July 1808.
London.

Eveline Parish was engaged in battle, and she was losing. Alone and defenseless, she faced her four rivals as they closed in on her at the edge of Lady Harrington's ballroom. Despite her calculated attempts at playing the wallflower, with her second-hand gown of muted sage green, and her continued refusal to engage with any of the ball's attendants, they still came for her.

Lady Cassandra Carlisle —née Batten— and her cronies must be miserable, Eveline thought, if all they can do at these fetes is torment helpless women. Helpless like me, she added with bitterness. She straightened herself, took a deep breath to quell the tremor in her hands and said, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, my lady."

The ghastly woman was all but licking her lips at Eveline's desperate rebuttal. "Why, Miss Parish, do let's be honest with each other. No need to be shy, I assure you. So, is this indeed the same gown Miss Stone wore when she visited my sister last Season?" Around her, Lady Cassandra's friends were snickering openly, not even bothering to disguise their mockery.

Eveline seethed. Of course it was the same gown, and the witch knew it. But to call attention to the fact —and to what it said about Eveline's situation - was a gross breach of propriety, even for one such as Lady Cassandra. Unfortunately, since she’d reentered society several months earlier, Eveline quickly discovered that marriage to a peer of the realm tended to make one almost untouchable. Still, there were a few —very few— advantages to being all but a pariah.

"My lady, you know how these fashions come and go," Eveline evaded as smoothly as she could before delivering her own verbal assault. "Speaking of fashion, allow me to complement you on your exquisite earrings." Bemused, Lady Cassandra touched the strings of ruby and gold that almost reached her shoulders. "They must be the height of fashion, indeed, for I could've sworn I saw a necklace almost matching
them on Lady Windle not a week ago."

Lady Cassandra gasped and her face flushed with rage. Eveline couldn't help but enjoy the grim satisfaction of seeing how well her jab hit home. It was common knowledge that Lord Carlisle and the widowed Lady Windle were lovers.

As Lady Cassandra and her friends reeled from Eveline's unexpected attack, she went for the killing blow: "You are a fortunate woman indeed, my lady, to elicit such singular devotion from your husband. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe my cousin is requesting my presence."

Moving as quickly as she could without running, Eveline moved away from the four harpies and searched a safe harbor where she could avoid their wrath a bit longer. Oh, there would be horrible repercussions to those actions. She had no doubt she would pay dearly in the coming weeks for her words, but right then, Eveline didn't care.

After three years of near solitude and another year of grueling attempts to reenter society, she needed that victory. She had lost so much in the past four years. In fact, she could hardly remember a time when she didn't feel defeated.

Her eyes darted around the crowd in the ballroom. Wherever had her cousins gone? Like every year, the Harrington Ball was overcrowded and attended by London's most distinguished families. In truth, Eveline knew she didn't belong there, and if she was completely honest with herself, neither did her family. It was only because of her uncle Elias's close friendship with the Earl of Hartfield that the Stones were allowed entrance to such events. She knew that, as the poor relation, she was barely tolerated.

Guilt rushed through her at that last thought. It was unfair to refer to herself so harshly when her dear family had always gone out of its way to make her feel valued and loved. Her uncle Elias, Noel, and especially Hannah had been nothing but kind and supportive, even when society turned on her. Eveline knew that four years ago, when the scandal broke out, Sir Elias could just as easily have been excluded from
good society as she was. It was only with the late Lord Hartfield's intervention and influence that she didn't lose her place completely. Still, the pain and horror of that time froze her blood when she recalled it.

She shivered as if her blood really was turning to ice. In the sea of faces floating in the ballroom, she couldn’t find Hannah's or Noel's. Not one friendly gaze met hers as she made her way to a drawing room while fighting the growing panic in her chest. Distracted, she turned the corner into the room too quickly and crashed into another person. She tried to veer away but lost her balance, then her stomach lurched
as she tripped and fell. Suddenly, two strong arms grabbed her shoulders, and she was staring into startled jade-green eyes.

***

As far as Rob was concerned, Lady Harrington's seasonal ball had been a trial of endurance. Not only was it unbearably crowded, but he found that the need to exchange pleasantries and mundane talk with so many people ran him ragged. Every new interaction included the speaker's deepest condolences, awkwardly mixed with congratulations on his ascent to the title of Earl of Hartfield. Rob had to bow and smile, dodge unwanted inquiries from mercenary mamas and their doe-eyed daughters, and worst of all, act as if his father's death not six months ago wasn't a gaping wound bleeding him dry.

At least his mother had some peace in her mourning. Being an earl, he did not have the luxury of excluding himself from society to address his grief. It was expected of him to attend these events and begin his hunt for a suitable wife —a ridiculous notion if there ever was one. Any dreams he once held of a love match were dashed by Cassandra years ago. The thought of her still left a bitter taste in his mouth. Why, he was barely a month in Madras when her letter arrived, announcing her sudden attachment to the Marquess of Carlisle. She informed him they’d fallen in love and wished to marry. Apparently, Rob scoffed to himself, the fact the man was thirty years her senior and deaf as a doorpost didn't hinder her tender emotions. More likely, though, it was the elevated title and fortune that accompanied the marquess. Rob had no choice but to release her from their engagement. However, the memory of her dismissal of him stung deeply. After all, he’d fancied himself in love.

The only ray of light in this dismal evening was the presence of the Stone family. After such a long time apart from his friends, it was a balm to his soul to be with Sir Elias, Noel and Hannah once more. With them he could find respite, albeit momentary, from society's ceaseless demands. In fact, he was searching for Noel when he crossed the drawing room towards the ballroom. His progress was halted, however, by the headlong rush of a young woman whose downcast eyes prevented her from anticipating their collision. Rob winced as she ran into his torso and stepped on his toe. Then, as she lost her balance and was about to fall flat on the floor, his instincts took over. He steadied her into an upright position, and as she lifted her eyes, he saw shock and embarrassment flash across them. But it was her face that made him pause and take a step back, confused. For he knew this woman's face —but couldn't fathom the changes in it.

In front of him stood Eveline Parish, the very same Miss Parish with whom he’d danced so many years ago. Nevertheless, there was something very wrong with the lady's countenance, and he couldn't yet account for it.

Realizing she was still slightly rattled from their sudden contact, Rob made an attempt at civility. "I deeply apologize for my clumsiness, madam. I must've been woolgathering when I ran into you so rudely."

Miss Parish looked back at him with a curious expression, as if she was unsure of his intention. Then, straightening her back and composing her face into a cold mask of politeness, she replied, "Do not apologize, my lord, for clearly I was the one in the wrong. I hope you are unhurt."

"Not at all," Rob said, as he shifted his weight from his throbbing toe. He waited for a sign of recognition from Miss Parish, any indication that she knew who he was, apart from the formal "my lord" she threw his way. A bit unsettled, he tried to engage her in conversation again. "I believe we have met before, several years ago. Are you not Miss Eveline Parish, the niece of my good friend Sir Elias?" Surely she would relent her formal manner now, he thought.

But the lady didn’t seem affected. "Indeed we have, although I believe you were still referred to as Viscount Childes at the time." Here, at least, her expression softened as she added, "I was truly saddened by the news of your father's demise. He was such a good friend to my uncle. You and your family must feel his loss terribly."

Rob was moved to silence by her honest and simple words. Her condolences were heartfelt and he remembered that Eveline was not a stranger to the loss of a father. "I thank you for your words, Miss Parish. It is indeed a trying time."

They stood together in silence for a few moments, in which Rob took a closer look at the lady in front of him. He noted that her golden-blond hair was very simply done tonight. Also, her dress was some hue of green that didn't flatter her natural glow. Her eyes, which he remembered as sparkling and lively, were shuttered. And again, the sense of wrongness pulled at his stomach. Just as he was about to inquire after her own wellbeing, he heard a voice that shot an icy spike through his chest and caused him to stiffen. It was Cassandra's distinct giggle, the one he’d found so mischievous and tempting four years ago. At the same time, Miss Parish's eyes darted behind him, and her entire stance shifted. Gone was any trace of emotion or softness, and instead her face assumed a harshness that shocked him.

"Miss Parish, here you are, at last! You left before we could finish our little talk — "Cassandra's words were cut short as she rounded Rob and recognized him.

"Lord Hartfield, I… well, what a pleasant surprise." She glanced over him with an appraising eye, as if he was a horse on which she considered to wager. "How wonderful to have you safe and back home, at last." Her eyes drifted from him to Miss Parish, and they assumed a meanness that he didn't like at all. "You are familiar with Miss Parish, then? How… intriguing. You certainly wasted no time, did you?"

Rob forced himself to breathe deeply and clear his face of any emotions. "Lady Carlisle, I'm afraid I do not get your meaning."

Cassandra's mouth pulled into a knowing smile. "Come now, my lord," she purred. "I hardly remember you as coy. What is the nature of your arrangement with Miss Parish? And can't you at least provide her with decent gowns? You wouldn't want to be known as parsimonious, would you?"

At first, Cassandra's words didn't register in Rob's mind. Then, as Miss Parish's face lost all color, their meaning sank in. He moved in on Cassandra, his hands fisted at his sides in an attempt to avoid a display of some very ungentlemanly behavior.

"How dare you, Cassandra. How dare — " He forced himself to lower his voice. "Any claim you might have had on me and my personal affairs is long gone. And what right do you have to imply such vicious things about another lady's character? Now leave us and torment someone else — perhaps your husband. Lord knows he paid well enough for that privilege."

Cassandra stood frozen for a moment before shaking herself into a weak resemblance of nonchalance. "How unfortunate to know that your ascent to the title has rendered you so discourteous, my lord. Your father would have been sorely disappointed," she spat, and with a swish of her gown she stomped away.

Rob was still shaken from his exchange with his ex-fiancée. How horrible of her to attack Miss Parish so viciously out of spite for him!

"Miss Parish, I'm lost for words regarding Lady Carlisle's abominable display. Why she would make such dishonorable assumptions is beyond me. Please, allow me to escort you to your family if you —" But his next words stuck in his throat.

Miss Parish was glaring at him, her face still devoid of color, and without blinking she said, "Don't bother yourself, my lord. I shall find my relations on my own. The last thing I need is for you to be seen escorting me anywhere." And just like that she turned her back on him and walked away.

As Rob stared at her figure disappearing into the crowd, it finally fell into place, the reason he’d felt wrong about Eveline Parish. While she was still a beauty — even more so now that her face had lost its childish roundness — she was also cold. So very cold when he compared her to the joyful and bright creature he danced with four seasons ago.