For the first time, venturing into the streets of London on her own didn't feel like an adventure. It felt terrifying, and even in the confines of the hired hack, Blythe had to curl her hands into fists to stop herself from shaking.

Stop being such a little coward. You've been in much worse situations than this. You weren't hurt. Everything is fine.

Still, she couldn't get away from the skin-crawling feeling of having someone in her private space, a space that no one had ever come into unwelcome. The driver of the hack had given her a strange look when he'd helped her in. He knew the address he was picking her up from and the one where she was going were expensive ones, and she imagined that in her drabs, she hardly looked like a Society girl out for a night on the town. There was one hairy moment when she thought the majordomo would deny her entry entirely, but then he recognized her, looking over her outfit with ill-disguised shock.

"It has been a rather terrible night," she said, trying to smile. "Perhaps I should not be announced?"

He agreed and tactfully suggested that she go to one of the smaller drawing rooms to compose herself, but she shook her head. She was still buoyed up by the need to find Tristan and tell him what had happened. In a way, it was the pattern of a lifetime. He had always been protective of her, and she knew he would know what to do.

She weaved her way through the crowd, ignoring the looks she was getting and searching out her cousin. It shouldn't have been so difficult. Tristan was a tall man and handsome as well. He had a title and one of the greatest fortunes in London, and he should have been in one of the knots of people who congregated around the edge of the dancers. Instead, every time she thought she saw him, it turned out she was mistaken, and she started to feel a little desperate.

Just as she was afraid that she had somehow gotten the wrong party, or that he had left while she was arriving, she saw him at the rear of the party, close to the musicians' balcony.

"Tristan!"

Blythe was so overwrought that Tristan's name came out much louder than she thought it would. Several heads turned as she started to make her way to him. To her relief, he heard her as well and started to walk toward her.

Blythe thought she was going to collapse in relief when he reached her, but then two things happened at once. The first was that Tristan absolutely reeked of champagne, and the second was feeling his iron-hard hand clamping over her elbow.

"You told me that you had a headache."

She stared at him because, in her current state, she could barely remember the fib she had told him to get out of coming to this very event.

Tristan looked her up and down in confusion. "Why are you dressed like that? What do you mean to do by coming here?"

"Tristan, I—"

"Unbelievable," he growled, shaking his head. "Are you seriously so deranged that you are trying to defy me and destroy your chances of making a match here? Is that your plan?"

Blythe was unable to stop the words from popping past her lips. "Is it working?"

For a moment, she genuinely thought that Tristan was going to slap her. Instead, he looked at her grimly, shaking his head. "We are going to speak about this when we are back at the house. Right now, we are leaving."

He turned for the door, apparently prepared to drag her off, but then a rotund man in formal dress clapped him on the shoulder. "Parrington! It's about time I've found you. Trust that Martin girl to make a scene, eh? But now that I've found you, I must have a few words with you about steel in the New World. Hope you'll excuse me, miss, this is dashed important talk. I'll only keep him for a short amount of time."

"Oh, it's fine," Blythe said even as Tristan shot her a look.

"Wait for me at the front of the house," he said. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Tristan was swept away by the man with the steel questions, and honestly, Blythe could not tell if she was upset or grateful. She was surprised by Tristan's temper and lack of concern. It was hard to give up the habit of a lifetime of love and familiarity, but she grimly thought she had better learn to do it soon.

Abruptly, Blythe realized that she was alone in the middle of the gala and that everyone was looking at her. Some of them kept it subtler than others, but there were at least a few Society women who were outright staring at her and speaking to their friends, their eyes still trained on her undressed hair, her gray gown, and her rather tattered brown wrap. She looked like a pigeon among the peacocks, and Blythe wanted to fall through a hole in the floor.

This is ridiculous. None of this matters a whit. You've stood up to bullymen, you've walked through Seven Dials past midnight... you cannot be afraid and upset by this!

However, could and should were two very different things. Head and shoulders drooping, Blythe started for the front of the house. She wasn't looking where she was going, and almost as if the evening was designed to be utterly humiliating, she ran flat into Lord Cottering.

He halted her with a hand on her elbow. “Miss Dennings, are you all right? You look like a cat dunked in water.”

“No, it's fine, it's fine.”

She thought he would let her go, but instead, he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief.

“Here, it's scented with oil of lavender, and it'll steady your nerves. Some fresh air should help. If you step this way, we can head out to the garden for just a moment...”

Blythe tried to tell Lord Cottering that Tristan was expecting her, but that only made her feel worse rather than better. She was dreadfully certain she was going to simply break down into sobs and soil his handkerchief beyond repair when a bright voice cut through the chatter.

"Oh, my goodness, Miss Blythe, there you are! I've been looking everywhere for you."

Blythe's head shot up because that was a voice she only recognized a little, and yet it was greeting her with all the warmth of the sun.

Lord Cottering's hand tightened on her elbow for a moment, and then loosened. She wryly thought that he must be as aware of the Martin-Carrow feud as was everyone else in the room, and she smiled at him wryly to let him know that Georgiana was, if not a friend, at least not a foe.

"Oh, darling, I am so sorry, I did not expect you to take our bet so very seriously." There was surely no woman there as beautiful as Georgiana Martin, dressed in a blue gown that matched her eyes and with a stunning set of sapphires around her throat. She shone like gold, and for some reason, she was dropping an arm around Blythe's shoulders as if they had been friends from the schoolroom.

"Lady Georgiana?"

"Oh, Miss Dennings, surely you may call me Georgiana now, after all we have been through. And I'm so, so sorry, I did not expect you to be so very honest." Georgiana winked at the room around them as if letting all of them in on a fabulous joke. "Miss Dennings came to see me a few days ago, and she wanted me to give to the charity that she is supporting. Which one was it again, darling?"

It took Blythe a moment to realize that Georgiana was expecting an answer. "Oh, uh, that must have been the Ladies’ Coalition for Increased Child Welfare."

"That's exactly right! And I am afraid that as out of sorts as I was, I would only give her the donation if she came to a ball dressed as a little dish scrubber, and well. You see."

"Goodness, Georgiana, to be so out of sorts that you won't give to charity," said a disapproving matron.

Georgiana shrugged gaily. "I was probably going to give her the money no matter what she did. It does sound like a good cause, doesn't it, Lady Reid? But now I certainly will, and I must remember to keep a rein on my tongue in the future."

It was a good thing that all eyes were on Georgiana then, because Blythe was staring at her as well. Georgiana might get a little censure for taking advantage of the gullibility of a missionary girl, but she had neatly absorbed all of the snickers and cattiness directed at Blythe. Standing under Georgiana's arm, Blythe felt as if a cloak had dropped over her, shielding her from hurtful eyes and scathing comments.

Georgiana was so good at social distractions and fast talk that Blythe barely noticed she was being led away until they'd crossed into the hall running adjacent to the ballroom. At some point, they had shaken Lord Cottering entirely, even if she still had his handkerchief. Two servants carrying trays laden with food walked by quickly.

Blythe looked around. "Where are we going?"

"I grew up with Christina, Lady Gorsing's daughter. Christina is living like a queen in Barbados now, but I still know my way around the Gorsing's London home. Ah, here we are."

Georgiana opened a door to reveal a small drawing room, far homier and more inviting than the Gorsing's ballroom. Blythe entered with relief, and Georgiana closed the door after them.

"Why did you do that for me? I mean, I am grateful, but you don't know me at all."

Blythe sat down on the green velvet chaise. Instead of taking a seat opposite her, Georgiana stayed standing and paced a little, going to poke at the banked coals in the drawing room hearth.

"I suppose I thought it might balance the scales a bit. I started the evening drenching a Carrow in champagne; I might as well end trying to help another one."

"I'm a Dennings, not really a Carrow, but... wait, were you the reason why Tristan stunk to high heaven of champagne?"

Georgiana shot her a rueful look. "I'm afraid that was me."

"Goodness, no wonder he looked so murderous. Well, I'm sure he deserved it."

Georgiana cocked an elegant dark eyebrow at her. "Vicious little thing, aren't you? Are you sure you're a Carrow and not a Martin?"

"Believe me, the observation has been made. And... thank you. For what you did in there."

"As I said, I thought I should balance the scales before I get struck down by lightning, and I've never liked it when Society turns on a dime and devours someone."

Blythe shuddered. "That's a grim way of looking at it."

"Practical, though, I know that I am on top now, and I am even mean enough to enjoy it, but I know that is the fate waiting every woman who steps too far out of line."

Georgiana was right, but Blythe hated her calm acceptance of it. This was why she had wanted to get away, to have adventures in a world where none of this mattered, where you couldn't destroy your life by wearing the wrong kind of dress.

"I should get back to the front of the house. Tristan is expecting me to be there when he is done with his talk.”

"What his grace the Duke of Parrington expects and does not expect is of no concern to me," Georgiana said with a toss of her head. "I happen to think that you are very interesting, and I wanted to make sure you were all right. You looked like you were on the verge of tears a few times out there. If I were you, I would not leave until those tears are well under control.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Blythe was shocked that a lady like Georgiana ever had to worry about tears in public places, but it was good advice. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. She was almost feeling herself again when Georgiana took her hands.

"Poor dear."

For some reason, that little bit of sympathy in what had honestly been a terrible night made something inside her crack. Tears welled up in her eyes and started to fall. In shock and horror, Blythe's hands went up to her eyes to scrub the tears away. Then Georgiana was sitting next to Blythe, wrapping her arms around her.

Blythe started to cry in earnest, burying her face in Georgiana's neck. The woman was a near-stranger, and Blythe couldn't help soaking her shoulder with tears.

"I thought I saw you come in... Blythe!"

For a moment, she was afraid that it was Tristan. Somewhere in the back of her head, Blythe still thought her cousin was going to swoop in and make everything all right, as opposed to whatever he was doing now. At the same time, she had been burned so often and harshly by Tristan lately that she actually flinched.

Then Blythe realized that it wasn't Tristan at all. Instead, it was Thomas, and a new kind of warmth swept through her. Without thinking of propriety or where they were, she pushed off the chaise and launched herself at Thomas, who folded her in his arms as if he were made to do it.

"Oh, poor little angel. Georgiana, what have you been doing?"

"Don't look at me. I got her out of the ballroom before the fine ladies of London Society turned her into a pincushion with their barbs."

Blythe knew she was behaving abominably. She had to go meet Tristan, to tell him about the man who had invaded their home. However, the idea of going to meet her cousin now felt like pouring salt over fresh wounds. She couldn't stand it, not when Thomas was there and guiding her back to the chaise.

"I heard that there was some kind of commotion going on between you and Parrington, Georgiana. Are you all right?"

"I am fine, of course. I always am. We should probably look after this little Carrow instead of worrying about what high and mighty Tristan is doing."

"I'm not really a Carrow." Blythe's voice was muffled, her face still buried in Thomas’ formal jacket. She didn't think she'd be moving away until she absolutely had to.

"No, not much of a Carrow at all." Thomas’ voice was soft and comforting. "Will you tell me and Georgiana what happened, angel? It must have been something bad for you to come in like this."

Blythe hesitated. She needed to tell this to Tristan, whose house it was, who was her guardian, and who, after all, had a right to know. The temptation to talk about what had happened to two such comforting people, however, overwhelmed her.

"I was in my room, and I heard a step I didn't recognize..."

Quickly, she outlined what had happened, and by the time she'd finished, Georgiana looked alarmed and Thomas grim.

"Georgiana, do you think it would be appropriate for you to keep Blythe at our residence tonight? I can make it known that I'll be keeping rooms at the White Hart Inn, all very civil and dignified."

Georgiana frowned at him. "What are you thinking, Thomas?"

"Nothing much, but I'll admit that this all sounds terrible, and I don't want Blythe to be alone tonight."

Blythe lifted her head from his jacket at last, looking between the two Martins. "Don't I get a say in this?"

Georgiana chuckled. "Good for you, darling. Martins like their way best, and we can get a little carried away when we're occupied."

"Of course, you have a say, Blythe. But... do you really want to go home tonight?"

Blythe shivered. She thought of sleeping on the bed she had hidden under just a few short hours ago. She thought of lying awake beneath the covers, hoping she didn't hear a strange step in the hall, or of hearing every small sound in the night and thinking it was someone trying to get in.

"No. Not really."

"Good. Then you and Georgiana are going to be best friends who are looking to spend some time together. Perhaps you have plans to go shopping together in the morning."

Georgiana looked at Thomas, a curious expression in her beautiful blue eyes. "Soon, brother, I will want some questions answered."

"And you know I will do my best to answer them. For now, let's just get Blythe home."

---