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Prudence had barely taken half a dozen steps when her breeches began slipping down her hips. Slowing her step, she jerked at them under cover of the cape she wore. Both items were her father's, as were the shirt, waistcoat, and cravat she wore.

Unfortunately, when Prudence had devised this plan, she had not considered the fact that Edward Prescott was a jolly little man of about twice her width. Neither had she recalled that her mother had given her brother's vestments away to charity after his death. Not that John's clothing would have fit properly either. They, too, would have been large on her-but at least she wouldn't have been swimming in them as she was in her father's clothing.

Prudence had spent a goodly amount of time this evening tucking and pi

Scowling in irritation, she yanked them up once more, this time anchoring them in place with a hand on her hip under the cape. Realizing how foolish she must look walking like that, she tried to add a swagger to her step to appear more manly, but found that the excessive activity made her head bob, sending the top hat she wore shifting forward on her head. It, too, was her father's and was too large for her.

At first, that had seemed something of a blessing, since it allowed her to tuck her long chestnut hair underneath. Now Prudence found it more of a problem. She feared it might slide right off her head, spilling her hair and revealing her gender. With her father's old cane in her right hand, and her left hand needed to twist the breeches on her hip, she was rather at a loss as to what to do. After one frantic moment, she raised the cane she held and used it to push the hat back. Fortunately the action worked; the hat shifted into place and Prudence was able to continue forward. She did so much more cautiously, trying to keep her head steady as she approached Ballard's front door-and Plunkett.

Pru hadn't really plotted this part of her plan. She supposed she had just assumed that the man would open the door and step aside for her to enter. He, apparently, had other thoughts. He merely stood in place, his expression turning mean as he squinted at her approach.

"Pip, pip, cheerio," she tried in her deepest voice, hoping her mounting panic did not show as she attempted to maneuver around the man to get to the door. Her heart sank when he stepped sideways into her path, firmly blocking her entrance.

"You look familiar," he rumbled, making Pru's heart skip a beat.

"Aye, well… Undoubtedly that would be because I am a regular at this fine establishment," she forced out, following the lie with the deepest laugh she could muster. Unfortunately, the effort scratched her throat and sent her into a coughing fit.

Eyes rounding in horror, Prudence reached up quickly to anchor her hat in place with the hand that held the cane, nearly braining Plunkett in the process. The doorman managed to avoid the blow with a quick duck and feint that would have done any boxing teacher proud, then scowled at

Prudence, who, with both hands occupied, proceeded to cough rudely all over his folded arms.

Apparently deciding that holding her up was not to his benefit, Plunkett promptly opened the door, using the act as a way to step clear of her moist coughing.

"Thank you," Prudence rasped as she rushed forward, eager to get inside before the man changed his mind.

The door closed behind her with a snap, and Prudence had just begun to take a relieved breath when she realized that she had only managed to cross the first hurdle. She was not now in the gaming room; she was in an entryway with a cloakroom off of it. There was another door to get through, and two servants between her and that door.

Squelching the panic that rose in her as the two servants rushed forward, reaching eagerly for her hat and cloak, Prudence let go of her hat long enough to brandish her cane threateningly before her.

"I shall not be here long enough to have need of your services," she said quickly, then rushed between them. Pushing through the door, she raised her hand to moor her hat as she did. It worked.

The first thing to strike Prudence as she burst into the gaming area was the noise. There were well over a hundred men in the large room, and every single one of them appeared to be talking or laughing, each voice just a bit louder than the next in an effort to be heard. It appeared men were much noisier when women weren't around. Or, at least, when ladies weren't around, she corrected herself as she noted that what she had heard was true; Ballard's did have female servants. There were several moving through the crowd, carrying trays of drinks and various food items.

Prudence watched one such servant distribute drinks at a nearby table and paused to admire her outfit. The long, deep red skirt and snow white top were really quite fetching. Of course, it was nothing she herself would have dared wear. The skirt was just a touch short of being considered proper. Prudence even caught a glimpse of the girl's ankles as she hurried about. The scoop-necked top was a touch risque as well, she decided critically, but all in all it was an attractive uniform. Since every woman present wore it, she decided that it had to be a uniform.

The entrance of new arrivals behind her forced Prudence to give up her consideration of the apparel Lord Stockton had chosen for his servants. Moving away from the door, she started through the room, her gaze shifting over the sea of men in search of her father. She had reached the back right corner of the club before spying Lord Prescott deeply involved in a game of cards at a table in the opposite corner. Spotting the pile of money in the center of the round surface, she wondered bitterly how much of it her father had added to the pile. The sum there would go a long way toward paying off their debts should he win, she could not help thinking. But that was the trick. He would not win. She would lay odds on that.

Determined that however much he had already gambled away, he would be losing no more, Prudence straightened her shoulders and prepared to confront him. She was about to stride forward when a cry of pain by her side made her hesitate and glance over at a dispute taking place. Nearby, a tall, hawkish man had one of the serving women by the arm and was shaking her rather viciously as he hissed into her face.

Frowning, Pru moved close enough to hear what was being said.

"You stupid, clumsy strumpet!" the man said snarling. "This waistcoat cost more than you will make in a lifetime!"

"I am sorry, my lord. I didn't mean to spill ale on you, but you bumped my arm and-"

"Are you suggesting that it is my fault?" the noble barked, giving the servant a bone-rattling shake that had Pru's teeth aching in sympathy. Putting aside the matter of her father for the moment, she slipped closer to the pair.

"I say there, my good man," she said lightly, doing her best imitation of her father's cajoling voice. "Surely the gel did not mean to-"

Pru's voice ended on an alarmed squeak as she found herself suddenly grabbed by the cravat and jerked nearly off the floor. Feet slipping in her father's overlarge boots, she was suddenly standing on the very tips of her toes and nose-to-nose with the hawk-faced man.

"Did I ask for your opinion?"

Wincing at both the pain he was causing in her neck and the cloud of whiskey fumes that spewed from his mouth, Prudence glanced from him to the serving girl, who had tumbled to the floor as he had abruptly pushed her away. The servant appeared rather relieved to be on the floor, and Prudence couldn't blame her. The wooden surface was looking a fairly comfy place to be at the moment, she thought, then noted the shocked horror now coming over the girl's face.