The conversation continued, mostly about the rousing time enjoyed at Gatwick, until Olivia's head began to ache. When the carriage drew to a stop on the south side of Oxford Street, they arranged their masks.

"Good God, what is that thing?" Yarrow exclaimed, when he saw her peacock mask. The feathers had become tattered from long battering under her skirt.

"It is a mask," she said through gritted teeth.

"Don't expect to be seen on my arm in that. It looks like it came off the ark. Luckily I have a spare in the side pocket.”

Olivia removed her mask and put on the blue one he handed her. It did not match the black domino and was hardly less tattered than the one John casually threw into the gutter.

Yarrow handed Olivia his domino but did not help her put it on. The elegant structure and the fashionable crowd flocking about the doorway of the Pantheon led Olivia to believe the place was not so bad as she had feared. When they entered, the magnificence of gilt trim glimmered under the light of the chandeliers. It was a moment before she realized that the guests were less elegant than the edifice. Several of the men were staggering, and the accents issuing from their companions had never been heard in a polite saloon, unless their owners were passing a tray of drinks.

"Good gracious!" she exclaimed. "This looks very-"

"I told you you would love it," John said.

"No, I do not love it. It seems horrid. But since we are here, let us have one dance, and then return to Peckford's. If we are back soon, Mr. Meadows won't know I ever left."

"We cannot stand up and jig it until we have wet our whistles," John said.

"But I want to dance now!" she insisted. It was the first time since arriving in London that a gentleman had set his wishes ahead of hers.

"I see I must tame you, wildcat," John said, but he said it with a smile that stirred a remembrance of his wicked embrace, and she went along without further argument.

Yarrow led the group upstairs, where boxes were arranged along a balcony, to look down on the dance floor below.

"Champagne, my good fellow, and be snappy about it," he ordered when the waiter came to their table.

The wine arrived. Yarrow put his hand in his pocket and drew out three pennies. "This one is on you, Charlie," he said.

Charlie came up with a shilling. The waiter stood, waiting to see the color of their money before drawing the cork. "Deuce take it, put it on my tab," Yarrow said, becoming surly. "I come here all the time."

"We don't give credit, sir."

Angela began rooting in her reticule and produced the rest of the money.

"The next one is on you," Yarrow said to Olivia. "You are the one who has a monopoly on gold."

"I thought you said tin," Charlie mentioned.

"Gold, tin-it all comes down to the same thing in the end. The little baroness is as rich as a nabob-and a dashed sight prettier."

"I don't carry money with me. A gentleman usually pays when he asks a lady out," Olivia said curtly. She felt it showed poor breeding to discuss money in pubic. And the way John said it-as though it was the money he was interested in, and not her. Really, he had behaved very badly all evening. There were never embarrassments of this sort when she went out with Mr. Meadows. But there was not this sense of excitement and adventure either. Her flesh got goosebumps when John called her a "wildcat" and said he must tame her.

The waiter opened the champagne and filled their glasses. Almost before Olivia had raised her glass to her lips, John and Charlie had finished theirs and emptied the rest of the bottle into their glasses. Olivia drank quickly. The sooner they finished the wine, the sooner they could have their dance and leave.

"Shall we go downstairs now?" she said a moment later, when the champagne was gone.

"Just one more bottle," John said. "I am dry as a cinder in the sun. Waiter!"

"You don't have any money," Angela reminded him.

"Dash it, if he won't take my IOU, he will not refuse the baroness's. Here, my good man."

The waiter ignored him. Yarrow, already deep into his cups, rose on unsteady legs and charged forward, knocking over a chair and bumping into another drunkard. The man was a large brute with hulking shoulders.

"Here, watch where you're going," the brute grumbled.

"Watch it yourself, you mawworm."

"Who are you calling a mawworm?"

"You, you ugly tub of lard."

Without further ado, the brawl began. Yarrow hadn't a chance against his opponent. He was shorter, lighter, drunker, and less trained in the bruising art. The first blow caught him on the nose and sent him sprawling against a table. Charlie was soon on his feet, pitching himself into the fray. The larger man had his supporters as well, and before long, a dozen men were beating each other.

Olivia cowered into her domino and said to Angela, "Let us leave, before the constable arrives."

"We can't leave now. This is the best part!"

She hopped up and went to watch the brawl. Olivia was afraid to join the ladies shouting around the edge of the show, for their language left no doubt that they were actresses or worse. When a hedge bird slid onto one of the empty chairs at her table, however, and began to make some very improper advances, she found courage to join Angela. She saw Yarrow stretched out on the floor with blood coming from his nose. She felt one spurt of womanly compassion, but it was not strong enough to propel her forward to his assistance. When he lurched to his feet and cast up his accounts on the floor, she was well and thoroughly disgusted.

Her only desire was to leave and never see Mr. Yarrow or the Pantheon again. What was she thinking of to come here? She tugged at Angela's elbow. "Let us call the carriage and go home," she begged.

"Spoilsport," Angela taunted.

In desperation, Olivia looked around, hoping to see a friend. She was ready to throw herself on the mercy of the first person she recognized, but she soon realized these were not the sort of people one would meet in polite saloons. The men leered menacingly, and the females, for she would not call them ladies, tossed their heads in derision. Why had she come to this horrid place?

There was nothing for it but to leave alone and hope to find a hansom cab in the streets. She had no money to pay the driver, but she would give him her pearl ring for a marker until she could retrieve it with money. She turned to find the stairway and saw three Bow Street Runners advancing at a run. Oh lord, now what? Would she end up in the roundhouse, disgraced forever?

Chapter Nineteen

Laura did not enjoy that set of dances. The old quizzes had set up a rebellion against the waltz. She wished the younger ladies would organize one against the country dance, which played havoc with the coiffure and turned the face an unbecoming scarlet. Was it only slightly older ladies like her who felt this way? Or was the real cause of her distress the possibility that Livvie was up to some mischief with Hyatt? By the end of the set, Laura wanted to go abovestairs and brush her hair, but what she really needed was a glass of wine to cool down.

Her escort accompanied her through the milling throng to the refreshment parlor. As soon as she set a toe into the room, she realized her error. Hyatt was there. Worse, he was talking to Mr. Meadows. They both looked at her-not just a glance, but a long, meaningful look. From their air of excitement, she sensed that something was afoot, and looked for Livvie's red head. The baroness was not with Hyatt, as she had feared. A little surge of hope rose, then plunged to the ground when she saw the frown on Hyatt's face. Whatever Livvie had done, it had obviously disgusted him. She refused to be part of it.

"Perhaps you would get a glass of wine for me, Mr. Talbot, and bring it to me?" she asked of her partner for the last set. "I shall wait in the ballroom, just inside the door."

"Very wise. This goes beyond a squeeze. It is a crush."

She fled to the nearly deserted ballroom and sat on the first empty chair, twisting her fingers in anxiety. She could just imagine what Olivia had told Hyatt. "Cousin Laura is blue as megrims since you left. Why do you not ask her to dance?" She wondered, too, whether he would come…

She was not long left in doubt. Even before Mr. Talbot returned, Hyatt's tall form appeared in the doorway. He quickly scanned the room, while Laura shrank into the smallest possible space, hoping he would not see her. Surely he was looking for her? At length he spotted her and came pacing forward. The speed of his advance suggested some urgency.

But when he arrived, his first speech was totally different from what she had expected. "Have you seen the baroness recently?" he asked.

"Not since she stood up with Lord Talman. I thought she was with you. That is-Mr. Meadows mentioned something of the sort."

"I only said two words to her, before she slipped upstairs. Meadows has taken the notion she tipped you both the double and went off with Yarrow. He is gone as well."

Laura was thrown into a spasm of fear. "Oh, dear! I had hoped she was through with Yarrow. He has not pestered her all week. Perhaps she is upstairs. I'll have a look." She rose to leave. "Thank you for telling me, Lord Hyatt."Let me know if she is there."

"Yes," she said, and darted off.

When Mr. Talbot returned a moment later with a glass of wine, Hyatt told him that Miss Harwood was feeling faint and had gone upstairs. Naturally Laura and Meadows wanted to keep the baroness's latest spree quiet. Hyatt went into the hallway to await Laura's return.

He knew as soon as he saw her pale, worried face that she had not found the baroness. He mentally cursed the wretched child for giving Laura such a difficult time. Laura spotted him and was grateful for his support in this crisis.

"She's not there. The maid said she was there half an hour ago, snatched up her pelisse, and left. Where can she be?"

"Probably on the Great Road North to Gretna Green," Hyatt said grimly. "Meadows is having a look at the Pantheon. He heard the fellow with Yarrow mention something about it. I'll take a quick scoot up north."

"That is very kind of you, Lord Hyatt, but I think Mr. Meadows is right. Olivia asked me about the Pantheon a while ago. Naturally I told her it was not the thing."

"That was your mistake. You should have told her it was a staid do. We'll go to the Pantheon first; if she is not there, Meadows and I shall arrange to cover the other alternatives. I still feel Yarrow has his eye on her blunt. He's badly dipped."

Laura heard that "we'll go to the Pantheon" with joy and gratitude but felt compelled to object. "There is no need for you to trouble yourself, Lord Hyatt. Very kind-"

"You can hardly go alone. I assume you came in Meadows's carriage?"

"Yes.”

"Grab your pelisse, then. I shall make some excuse to Mrs. Peckford."

Laura darted back upstairs. When she came down, Hyatt already had on his cape. "I've called for my rig. I told Mrs. Peckford the baroness has a headache, and Meadows has taken her out for a breath of air. We are taking her home," he said.

He took her elbow and led her out. His carriage soon appeared. Hyatt held the door and Laura hopped in. "The Pantheon, Oxford Street," he called to his driver.

He got in and said, "If the chit keeps this sort of thing up, she'll have no hope of making a respectable match. There were already rumors at Castlefield."

"I know it very well. She has changed completely since she came to London. She used to be very biddable. The attention has gone to her head. Did she say anything to you-"

"She asked me when she might have her portrait."

"Then you were her excuse to escape from Mr. Meadows. He is kind enough to help me mind her. I doubt if his love will withstand much more of this Turkish treatment. She won't even get an offer from him if she does not watch her step."

"He hopes to marry the baroness, then?" Hyatt asked, interested. He had decided that Laura and Meadows were a match, as they were constantly seen together.

"Oh yes. And it is not creampot love either. Not entirely. He seems genuinely devoted."

"That explains it," Hyatt said cryptically, and was of course asked what he meant. "It seems to be the new custom for ladies to abuse those gentlemen who are fond of them."

"I cannot imagine what you mean, Lord Hyatt!" she exclaimed.

"Can you not, Miss Harwood? I no sooner expressed my feelings for you than you began castigating me as some sort of monster."

Her sense of wrong was still green, and she replied stiffly, "That is a different matter altogether."