“Now that he’s available,” said the young lady’s friend, “I, for one, will send as many sultry looks over my fan at Almack’s as it takes for him to notice me.”
“Do that,” said another. “I’m going to sneak into his theatre box at the next performance. I needn’t even swoon into his arms. My presence will be enough to stake my claim.”
“Diabolical,” murmured her friend, impressed.
At the moment the only woman who held his attention was Chloe. Her chest fluttered. She still couldn’t believe she’d spent the night in his arms. And that he’d invited her to do it again tonight.
Gracie rushed through the open door out of breath, her cheeks chapped from the wind. “I’m here, I’m here!”
“Finally,” called one of her friends. “The book bacchanalia can begin.”
“All right, ladies.” Philippa clapped her hands together. “Please take your chairs. It’s time forEvelina.”
Everyone scrambled for the best seats—where there was more light, or next to a bosom friend. Chloe hurried to the one in the corner, the one Lawrence had found for her because it was out of the range of the Yorks’ many decorative mirrors.
Gracie reached the chair when Chloe was still two yards away.
She paused, indecisive. Tossing a magistrate’s daughter out of an armchair would not help her to be accepted by the group.
“Gracie,” Philippa said. “Not there. That’s Chloe’s chair. If you’d arrive on time once in a while, you could claim a different one for yourself. Go sit by Lady Eunice so we can begin.”
That’s Chloe’s chair.
Her head swam.
Chloe’s chair.
“Apologies,” Gracie giggled, and rushed off to join Lady Eunice.
Chloe sank into her chair with weak knees. Never had the mahogany seemed so sturdy, the velvet so soft and welcoming, the view so perfect. This washerchair. Her place. Her personal slice of “us.”
Her head swam at the new sensations.
“Who’s going to Mrs. Ipsley’s tonight?” Gracie asked, as if she had not heard Philippa call the reading circle to order.
Everyone began speaking at once. It seemed Mrs. Ipsley was hosting “just a small gathering” to which everyone who was anyone had apparently been invited.
“We’re all going,” Florentia crowed in delight. “I should have known.”
Chloe hugged herself as if she didn’t care.
“I’m not.” It was a small voice, but she had found one. “I wasn’t invited.”
“What?” Lady Eunice pressed a hand to her bosom as if in genuine shock that Mrs. Ipsley could make such an omission. “Your invitation must have been lost.”
“It wasn’t lost,” Chloe mumbled. “It was never coming. I’m a Wynchester.”
“Bah,” Gracie said. “The older generation might care about such things—”
“Patronesses…” Philippa agreed. “My mother…”
“—butweobviously do not,” Gracie finished. “It’s 1817, for heaven’s sake. We’re modern women.”
Lady Eunice nodded. “I’ll call on Mrs. Ipsley as soon as I leave here. Your invitation will be on your mantel by the time you arrive home.”
Florentia smiled wickedly. “A party isn’t a party without the entire Ladies of Lusty Literature Book Coven.”
“We haven’t aname,” Philippa protested in mock horror.
