A decidedly odd series of advertisements appear in the personals during the London season. Discretion is paramount for reputations, but some things are obvious - people are meeting, often at midnight, and they are attending the highest level of society's gatherings.
Sarah Avery knows what they all mean, because she is one half of the intriguing missives. To her blushes, she even does meet when asked. In a pitch-black cloak room, which is not at all appropriate. In fact, she doesn't actually know who it is she's writing!
Could it be Lord Shelmont, the devastatingly handsome man who has (gasp) asked her to dance twice? It couldn't possibly be Lord Smithers, the aged sometimes caller she has no wish to know better. And it definitely couldn't be Lord Pincepot or Mr. Mattingly, both of whom maligned her looks in public.
Perhaps it's a young man she's never met before, a young man who even now begs her to meet him at each event they both attend?
It's a mystery that needs solving - if she dares.
Sarah Avery knows what they all mean, because she is one half of the intriguing missives. To her blushes, she even does meet when asked. In a pitch-black cloak room, which is not at all appropriate. In fact, she doesn't actually know who it is she's writing!
Could it be Lord Shelmont, the devastatingly handsome man who has (gasp) asked her to dance twice? It couldn't possibly be Lord Smithers, the aged sometimes caller she has no wish to know better. And it definitely couldn't be Lord Pincepot or Mr. Mattingly, both of whom maligned her looks in public.
Perhaps it's a young man she's never met before, a young man who even now begs her to meet him at each event they both attend?
It's a mystery that needs solving - if she dares.
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