Edward’s feelings of Poor Bennett were quickly supplanted by Idiotic Bennett when he finally saw the lady who’d thrown herself at his friend.

And a piece of bric-a-brac at the wall.

But given how she’d just exposed herself, he couldn’t necessarily blame her, although he was wary, of course.

It was she. The lady he’d seen on the street just a day prior. His first impression had been correct; she was lovely.

Blonde with hazel eyes that sparkled as brightly as the diamonds in her ears. Her mouth, currently set in a sharp line, was lush, her lips a kissable rose color.

Although she was of average height, her whole presence seemed outsized, like a fierce flame contained within the usual package of Debutante Dressed in Silk. It was as if her body couldn’t contain her personality, as though the edges of her real self were outlined with passion and wit—and anger. He wanted to touch her, to see if that spark was as warm and exuberant as it appeared.

“What were you thinking by not announcing your presence, sir?” she said, her voice crackling with that very same anger. So definitely forget about touching her. Not that he was thinking of that in the first place.

Edward raised his brow. “At what point should I have announced myself? When you told Lord Carson how you knew he was in love with you?” He stepped forward, drawn by the light of her, even though he suspected she might very well slap him if he drew close enough, “or where you plotted out the course of your lives together, with you being his wife for his just causes?” Yes, he knew he was being out of line, but damn it, so was she. “Or perhaps when you threw whatever it was you threw at Bennett. I guess it is a good thing you don’t have accurate aim.”

“I wasn’t aiming for him!” she replied, the color along her cheekbones a deep red to match her passion.

“Ah, good to know,” Edward replied, shrugging. “The thing is, Lady Olivia”—because he knew who she was, not just because Bennett had addressed her by name, but also because word of the Duke’s Daughters had reached even him—“that there would have been no convenient time to disclose my presence. Until it sounded as though you were about to cry.” It was dangerous, of course, to be speaking so bluntly to someone like her—a duke’s daughter, one of the highest members of the Society that didn’t want him to join—but he couldn’t stay silent, not with her having done what she just did. Not with him being friends with Bennett.

He owed it to both of them, even though he’d just met her.

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t think it’s right to be privy to anyone else’s sadness, not if the person doesn’t agree to it.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew his handkerchief. “You might need this in addition to yours.” She took it, her face now drained of color, perhaps as the impact of what had just happened seeped into her being. “Do just one thing, Lady Olivia,” he said, drawing closer to her, so close he could see how she was blinking more rapidly, perhaps to stem the coming storm. “Never let anyone see your pain,” he continued in a low voice. “Keep it to yourself, because if they see it, they will attack you.”

And then he walked out of the room, closing the door firmly behind himself, but not before hearing a smothered sob.

“Edward!”

Edward turned as a visibly strained Bennett walked toward him, a wineglass in each hand. He must have left the room after Lady Olivia’s outburst and headed straight for where he could find wine.

“Here, I thought you might need this,” Bennett said, handing him the glass. “Given how unpleasant you find all of this.” He drained his own glass in one swift gulp, depositing it on a passing footman’s tray, all before Edward could even take a sip.

“I think you might need it more,” Edward said, returning the glass to Bennett’s hand.

Bennett stared at it as though not aware of what he was doing, then shook his head. “Maybe I do,” he said, taking a big swallow, sputtering as he did.

“I was there,” Edward said in a quiet tone. “In that room while Lady Olivia was speaking with you. To you.”

Bennett’s brows drew together in confusion. “You were? But how?”

“I ducked in there to give myself time away from the party, as you suggested, and I was lying down on the sofa when you came in. I would have made my presence known, but the lady had launched into her proposal by the time I could have spoken, and then it was just . . . awkward,” he said with a smirk. He knew Bennett well enough to know that his friend was likely mortified by the situation; if he could get him to acknowledge the humor of it, he wouldn’t carry the guilt around with him like a pack mule.

“Awkward is one word for it,” Bennett replied, taking another long draught of the wine.

“Did you know how she felt about you?” Edward asked. Weren’t you tempted? He wished he could ask. It would have been hard for Edward in that same situation to resist the lady, no matter how imperative her demands were. And he thought he might like to hear what it was she wanted as well.

But those were not thoughts he should be having about any young proper lady, especially one who might find a handy object to fling at him. He couldn’t always count on her having bad aim.

And then he’d be a bastard with a busted head.

Bennett nodded his head, the expression on his face rueful. “I knew, but I never imagined she would be so bold as to share her feelings with me. I was hoping she would grow out of it. Or find someone else to admire.”

Edward had to admire the lady’s boldness; seeing what she wanted, then going after it without hesitation. That kind of fierce single-mindedness that he valued in himself when on the hunt.

It was a shame she considered herself in love with his friend, because otherwise he would have found the hunt of her intriguing. If she could look past his birth to know the man inside, which he knew full well she could not.

“Lord Carson.” Both men turned at the voice, which belonged to an older gentleman with a full head of white hair and a genial smile, the latter of which froze when he saw Edward.

The hair remained on his head, however.

“My lord,” Bennett replied, bowing. “Please allow me to introduce—” he began, only to be interrupted.

“I know who he is,” the man replied, his eyes narrowing. He glanced past Edward’s shoulder, clearly trying to quell the words that seemed to bubble on his lips. Edward glanced backward and saw—her.

“Lady Olivia, how delightful,” the lord said, his tone oozing charm and politeness, the epitome of aristocratic hypocrisy.

Edward felt his fists clench.

“Lord Smithton,” Lady Olivia replied, glancing from the lord to Bennett, looking as though she wished she were anywhere but here.

Her color was still high, but not flame red any longer. Merely a delightful pink. Her eyes were bright, but unless you knew, it would be impossible to guess she had been about to burst into tears only a few minutes earlier.

His estimation of her rose higher, even though she felt as this Lord Smithton did—that he was a bastard, unfit to be in their company.

“Lady Olivia,” Bennett said stiffly, bowing.

“My lord,” she replied. She spoke hastily, as though desperate to escape. He couldn’t blame her. “I didn’t mean to interrupt—I am actually trying to find my sister Lady Pearl. You haven’t seen her, have you?” she continued, her words coming quickly out of her mouth, her eyes darting around the room. He saw the strain of her smile. He knew how she felt, how much she wanted to be anyplace but here at this moment.

And she wouldn’t like what he was about to do, but it was better than forcing Bennett and her to stand together.

“My lady, we have not been formally introduced,” he began. Even though he had technically introduced himself, he couldn’t very well reference the circumstances under which they’d met. “I am Mr. Wolcott, and I would be pleased to help you find your sister.” He held his arm out for her, waiting a heart-stopping moment before she took it, placing her fingers on his sleeve. “If you will excuse us, gentlemen?” he said, stepping away from Bennett and the hypocrite, feeling the shush of her skirts against his legs.

But not before he heard Lord Smithton. “You cannot allow Lady Olivia to make that man’s acquaintance! I am appalled you . . .” And the rest of his words were lost as they walked out of earshot.

Her fingers tightened on his arm. “Thank you,” she said in a high voice. As though there was so much emotion curled inside her she couldn’t manage it. “For rescuing me even though I was so terrible.” She paused and glanced up at him, her expression curious. “Is everyone so unpleasant when they find out—” And she blushed again.

“That I’m a bastard?” Edward finished. “Yes.”

“I apologize, Mr. Wolcott,” she said in a low tone. “I should not have used that word.”

“But it’s true,” he replied, not knowing why he was arguing the point, but that somehow it took his mind off the sting of all the Lord Smithtons in the room, their disdainful sniffs and pointed looks a reminder that his heritage was not what theirs was. Even though his father was probably more of a real father to him than these legitimately born aristocrats who sent their children away as soon as was convenient. Even though he couldn’t give his son the benefit of his last name.

“It’s not right,” she said, so fiercely he would have sworn she’d thumped his chest with her words. “It’s not right, and I will not have it.” She raised her chin and looked around the room, a challenge in her gaze. As though she was his own Boadicea determined to fight.

It was endearing, even if it was unwarranted and likely to be fruitless. The only possible way he could ever be fully accepted into Society would be if Queen Victoria kissed him openmouthed in front of all the best families, and he didn’t think that would be happening. Even without the threat of a punch from Prince Albert.

But it wasn’t worth the bother of explaining it to her, the subtle ways people would indicate their displeasure at his presence, the insidious feelings of being less worthy than someone whose parents were married to one another.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Perhaps we should look for your sister?”

“Yes, but do not think I will forget, Mr. Wolcott,” she said, now looking directly at him. He blinked at how . . . intense her expression was, full of that fire and spark he’d noticed before, but now her anger was not, thankfully, directed at him.

“I could not imagine how I would possibly think that, my lady,” he said, beginning to walk her through the crowd again.

Oddly enough, he believed her, if only because of her burning fierceness. He had no doubt she would pick up his cause as she had that child’s on the London street.

“Oh, there she is,” Lady Olivia said in a grateful tone, walking more quickly now. She looked up at him, her face showing the strain of maintaining a cool façade. “I must go see her at once,” she continued, dipping into a curtsey. “Thank you for your help,” she murmured, before slipping away toward another young lady standing in the corner right near a large plant.

“You’re welcome,” Edward replied, but she was already out of earshot.

He shook his head, feeling as though he’d been blasted by some force of nature, and returned to where Bennett appeared to be under siege by older lords and desperate debutantes all at once.

“You did what?” Pearl asked, perched on the end of Olivia’s bed, her mouth dropped open.

“Don’t act so shocked. You’ve known me since I was born,” Olivia said, wanting to shift in her embarrassment, but forcing herself to stay still so Pearl wouldn’t know.

“I’m your twin—that makes sense,” Pearl replied in a dry tone of voice. “Though right now I am grateful we are not identical.”

Olivia waved her hand airily. “You know what I mean. Of course I was going to tell him how I felt. I thought he felt the same.” And she had, truly, until that moment when he’d told her, categorically, that he did not. She’d assumed he just hadn’t recognized his own feelings, but that when she showed hers to him he would reciprocate.

She was so terribly wrong. It hurt. It stung, even, a painful barb that felt lodged in her throat and her heart. She’d never felt so much agony before, but she wasn’t surprised it hadn’t flattened her entirely. That wasn’t who she was. She was not going to give up. She would just have to try harder.

She felt a stab of something on her leg and looked down to see one of the kittens, the one she’d started calling Snapper, trying to gnaw on her shin. Hence his name.

It was a remarkable coincidence that she was suffering from both actual and emotional pain.

She removed him carefully, placing him on the coverlet between her and Pearl, petting his head with her index finger. Wishing she could solve her emotional pain as easily.

One of the other kittens was in Pearl’s lap, while the two others were not visible, which probably meant they were under Olivia’s bed gnawing on her slippers.

“Did you really think he felt the same?” Pearl asked. “I mean, you might have wished he did, but did you see any indication?”

Her twin’s tone was soft and gentle, which only made Olivia more irritated.

“I thought that he did,” she said, looking down at hearing Snapper’s squeak of protest. Apparently she’d become too vigorous in her petting. “He always asks after me when he visits Eleanor. He danced with me twice last year, and there was that one time he brought me flowers from his garden.”

“He brought flowers to Eleanor too.” Pearl’s unsaid words—and he’s not pining after her either—hung in the air. Olivia felt her face heat. Did he not care for her, not at all?

And then it hit her, and she practically bounced on the bed. Snapper escaped her enthusiasm, darting off the bed and onto the floor with remarkably fluffy speed. “He might not love me now, but if I can just prove to him . . .” She let her words dangle as she thought it out.

“And the only way to do that is to prove that I would be an excellent wife, one who can assist him with whatever he needs help with. Perhaps help him with one of his projects or—” and then she sat straight up as the idea hit her “—I can help ease his friend’s way into Society.” She turned her head and looked at Pearl, who was regarding her with an expression that mixed fascination with suspicion, the same expression she had on her face every time Olivia took up a new project.

The only time she had not had it was when Olivia rescued the kittens.

“What friend?” Pearl asked slowly.

“Mr. Wolcott, he—” And then she wanted to squirm again, reminded of what had dropped out of her mouth when he’d popped up from the sofa. “His father is Mr. Beechcroft, the man who handles Father’s financial dealings. And I believe owns several factories and such up north. I saw how he was treated at the party. Lord Smithton practically ignored him.” She felt herself heat at the memory. Of how she’d promised to help him.

Pearl’s face looked confused, then cleared as she realized what Olivia had said. “He is not Mr. Beechcroft’s—?” she began, then shook her head and bit her lip, still staring at Olivia.

“He is Mr. Beechcroft’s natural son. And I believe his heir as well. His father is likely one of the richest men in London, if not England, and that is why his presence is tolerated. But just barely.” Her words came out more rapidly as she considered it. “It is not his fault he was born as he was, and it is our duty—or more accurately my duty—to make certain that everyone accepts him as they should.”

Pearl shook her head. “He’s not just another one of your causes, solved by the donation of some garments or funds. He’s a person. He might not want you to make him into a project.”

“Oh, but don’t you see?” Olivia edged forward on the bed to get closer to her twin. Although she knew from long experience that proximity wouldn’t necessarily convince Pearl about anything; there had been one time Olivia had climbed on top of her sister and Pearl had still refused to agree to whatever it was that Olivia was saying.

But perhaps one day Olivia would be surprised.

“This project, as you call it so accurately, will not only help poor Mr. Wolcott, but will also prove to Bennett—Lord Carson, that is—that I am a forceful, forthright woman who can accomplish many things.”

“I don’t think he has ever doubted that,” Pearl said in an odd tone. As though she were stifling a laugh. Even though Olivia hadn’t told a joke for twelve years. There were more important things to do than tell jokes, after all.

“Perhaps not,” she replied. “But after I prove this to him, he’s going to have to realize he loves me after all.” It had to be that Lord Carson just didn’t know his own mind.

It was such a wonderful idea she wasn’t going to wait for Pearl’s approval. Even though she did want it.

“So . . . what do you think?” she asked, smiling brightly at her twin.

Pearl stared back at Olivia. “You don’t want me to say what I think.” She shook her head. “You never want me to say what I think. You only want me to say that I think what you think. And that’s not what I think at all.” Her words spilled out in a rush, their tone imbued with a frustration Olivia had never heard from her twin before.

“It’s a good idea, though,” she pressed.

Pearl rolled her eyes. Not the response Olivia wanted. “I won’t say it is. I will say you should be careful. These are men you are dealing with, not unfed orphans or gentlewomen who just need a bit of embroidery to brighten their day.” And then she definitely rolled her eyes even harder. “Or—or kittens,” she finished, hoisting one of the four, probably Scamp, up from the floor.

“I will be fine. And when I am Lady Carson, you can come live with me and you’ll be able to do whatever you like.”

Pearl’s lips drew into a thin line. “Are you saying you don’t think I will get married? That I won’t have my own life?”

Oh dear, how did she always say the wrong thing? “No, that’s not what I mean at all.” She didn’t think, she just spoke. “It’s just that I thought I would be the first one to get married out of the two of us, because you’re not . . .” She paused, trying to think of the right word.

“Never mind,” Pearl said in a weary tone. “Go ahead and do what you want to. It’s not as though I can change your mind.” She glanced at Scamp, who was kneading her gown with two tiny paws. “As long as you also make it a project to find a home for these kittens.” She pinned Olivia with a hard stare.

Olivia’s heart hurt to think about it. “All of them? Surely not Scamp. Or Snapper. Or—or Mr. Whiskers,” she added, even though they had only chosen two names since they knew naming all four would mean it would be harder to let them go.

Although perhaps she would present one of them to Bennett—he was certain to welcome it gladly, and he’d be reminded of her every time he saw it.

Another excellent idea.

“Mr. Whiskers?” Pearl shook her head, then glanced down at the kitten in her lap, her expression softening. “Fine, we can discuss that. Get Mr. Wolcott accepted by Society and then we can decide what to do with these little love bugs.” She lowered her head to rub her nose in Scamp’s fur.

“It’s a plan,” Olivia said. Now she just had to figure out how to get Mr. Wolcott accepted while at the same time ensuring Bennett recognized her efforts.

It would be just like any of her other projects. Starting with her goal, then working out the steps until she achieved what she wanted.