Regina had a headache.

The music and lights from the ball only made the throbbing in her temple intensify. Everyone was talking too loudly. It was all a cacophony.

She had allowed Bridget to dress her in a dark blue dress. The fabric was silky to the touch. Bridget had instructed the maid to do her hair up and they’d put a powder on her face to cover much of her freckles.

Looking in the mirror, she had thought she almost looked pretty. Perhaps the ball wouldn’t be so bad.

Now she was in the thick of it and it was as awful as she’d remembered.

Natalie and Elizabeth were out on the dance floor. Natalie was laughing, catching hands and tossing them away in turn. Elizabeth was dancing intensely, locking eyes with her partner like a dance was a challenge.

Louisa was sitting off with some close friends and talking. Holding court, more like. Louisa was gentle and quiet and yet it drew people to her. All her friends sat around with bated breath as she talked.

Regina could see Mr. Fairchild hovering nearby. Obviously wanting to ask Louisa to dance—and obviously unable to. Until his wealthy aunt passed he could not let his favor be known. Poor Louisa, Regina thought. To love someone and be unable to have them. At least Mr. Fairchild loved her in return.

Bridget was about somewhere. Regina craned her head, searching for her. Perhaps she could persuade Regina to call up the carriage to take Regina home. The men about would undoubtedly offer her sisters a ride home when they found them without one.

As Regina made her way through the ball to find her sister, she began to hear whispers. At first, she feared it was about Father again. The gambling habit he’d developed after Mother’s death was appalling. Many said it was only a matter of time before he gambled away his estate.

But no, they spoke of something else. Regina listened for a moment.

“Is he really here?” Someone asked.

“Oh to be sure, I saw him over by the foyer. I couldn’t bring myself to greet him.”

“He’s quite intimidating, isn’t he?”

Regina wondered who they were talking of. She pushed onward and caught a flash of dark red hair. Bridget!

She hurried forward. Bridget was talking with a man that Regina had never seen before.

Charlotte Tourney was just to the side. Regina came up to her. “Who is that man?”

“Who, speaking with Miss Bridget?”

Regina nodded.

Charlotte was the best person to approach for gossip. She did not disappoint Regina in this matter. “That is the Duke of Whitefern.”

“How have I never before seen him?”

“He’s quite the mysterious figure. I know hardly a thing about him. Other than his title and that he is heir to a massive fortune. But of course he wasn’t born into the latter.”

“Oh?” Regina asked. She kept watching her sister and the Duke. She couldn’t see the man’s face but she was certain he must be enamored of Bridget. What man alive wasn’t?

“I heard that his family was quite destitute when he inherited the title. It’s said his father was a poor businessman. The Duke had to earn it all back. And he had extraordinary luck about it. If you know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

Charlotte gave Regina a pitying smile, as though she thought it was sad that Regina didn’t know. “Gambling, my dear. He’s said to be a master with cards.”

Now Regina knew why the smile was pitying. Because of her father. She drew herself up as best she could. Her stomach quaked. “I suppose he has good luck indeed, then.”

“Indeed. Not much else is known of him. He is quite good looking but nothing is known of his connections or his family. Of course there is speculation. I heard that his mother was a French duchess.”

Regina hummed noncommittally. Not that it deterred Charlotte.

“I also heard that he’s won a dozen duels. Nothing to corroborate any of this, but it is rather fanciful, don’t you think?”

“Um, yes, rather like a novel,” Regina stuttered, and turned to approach Bridget. This headache really was monstrous.

She walked up and cleared her throat politely. “I beg pardon, but I’m afraid I must have a word with my sister.”

The Duke of Whitefern turned and Regina’s breath caught in her throat. He was tall, though not as tall as some men that she knew. He had dark hair and warm blue eyes. Regina had grown up with Natalie’s clear, bright ones. She hadn’t known that blue eyes could seem so warm and inviting.

It was more than simply a matter of being handsome—which he was. His entire face was firm, solid, as though he had been carved from stone. The warmth she saw in his eyes seemed quite at odds with the intimidating look of that face.

Regina found herself at a loss for words. He scared her, somehow. But not in the usual way. She couldn’t put a name to it. Still, he scared her.

“Lord Harrison,” Bridget said. “Allow me to introduce my youngest sister, Miss Regina Hartfield. Regina, this is Lord Harrison, the Duke of Whitefern.”

“It seems that beauty runs in the family,” Lord Harrison said. He bowed, taking Regina’s hand to kiss it. Warmth spread from the place where his lips had touched.

It made Regina want to snatch her hand away, but she didn’t know why. It must have been the headache.

Or perhaps it was the fact that he had inferred that she was beautiful. She did not appreciate flatterers, even less so when the flattery was untrue. She knew what she looked like. Irritation surged up within her, startling her.

“I apologize for the interruption,” she said. “May I speak to my sister for one moment?”

“Certainly.” Lord Harrison bowed and parted.

“Another suitor, I suppose?” Regina asked. She couldn’t help herself. She wasn’t quite sure why Lord Harrison was provoking such an emotional response within her. It was unusual.

“He intends to be, I am sure,” Bridget said. “I have met him at other balls and he has made his regard for me clear.”

“But you do not like him? He is a Duke.”

“He has made his money as a gambler, and we have quite enough of those in our family already,” Bridget said firmly.

Regina nodded, secretly quite pleased. She knew it was childish but she really did not want Bridget to marry just yet. “May I take the carriage home? I have the most awful headache.”

“You will have to ask Father about that.”

That was what Regina had been afraid she’d say. “Where is he?”

“Where else? In the side parlor.”

Regina nodded. Gambling again. “If he says yes, do you say yes?”

Bridget nodded. “None of us shall want for offers of a ride home. Mr. Fairchild will take us all if no one else. But Father is not a young, pretty woman.”

“Mr. Fairchild will take him as well as Louisa.”

“Perhaps. But it’s one thing for a young lady to ask a gentleman for a ride home after a ball. It’s quite another for an older gentleman to ask another. There is the matter of his pride.”

“Very well.” Regina sighed. “I shall ask him.”

She left Bridget and made her way to the side parlor. It was like stepping into another world. The rest of the house was brightly lit and crowded, filled with noise. The side parlor was done up in dark reds and dimly lit. It was smaller as well, so that the eight men inside seemed to dominate it.

Regina knew all of the men assembled. Lord Harrison was standing off to the side and was the only man she knew by name only. The others she knew both in personality and reputation.

Father was seated at the table with three others. The ones on either side of him were rather young men, a Mr. Charleston and a Mr. Denny. Both looked rather crestfallen.

The one seated directly across from Father—he made her heart sink. Her headache fled completely to be replaced by an awful coldness in her gut.

It was Lord Pettifer.

The man had proposed to Bridget a couple of years ago. He’d only known her for ten days. Bridget had turned him down and he’d called her the most awful names for it.

Natalie had told Regina later on that the man was a terrible rake. He was rumored to have left the daughter of a groundskeeper in the family way up north. He was certainly an unashamed gambler. Unlike most men who pretended they bet only a little—even when they bet a lot—Lord Pettifer boasted of how much he had staked and won.

Lord Pettifer had reason to boast, apparently. He was a veritable card shark. Or so Natalie had told her.

And now he was facing off against Father. Father, who was an awful gambler and had taken up cards as a way to get over his wife’s death.

Regina felt a hand at her elbow and looked up into the blue eyes of Lord Harrison. “You shouldn’t be in here,” he said quietly.

“I know that women aren’t allowed,” she protested. “I simply have to speak with my father.”

“It’s not only because women aren’t allowed.” Lord Harrison’s voice was surprisingly soft. There was something else in there too, a protectiveness. “This isn’t a good time.”

“I only want to ask him a question.” What on earth was the matter?

There was a cry from the table. Regina knew that sound—it was her father.

She shoved past Lord Harrison, who was far too surprised to stop her. “Father?”

Father looked very pale, staring at the cards on the table. Lord Pettifer looked far too pleased with himself. Smug, even. Regina thought he looked like a rat.

“It appears as though I’ve won after all,” he said.

Father looked like he might faint. Regina hurried up to him and put her hands on his shoulders. “Father? Are you quite all right?”

“This must be the youngest of your lovely daughters,” Lord Pettifer said. “My deepest condolences.”

Deepest condolences? Regina looked from Lord Pettifer to her father. “What’s going on?”

“Lord Hartfield.” It was Lord Harrison. “If I may escort your daughter out?”

Father nodded, still pale and distracted. Lord Harrison turned to Mr. Denny. “Denny, if you’ll get Hartfield some water here. Pettifer, do us all a favor and collect your winnings and leave.”

“I don’t understand.” Regina stood firm. “Why must you offer condolences?”

“Regina, please leave,” Father said faintly.

“No.” She startled herself with how firm her voice sounded. “I want to know what is going on.”

“What is going on,” Lord Pettifer said, standing, “Is that you are about to find your circumstances wildly changed.”

He held up his winnings. There was a wad of notes, a ring, and a piece of paper.

Regina looked closer. No, it wasn’t just a piece of paper. It was signed. She squinted until she could read it.

I, Lord Hartfield, do will the holder of this paper the rights and lands owned by me according to the laws of the gentry.

Her father had gambled everything.

And he had lost.