Ballrooms and Blackmail by Regina Scott

minds. The Countess of Brentfield had taught her how to smile
as if she knew a delicious secret. Her ability to walk so that she
appeared to be gliding across the carpet and to toss her curls so
that the gold caught the light were also tricks her aunt had
revealed, as was the need to blink tears into her eyes and murmur
an apology when she was caught doing something she shouldn’t.
    Everything she had learned had given her
power, over the other students, over her teachers, over her
parents.
    And then over the men who came to court
her.
    Only with Emily, Ariadne, and Daphne had she
ever felt free to be herself. Everyone else saw the perfect
Priscilla Tate, the dewy debutante her aunt had created to ensnare
the equally perfect husband. And now Nathan Kent had looked right
through her and seen the woman inside.
    It was clear he didn’t like what he saw. But
what hurt more was that she didn’t much like the sight either.

Chapter
Ten
    Priscilla had regained some of her balance
by the time she met with Emily, Ariadne, and Daphne in the Emerson
withdrawing room the next morning. One look at the elegant room
with its pale blue walls, white wainscoting, and gilded chairs
served to remind her of why she was pursuing the duke. Though she’d
hoped the way to His Grace’s heart lay through Nathan Kent’s good
opinion, that door seemed to have closed. She would have to rethink
her strategy, all while catching the creature who threatened her
future.
    “So, what have you learned about your
blackmailer?” Ariadne wanted to know, settling her pink
sprigged-muslin skirts about her and opening her reticule to pull
out her journal.
    “And how can we help?” Daphne added, one
foot tapping under her green sprigged-muslin gown. “Chase down the
miscreant? Challenge him to a duel? Cut out his liver and serve it
on toast?”
    “Bit bloodthirsty,” Emily commented. “You
begin to sound like me.”
    Daphne beamed as if that were a great
compliment.
    “We have ruled out Acantha Dalrymple,”
Priscilla told them. “She is being blackmailed by the same
person.”
    “Daring,” Daphne put in, and that definitely sounded like a compliment.
    “Miss Bigglethorpe is still a possibility,”
Emily said, shifting in her dark-green gown. “She has shown marked
interest in the duke, and she had opportunity to deliver the
notes.”
    “The rival,” Ariadne agreed with a delighted
shiver. “Though we should also look for a less obvious adversary.
It’s always the ones you least expect in all the books and plays,
someone hidden in plain sight.” She glanced around at them all as
if suspecting her friends of harboring nefarious secrets.
    Priscilla pulled her mended shawl closer.
She was dressed in deliberate dishabille today. Her muslin morning
gown dripped with lace that had been cut from a dozen older gowns.
Her golden curls were tied up in a simple lace bandeau. “Don’t look
to me for your villain,” she told Ariadne. “I certainly didn’t slip
the note into my own pocket.”
    Ariadne’s gaze drifted off into the middle
distance. “Oh, but what if you did? What if some part of you was
warning yourself away from the duke because your heart is engaged
elsewhere?” Muttering to herself, she lowered her head and began
scribbling in her journal.
    Priscilla attempted to ignore her. “The
point is, the culprit is still at large, and time is running out. I
cannot have His Grace doubting me. As it is, he has yet to invite
me to his masquerade.”
    Ariadne’s head came up, and she exchanged
glances with Daphne.
    Priscilla stared at them. “You too? Oh, this
is maddening!”
    Daphne looked apologetic. “I’m sure it’s
only because of Mother. She is well respected in many circles.”
    And Priscilla’s mother was not. For one
thing, she tended to escalate any emotion, especially since their
finances had taken a turn for the worse. She was pleasantly happy
one moment and sobbing the next. For another, her family was
connected to trade. Her