Clara threw herself into the slipper chair. The large guest room at Sterling Hall was littered with traveling trunks. Gowns spilled from them in heaps of lace and silk. "I won't! I won't I tell you!" Clara's voice soared upward. "Lower your voice cousin," Olivia admonished, "or they will hear you." Clara hissed, "I don't care! Did you see him? Horrid little man. I tell you, if you had but seen the way he arrived. Surrounded by his toadies. And father is one of them. I will simply die before I marry him!" Olivia hid a smile as she gathered the crimson ball gown and held it up to better see in the glass. She made a little wish and sighed. Impossible dreams for a companion and poor relation. "I doubt it will come to that, my dear. He hasn't offered for you, has he? Or spoken to your father? Now come, it is time to dress you for the ball." Clara narrowed her eyes and touched a finger to her forehead. "Cousin? I fear I am suffering a headache. I can not possibly attend this evening." Before Olivia could protest, Clara announced, "You shall go in my place. I am not well known to these people and we are the same size and coloring. Please Livy? Say you will? I can handle Papa and this is preferable to the embarrassment if I do not attend. And he is, no doubt, half into his cups and will be so foxed, he wouldn't notice if I were there or not." A note of sadness crept into this last rather revealing remark. Olivia, though stunned into silence, was reeling from the tumultuous thoughts careening through her mind. Clara continued, "It should not be difficult. You will have to remember to hide your natural intelligence and mimic my dull girlish chatter." Then slyly added, "I know you all think I am a simpleton." Hardly that, Olivia mused as she turned to her reflection in the glass. Clara chortled as she stood beside Olivia. "There! I knew you would agree. Why we could be twins! Now we must hurry or you will be late."

He saw her pause at the entry. What a beauty! And not at all what he had been led to expect. This creature did not look the simpering, spoiled darling. Oh she would be a handful. But not, he thought, for the expected reasons. He heard the murmur and felt the restless rustle among the throng. All eyes had shifted in her direction. He watched as she glanced in the long pier glass by the door, almost poised to flee, then, compose herself and step into the room.

Olivia could not imagine how she could have allowed herself to participate in this deception. Yet, gazing back at her from the glass, an elegant lady in silk and velvet, wearing a king's ransom in jewels about her neck was suddenly someone of importance and the center of attention. Could she carry off this masquerade? After all, it was only this once. What harm could come of it? She drew a deep breath and entered the ballroom.

An officious looking little man maneuvered his way to her side. Mercy! He is horrible. Clara, my dear, I forgive you your headache though I fear I shall be tossed out onto the street for this deception.

He bowed. "I am Mr. Cheavers, personal secretary to His Lordship. Sir, may I present Miss Clara Givens. Miss Givens, His Lordship, Miles Randolph." The tall nobleman, heretofore unnoticed, offered his arm, "May I have the honor of the first dance?"

As he swept her into a waltz, Olivia gazed into his eyes and knew this moment was worth whatever price she would pay for the evening's charade.

As he captured her hand and took the full impact of clear, warm brown eyes, he knew this was a woman he wanted to know better, if not completely.