stole a glance at her mother. “You must be mistaken, Your Grace,” she said. “For it has been some time since I have worn red, it not being particularly in fashion at the moment.”

“No, no I seem to recall it rather well,” he said. “In fact, I cannot quite get it out of my head.” He gave her a wolfish grin and lowered his voice. “Nor what it showcased.”

He expected her to blush, or to look somewhat chastened. Instead, she laughed. He followed suit, until he caught her mother’s look from across the table. The woman looked like a cat who had caught the mouse she had been chasing for days. He sobered, put a polite smile on his face, and turned to speak with Lady Frances Davenport on his right.