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Lady Regina focused on Livie with round eyes as hard as cobblestones. “Your insult was particularly noteworthy, given that you yourself are named after a vegetable.”

“Actually, olives are fruit,” Livie said, before she could stop herself.

“And you,” Lady Regina said, looking at Daisy, “are presumably named after a favorite parlor maid.”

“I was named after my grandmother,” Daisy whispered.

“The earl shan’t dance with either of you again. The real question is whether any eligible gentleman should dance with you.” The menace in Lady Regina’s voice was undisguised.

Livie could feel herself turning pale.

“I doubt anyone will be overcome by rapturous wonder glimpsing either of you across the ballroom. Oh wait, I forgot.” The lady’s lips curled in distaste. “You, Miss Tyron, find your cousin ‘pretty,’ do you not? Perhaps short and fat will be in style someday. Though it might be more accurate to say short, fat, and unkempt.”

Daisy visibly wilted as a wave of anger ripped through Livie. Daisy may not be as polished as Lady Regina, but then, who was? The lady was as flawless as a China statue, but Daisy had her own kind of beauty. Now Livie’s most darling friend in the world looked stricken, stripped of her joyful sparkle.

“My cousin is beautiful,” Livie declared.

Lady Regina smirked. “Taste is so telling, is it not? I have always found that those of inferior rank are disposed to upstart claims of beauty.”

“Yet everyone finds unkindness ugly,” Livie retorted. She found Daisy’s hand and turned to go. “Goodbye, Lady Regina.”

She had just pushed Daisy through the door when she heard a hiss.

“You dare.”

Reluctantly, Livie turned around.

CHAPTER TWO

MEAN GIRLS … OR TOADS?

Livie made sure the door swung shut behind Daisy before she replied. “Did you speak, Lady Regina?”

The lady shifted her diamond ring again. “I was considering how wearisome it is to see young women fluffing their feathers and shaking their tails at men who would never consider them for marriage. Your father, I believe, makes a living on a boat?”

“My father, Captain Sir Franklin Tyron, is the commander of His Majesty’s Royal Oak,” Livie said proudly.

“As I said, he makes his living on a boat.” Lady Regina walked past Livie, pushing open the door and leaving without another word.

Livie pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. Society dictated that everyone must display fawning obsequiousness to that horrid woman. Her aunt, Lady Wharton, would be mortified by the fact that Livie had made an enemy of Lady Regina—but she would understand once Livie described the exchange.

Made his living on a boat?

Her father was not only a member of the aristocracy—albeit a third son—but he had also received a commendation for service. Under her father’s command, the Royal Oak had become one of His Majesty’s most prized vessels, instrumental in fighting off the French.

Lady Regina was a toad.

Livie absolutely refused to respect such an insolent person. She shook off her embarrassment, straightened her backbone, and returned to the ballroom where she found her aunt waiting.

“Livie, you must stay within my view,” Lady Wharton hissed, as she drew forward a gentleman. “Lord Devin, I am happy to introduce you to my niece, Miss Olive Tyron.”

Livie curtsied, then accepted the gentleman’s hand. He had an open, cheerful face, as dissimilar to Lady Regina’s as could be imagined.

“Are you enjoying the Season so far?” he inquired, as they waited their turn to process through the steps of a quadrille.

“Most of it,” Livie confided.

“I have four sisters,” Lord Devin said. “Did some fellow give you a pinch? I’ll have him thrown out, since your father isn’t here to do it for you. Commander of the Royal Oak, isn’t he? You must be terrifically proud.”