the gentleman’s money, especially when she had no prospects of ever paying it back.
The most vexing thing to her conscience was playing the whole family false. Surely she would go to hell for misleading these nice, selfless people in such a manner. Her stomach roiled under the internal torment. She vowed to herself she would reimburse the marquess somehow. She’d figure out a way. She’d be damned if a few months of dubious decision-making in Seven Dials was going to define the rest of her life. She would have to watch for opportunities.
Resigned to accepting their help, she was amazed to watch the other ladies shop. The Cavendish women never looked at price tags or even considered haggling with a shopkeeper. The shop owners rushed out to wait on the ladies themselves, never trusting an assistant, looking to curry the favor of these influential women of the
ton
.
Lady Langford, Aunt Evelyn to the family, informed the seamstress they would need something ready for the following night, and when Olivia’s eyebrows went up in question, Evelyn patted her hand.
“No worries, dear,” the older lady said with assurance her. “Madame Bolivant is sure to have something that will be perfect for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Olivia looked from Evelyn to Penelope and back again. “What’s tomorrow?”
Cassandra, the next eldest daughter, gasped with excitement and clapped her hands. “Oh, only the biggest ball of the season thus far. A veritable rout! I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks. The Johnston-Smythe ball is always the big kick-off for the season, the ball every other hostess sets the season standard by.”
It was out of the question. She could not attend a ball.
Absolutely not.
“But I haven’t been invited. I wouldn’t want to put out a hostess with an extra guest,” Olivia deferred.
Penelope laughed. “Don’t worry, Olivia. There will be so many people, one more won’t be noticed. Besides, you’ll be with us.”
Olivia looked from one woman to the next, her eyes wide, her mouth agape. “I’ve never attended a London ball. I went to the country assemblies back at home, but never a London ball.” The overwhelmed feeling built in her stomach again, and this time she was sure she would lose her breakfast.
Vivienne took her by the hand and patted it in a maternal fashion. “You’ll be fine, dear. I assure you the dances are the same at a country assembly as they are at a London ball. Besides, you have the power of the Cavendish name with you. No one would dare say anything about you with us sponsoring you.”
“Sponsoring me? For what?” Olivia tried to keep the hint of hysteria from her voice.
The other ladies of their party had moved around the shop, discussing lace and trimmings, patterns and the latest designs with each other and the shopgirls. Their chatter gave off a companionable feminine hum about the room. Lady Vivienne and Aunt Evelyn led her to a quiet corner. Olivia faced the women with her hands clasped so tightly her fingers were white.
Lady Vivienne asked, concern etched on her face, “Are you all right?”
Olivia didn’t answer. She concentrated on breathing for a minute. The two older ladies glanced at each other, eyebrows raised in question. Lady Vivienne gave her sister a slight shrug, indicating she didn’t understand the reason for Olivia’s distress any more than Evelyn did. Olivia didn’t know how to explain her reaction to their unbelievably generous suggestion.
“Don’t you want a season?” Evelyn prodded. “I’m assuming you didn’t have one before. You need not worry that the season has already begun. Quite the opposite, actually. It’s only just beginning. You haven’t missed any of the important parties.”
That made it worse. Finally, in a quiet voice, Olivia spoke up. “Lady Dalton, Vivienne, I can’t accept your offer. In fact, the clothes we have bought are already too much.”
“Oh, pish,” Lady Vivienne replied. “Besides, I have two