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scurrying behind.
    My brother immediately took charge. “Right, then. Who’s next? Agnes obviously hasn’t the nerve for all this. Who will take her place?” I gladly surrendered my knife, slipping away as Rupert installed three new treasure seekers.
    I felt a hand on my arm. “You can’t think I didn’t notice that!”
    Julia Overton stared at me, her eyes imploring. We’d been friends since we were small, having resided three doors down from each other for much of our lives. Julia’s family usually summered in the Lakes, and even took me with them one year, and we’d shared tutors in music and painting.
    “Notice what?” I asked her, my cheeks growing hot. My hand flew instinctively to the bodice of my dress as if to make sure the dog’s head wasn’t peeking out. At the last moment, I let my fingers rest on the jade pendant I had insisted Mother allow me to wear this evening. It was another of the baubles Father had brought me from his travels. This one came from China, the sea green stone shaped into a delicate little butterfly. I’d worn it faithfully since he presented it to me on my eleventh birthday. I rubbed the wing as if it were a talisman.
    “Don’t play coy, Agnes Wilkins, everyone saw it!”
    Suddenly my palms and forehead felt damp. The small iron dog’s head in my dress seemed to burn against my skin.
    “I don’t”—I cast about desperately for a lie—“know what you mean.”
    “Truly? You didn’t notice that Showalter as good as declared himself right there?”
    I breathed, smiling with relief. But Julia misinterpreted the reason.
    “I expect you’d be pleased. He’s only the man half of London’s matchmakers are gunning for this season. And he fancies you !” she said, her own smile just a little too perfect, the slightest hint of bitterness in her voice. Julia was my friend, but I was reminded of a painful truth: During our debut, others would pit us as rivals for the affections of London’s wealthiest and most weddable men.
    “I don’t know that I’d say that,” I protested.
    “Of course you wouldn’t, but you don’t have to,” she said, adding, “ He did. And he’s so young—”
    “He’s twenty-six, Julia, near ten years older than the both of us.”
    “I’ll be fortunate to land one only twenty years my senior. And not half so handsome in the bargain.”
    Handsome? Showalter was tall and lean, no hint of a belly beneath his waistcoat. He had all his hair, and everyone spoke highly of his fine teeth and easy smile.
    But did I find him handsome?
    He wasn’t awful. But he certainly wasn’t a Mr. Darcy. There was nothing brooding or mysterious about Showalter. Still, perhaps a Darcy in fiction was better than one in reality. Because life with such a man as that could be hard, despite its pleasures. Maybe Mother and Rupert were right: A Lady had poisoned me. Perhaps what I really needed was a kind, simple fellow—a Bingley—rather than one who incensed me to passion or anger by turns like Mr. Darcy had Elizabeth.
    I didn’t want to think of it any longer. “Have you been here all evening? I didn’t see you arrive.”
    She nodded. “Yes, well, my chaperone put us a bit late arriving because she couldn’t find her shawl, but I’ve been here. Was it awful, by the way?”
    “I’ve not seen your chaperone or her shawl,” I offered lamely.
    “The mummy , Agnes. It looks ghastly.”
    “Not as ghastly as using it for entertainment,” I said under my breath, eliciting a snort from Julia.
    “Well, when you’re mistress of this place, you can insist on croquet or lawn bowling—something less sinister.”
    I didn’t want to insist on anything as mistress of this house. I tried to wrest the subject away once more.
    “Where is your chaperone now?” I asked.
    She glanced round. “Talking to your father.”
    I looked and saw Emmaline Perkins, a stylish widow, bending Father’s ear. He listened politely, but I could tell by his expression that his mind was