Their gazes locked for only mere moments, yet it was enough for her to see and know. To react.

Hauling in a breath, she turned back to Winifred, nodding as if she’d heard what had been said; her only clear thought was that whatever impulse was driving Simon to watch her, it wasn’t protection he had in mind.

The younger ladies were not the only ones enthused by the prospect of the ball. Lady Hammond, Lady Osbaldestone, even Lady Calvin were very ready to allow themselves to be thus entertained.

It was summer; there were precious few other events at which they might exercise their talents.

Portia did not immediately preceive the source of their interest; when, however, in midafternoon, Lady O demanded her assistance in going upstairs and settling for her nap-only to insist they go via Portia’s room-understanding dawned.

“Don’t stand around gawping, gel!” With her cane, Lady O thumped the gallery floor. “Show me the gown you intend wearing tonight.”

Resigned, wondering if any good might come of it, Portia ushered her to the chamber she’d been given in the east wing. It was a largish room with a good-sized armoire in which the maid had hung all her gowns. After installing Lady O in the armchair before the hearth, she went to the armoire and set the doors wide.

And hesitated. She hadn’t really thought about what she would wear; she’d never truly bothered about such things. Courtesy of Luc and the family’s excellent finances, she had pretty gowns aplenty, yet until now, she’d taken them, and her appearance in general, for granted.

Lady O snorted. “As I thought-you haven’t the vaguest notion. Well, then, let’s see what you’ve brought with you.”

Dutifully, she paraded the evening gowns she’d packed. Now she thought of it, she favored one in deep green silk, and said so.

Lady O shook her head. “Not at this point. Leave the dramatics for later, once you’re sure of him. That’s when they’ll have the most useful effect. For tonight, you need to appear…” She waggled her hand. “Less certain, less sure. Think strategy, gel!”

Portia had never considered the color of gowns in such a light; she resurveyed the gowns she’d left draped on the bed, thinking anew…

“How about this one?” She extracted a gown of soft pearl grey silk-an unusual color, especially for an unmarried lady, but with her dark hair and eyes, and her height, she could carry it well.

“Hmm.” Lady O gestured. “Hold it up.”

Portia did so, smoothing the bodice over her bosom, draping it so Lady O could see the clever cut. The underbodice was fitted silk, with very fine silk chiffon of the exact same shade draped loosely over it, disguising the décolleté neckline, making it seem much less daring.

A slow smile spread over Lady O’s face. “Perfect. Not innocent so much as not quite attainable. Have you shoes to go with it?”

She had, along with a fine, dark grey beaded shawl and matching reticule; Lady O nodded her approval. “And I thought I’d wear my pearls.”

“Let me see them.”

She fetched the long strand of creamy pearls from her jewel casket and draped them about her neck. The strand was long enough to reach nearly to her waist. “I’ve drop earrings to match.”

Lady O gestured to the necklace. “Not like that-try it wound once round your throat, then let the rest dangle.”

She raised her brows, but obliged.

“Now hold up the gown again…”

She did as she was told, smoothing the bodice into place. Turning to the cheval glass in the corner, she surveyed the unexpected effect. “Oh. I see.”

“Indeed.” Lady O nodded with satisfaction. “Strategy! Now!” She heaved herself out of the armchair; Portia left the gown on the bed and hurried to help. Once upright, Lady O headed for the door. “You may now help me to my room and onto my bed. You will then return here, lie down on your bed, and rest.”

“I’m not tired.” She’d never rested before a ball in her life.

The shrewd look Lady O shot her as she stepped into the corridor said she suspected as much. “Be that as it may, you will please me by returning here and lying down upon your bed until it’s time to dress for dinner and the ball.” When she opened her mouth to argue, Lady O silenced her with an upraised hand. “Aside from the fact that no lady wishful of appearing her best should attend a ball other than well rested, what else, pray tell, had you planned to do?”

There was enough sharpness in the question to give her pause. She considered as they walked down the corridor, then confessed, “A walk in the garden, then maybe a survey of the library.”

“And do you imagine, given the composition of this party, that you will be able to accomplish that while remaining alone?”

She grimaced. “Probably not. Someone’s bound to see me and come to join me-”

“Not someone-some gentleman. All the other ladies will have the wit to rest, of that you may be sure.” Lady O stopped outside her door and set it swinging wide; Portia followed her in, closing the door behind them.

“One or other gentleman-even more likely more than one-will join you.” Lady O set her cane aside, hitched herself up on her bed, and fixed Portia with a sapient eye. “Now think! Is this wise?”

It was like being tutored in an art she had no previous training in; she guessed. “No?”

“Of course it’s not!” Lady O fell back on her pillows, and settled herself comfortably. She squinted at Portia. “You’ve spent all morning and half the afternoon with them. Giving them a steady diet of your company is unlikely to lead to any hunger. Now-the next hours until the ball-is the time to deprive them of sustenance. Then, later, over dinner and at the ball, they’ll come more readily to your hand.”

Portia couldn’t help but laugh; leaning forward, she kissed Lady O’s cheek. “You’re a terrible schemer.”

“Nonsense!” Lady O closed her eyes and composed her features. “I’m an experienced general, and I’ve fought-and won-more battles than you can count.”

Smiling, Portia retreated. She was at the door when, without opening her eyes, Lady O ordered, “Now go and rest.”

Portia grinned. “Yes, sir!” Opening the door, she slipped out.

And, for once, did as she was bid.

4

Now remember-think strategy!”

With those rousing words, Lady O swept into the drawing room, leaving Portia to follow rather less forcefully in her wake. Head high, she glided in-and was immediately aware of heads turning.

Even more interesting, while the female heads, after the briefest of comprehensive glances, turned back to their conversations, the male heads remained turned her way for significantly longer, some until they were recalled to their surroundings by some comment.

She knew well enough to pretend not to have noticed. With unimpaired serenity, she curtsied to Lady Glossup, who inclined her head with a regal smile, then continued on to join Winifred, who was talking to Desmond and James.

The admiration in both Desmond’s and James’s eyes as they greeted her was marked. She blithely accepted it as her due and slid into the usual social patter.

Inwardly, she frowned. Had she changed? Was she somehow different just because she’d decided to seek a husband-did it show in some way? Or, given that previously she’d never bothered to notice how people, gentlemen especially, reacted to her, had she always excited such responses and never noticed?

As she circulated, exchanging greetings here and there, she became increasingly sure the latter was the case. A lowering thought in some respects; Lady O had been right-she must have had her nose very much in the clouds. Yet the realization boosted her confidence; for the first time she realized she had something-some weapon, some power-she could use to attract and attach a husband.

Now all she had to do was learn how to chose the right gentleman and learn to wield that weapon.

Simon stood chatting with the Hammond sisters and Charlie; she passed by with a cool nod. He’d been watching her consistently since she’d entered the room. His expression was hard, rocklike; she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

The last thing she wanted was to encourage his protectiveness; she glided on to join Ambrose and Lady Calvin.