A Secret Affair

The second lie was told a few evenings later, when they were at a ball hosted by Lord and Lady Merriwether. Barbara had not wanted to attend it. It was a ton ball, and she had been to nothing grander than a country assembly her whole life.

“Nonsense,” Ha

Barbara had lifted her skirt to just above her ankles, and Ha

“As I suspected,” she had said. “You have one right foot and one left. Perfect for dancing. I might have allowed you to remain at home if you had had two left feet, as some people do, poor things. Usually men. But you are coming. There is no point in arguing. You are coming. Tell me that you are.”

Barbara was—of course—at the ball, and she was quite sure her eyes might pop right out of her head if she was not careful. She had never even dreamed of such splendor. She was going to be writing very long letters home tomorrow.

They were practically mobbed as soon as they set foot in the ballroom. Or rather, Ha

Mr. Huxtable was in the ballroom. He was with the two gentlemen with whom he had ridden in the park and two ladies. But he did not remain with them for long. He moved about and stopped frequently to converse with different groups.

And Ha

There were probably a few dozen ladies in the room, Barbara thought, who would have been delighted to be similarly unhappy and in need of rescuing. The power Ha

Finally Mr. Huxtable answered her silent plea and came striding across the floor.

He bowed first to Barbara and wished her a good evening. Then he bowed to Ha

“Duchess,” he said, “would you be good enough to dance the opening set with me?”

She looked sorrowful again.

“I regret that I ca

What? Barbara blinked. Ha

“Perhaps the second, then?” Mr. Huxtable said. “Or the third?”

Ha

“I am sorry, Mr. Huxtable,” she said, sounding truly remorseful. “I have promised every dance. Perhaps some other time.”

He bowed and went away.

“Ha

“I will dance every set,” Ha

And her court was back, vying for her attention again.

Such blatant and strange lies, Barbara thought. How could inviting a man’s attention and then spurning it when he gave it actually attract him? How could it convert him from a stranger into a lover?

Barbara hoped it would not. She truly believed that Ha

Barbara could only hope that his final reaction would be to ignore Ha

And then Barbara’s thoughts were very effectively distracted when one gentleman asked Ha

She could barely restrain herself from looking down to make sure that she really did have one right foot and one left. Suddenly her mouth felt dry and her heart felt like a hammer and she very badly wanted Simon.

“Thank you.” She smiled serenely and set her hand on the gentleman’s sleeve. She had already forgotten his name.

Ha

But she knew he did not believe that he wanted her for a lover. That had been obvious during their meeting in Hyde Park. He had stared rather stonily down at her from his vantage point on horseback, and she had concluded that he despised her. Many people did, of course, without ever really knowing her—which, to be fair, was largely her doing. But they flocked about her, nonetheless. They could not keep their eyes off her.

The duke had taught her how to be not only noticed, but irresistible.

No one admires timidity or modesty, my dearest love, he had told her on one occasion early in their marriage, when she had possessed an overabundance of both. My dearest love had been his name for her. He had never called her Ha

She had learned never to be timid.

And never ever to be modest.

And to be patient.

THREE EVENINGS AFTER THE BALL, Ha

She wafted a fan before her face and noted the arrival of the Earl and Countess of Sheringford, a couple whose marriage had begun amid the most shocking scandal several years ago and then settled into what appeared to be a happy union.

The countess saw Ha

All the other inhabitants of the room paled into insignificance beside him. And he was going to be her lover.

It was going to happen. She refused to doubt it.

If you want something, my dearest love, the duke had once told her, you will never get it. Want is a timid, abject word. It implies that you know you will be left wanting, that you know you do not deserve the object of your desire but can only hope for a miracle. You must expect that object instead, and it will be yours. There is no such thing as a miracle.

“I ca