Fiona’s look was that of an angel. “They would have to prove we did it.”
Clearly fighting a smile, Charlie asked, “What about Sally? Surely she had to know.”
“She retaliated by labeling us the ‘Willflowers.’” Glory shrugged. “She meant the moniker to be derisive, but we could not have come up with a better name for ourselves.”
“Besides, we had to see justice done,” Livy said. “It was the principle of the thing.”
“How splendid.” Charlie beamed at them as if they were her star pupils. “You Willflowers are everything I had hoped you would be and more.”
“You seem to know a lot about us.” Livy narrowed her gaze. “And yet we know little about you or your charity.”
Fiona, the Society expert, had managed to dig up a few facts about Charlie from Debrett’s, scandal rags, and general gossip. Charlie had been born and raised abroad by her father, a gentleman scholar. Little was known about her until her marriage to the Marquess of Fayne. Even then, the Faynes had lived a private life abroad; after Fayne’s death, his title had gone to a distant relative, and Charlie had apparently travelled extensively before settling in London.
She was rich, her reputation spotless. Men vied for her hand, but she showed no interest in marriage or dalliances. She appeared to be as she presented herself: an independent widow in her prime, with the power and propensity to live life on her own terms.
“For the right ladies, the Society of Angels will offer adventure, purpose, and the opportunity to develop their strengths to the fullest,” Charlie said. “All while serving the greater good and seeing justice done. I, myself, will take on the role of mentor and guide, training my charges in a range of exciting and unusual skills.” She looked at Livy, a twinkle in her eyes. “I can promise no needlework will be involved.”
How does she know that I hate needlework? Livy wondered. What precisely is Charlie’s background to qualify her to be our mentor? And, more importantly…did she say exciting and unusual skills?
“That sounds capital to me,” Glory declared. “When can we enlist?”
“As to that, there is a final test,” Charlie replied.
Glory’s brow pleated. “There’s a test?”
“I think we’ve already been tested,” Livy said. “Twice, if I’m not mistaken.”
Nodding slowly, Glory said, “The riddle at the Hunt Academy. What was the other one?”
Livy looked at Charlie. “Getting here unchaperoned, I presume?”
“Very good,” Charlie said appreciatively. “From the moment we met, I had an intuition that the three of you would be a perfect fit with the Society of Angels. I do hope I am right.”
“If evading chaperonage is the bar you set, then our success is guaranteed,” Fi said airily.
“I’m afraid the last trial is not quite that simple.” Picking up her tea, Charlie took a sip.
“You are planning to attend the Edgecombes’ masquerade?”
The Earl and Countess of Edgecombe’s masquerade was one of the biggest events left in the Season, the coveted invitations issued only to the crème de la crème. The Willflowers were going and had even coordinated their costumes.
“Yes.” Livy canted her head. “Will the last test take place there?”
Charlie’s lips curved above the rim of her cup. “Indeed.”
9
That Friday evening, Livy stood by a row of potted palms with Glory and Fi, taking in the glittering masquerade. Guests wore elaborate costumes in every hue, their jewels and ornaments sparkling beneath three enormous chandeliers. The mirrored walls amplified the sea of bodies and the whirl of the dancers over the parqueted floor. The strains of the orchestra could scarcely be heard above the gaiety of the crowd.
Livy’s heart thumped with anticipation, but not because of the ball.
Because of the mission.
“Is it time?” she said under her breath.
“Be patient,” Glory whispered back. “When their favorite waltz plays, Mama and Papa will dance, leaving us under the watch of Aunt Hypatia.” She slid a look at their three chaperones, who were nearby chatting with guests. “Fi and I will keep Aunt Patty distracted, and that is when you make your move.”
Through a bit of maneuvering, the Willflowers had managed to whittle their chaperonage down to one set of parents and an aunt. Glory had mentioned to her mama that the other girls’ parents were tired from social demands. This was based in truth: Livy had overheard Papa say to Mama that he would enjoy a quiet evening at home. Ever the sympathetic soul, Glory’s mother had volunteered to take all the girls to the masquerade, and Livy and Fi’s parents had accepted, offering to return the favor in the future.
The fewer chaperones the better when it came to Charlie’s final challenge: to retrieve a diary from the Earl of Edgecombe’s study. According to Charlie, Edgecombe had stolen the diary from a young governess named Marie Jardine and was using its contents to blackmail her into having an affair with him.
The despicable blackguard, Livy thought indignantly.
It had taken all of her willpower to be civil to Edgecombe at the receiving line. On the surface, he was a handsome man with auburn hair and patrician features, yet his predatory behavior made Livy’s skin crawl. When he’d run a smirking gaze over her, calling her a “pretty chit,” she’d wanted to growl at him. It had fueled her resolve to recover Miss Jardine’s diary.
A smooth male voice cut into Livy’s thoughts. “Ah, if it is not The Three Graces.”
She turned to see Lord Ian Sheffield making an elegant leg to her and the Willflowers. He was dressed as a courtier from another century, his guinea-bright hair hidden beneath a powdered wig, his fit figure garbed in blue velvet, lace cascading at his collar and cuffs. After exchanging niceties with Glory’s parents, Sheffield turned to Livy.
“Allow me to guess,” he said with a charming smile. “You are Aglaea, the Grace of Beauty?”
Botheration, did all my costume planning go to waste?
Livy and her friends were wearing matching gold demi-masks, white sleeveless robes that fell in a straight
