"Nonsense. The raw material was always there. I merely provided the polish."
Estella smiled. But she understood the duchess better now, after hearing her story about Lydia, whose life had been ruined by a silver-tongued devil who’d shown his true colors. The duchess’s motivations made much more sense. She was not cold and calculating, but a woman who had failed to save her sister and had channeled that failure into something useful.
"You know," Estella said carefully, "I've been thinking."
"A dangerous pastime," the duchess shot back.
"About what you've done for me this Season," Estella continued. "The introductions, the guidance, the…well, the education. In reading people. In trusting my own judgment."
The duchess raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"I no longer need it," Estella said. "Your protection, I mean. I have Sebastian, and I have my own eyes. And thanks to you, I know how to use them." She paused. "But there are others who do need it. Young women arriving in London every Season without anyone to warn them about the Fairchilds of the world."
The duchess's gaze sharpened. "What are you suggesting, Miss Hale?"
"I'm suggesting that what you did for me…you could do again. For someone else. And then, perhaps…maybe even someone after that." She let the idea sit between them.
The duchess looked into the distance, then sighed. "The ton keeps its young ladies so sheltered they can hardly navigate a drawing room, let alone spot a wolf in evening dress. Someone ought to prepare them."
Estella could almost see the thought taking root as the duchess continued to peruse the crowd. To Estella’s surprise, the duchess’s gaze moved from the ballroom at large to the seat beside her where Thea sat. She didn’t seem to be paying attention to their conversation, however, as she was sneakily peeking at the open book in her lap.
"An unofficial education," the duchess murmured. "In matters the governesses neglect."
Estella nodded. "Exactly."
"It would require the right candidates. Young women with potential who lack protection. And the right..." The duchess paused, and something almost mischievous crossed her features. "Tutors."
"Tutors?" Estella felt a pang of apprehension at the look in the other woman’s eyes.
"One learns best from experience, don't you think? If I wanted to inoculate a young woman against charming rakes, the most efficient method would be to introduce her to one. Under controlled conditions, of course." Her lips curved. "So she recognizes it in the wild."
Estella stared at her. "You're suggesting you'd pair debutantes with rakes? On purpose?"
"I'm suggesting nothing. I'm merely thinking aloud." But the duchess's eyes were bright with amusement at the idea. "It would take careful selection. The right young women. The right men. Reformed enough to be useful, charming enough to be convincing."
"That sounds…" Estella searched for the word. "Extraordinarily risky."
"All the best ideas are." The duchess nodded in Thea’s direction. "But take Miss Evermore. One and twenty, unmarried, no family looking after her." Thea still didn't look up. Apparently she was unaware she was the subject of conversation. The duchess shook her head and turned back to Estella. "The girl is wandering London unchaperoned with a book and a complete disregard for social convention." She took a sip of champagne. "It will not do."
Estella followed her gaze. She felt compelled to protest on her friend's behalf. "She seems to be able to take care of herself."
Though the words fell flat when they both realized that the lady in question was so distracted by her book, she didn’t even realize they were talking about her.
"Mm. That's what they all say." The duchess set her glass down. "Until they can't."
Before Estella could respond, a shadow fell across her chair. She knew who it was before she looked up. She always knew.
"Miss Hale." Sebastian stood beside her, and the formality of his address was undercut entirely by the way he was looking at her. "Might I have this dance?"
"You might." She took his offered hand and let him draw her to her feet.
They took the floor for another waltz. His hand settled on her waist. Hers rested on his shoulder. And they moved together with ease.
"You're staring," she said.
"You're beautiful."
"That's not what you said the first time."
