If only someone would mention it! What a relief if someone were to say, “Well, Miss Larke, Guy Roth has finally returned to claim the title of Marquess of Hardbury, after an absence so long some feared he was dead, and his first announcement is that he will not marry you.

How dreadful people were, the way they went around Not Mentioning things.

In every conversation, Arabella could hear them Not Mentioning it. He was correct in saying that an agreement between your fathers when you were infants is not a binding engagement, and everyone knows that. “Lord Hardbury has not actually jilted you. “It is not like you to exaggerate, Arabella,” Mama had scolded in her serene way. If the party’s organizers had intended an atmosphere of carnivalesque chaos, they had succeeded: Colorfully dressed acrobats cartwheeled among the costumed guests, fire-eaters breathed out flames, troubadours sang and jugglers juggled, and up on their tightrope, the rope dancers leaped and twirled.Ī dazzling spectacle, certainly, but it rather frustrated Arabella’s secret, simultaneous missions: hunting Lord Hardbury, avoiding Lord Sculthorpe, dodging Mama, scaring away the fortune hunters who had multiplied after Hardbury jilted her, and pointedly eyeing every other Minerva so they maintained an appropriate distance.Īrabella had ordered the Minerva costume-draped Roman-style robe and red-plumed helmet-knowing it was noway unique, but, as she had said to Mama, “If one must face society’s scorn at a costume party with the Prince Regent and three thousand of his closest friends, one ought to do it dressed as a warrior goddess.” It was a fine, fresh evening, the late-summer sky as clear as one could hope for in London, and the expansive lawns were ablaze with flaming torches and hanging lanterns. If only she could order people to arrange themselves as she pleased! But no, she had to drift insouciantly through the crush of guests spilling out into the gardens, concealing her vexation beneath polite greetings and gracious nods. For the most part, she surely qualified for the job-she excelled at knowing things she ought not know, at dissembling, and at guessing others’ misdeeds before they’d even had a chance to commit them-but she now suspected that being a spy required patience, and patience had never been her forte.Īlready her patience had reached its limits. Which was unfortunate, as “Become a spy” topped her list of things to do if her father disinherited her. Fifteen minutes into the Prince Regent’s costume party, and Arabella was reaching the conclusion that she would not make a very good spy.

A Dangerous Kind of Lady by Mia Vincy