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she was and not because of the fortune and connections she stood for?
    The vision of a dark cynical face and scornful eyes raking over her rose before her. Well, there was one person at least who did not seem to care that she was the Season’s most eligible young woman. It annoyed her intensely to be dismissed out of hand as she had been, to be judged before she was even acquainted, but it also intrigued her. Who was this Harwood whom her mother considered to be unfit for a properly brought up young woman, and why did he harbor such a disgust for Lady Althea Beauchamp? At least she could look forward to amusing herself at the next fashionable squeeze by trying to discover the answer to this riddle.
     

Chapter 4
     
    Oddly enough, Althea was not alone in her wish to learn more about the person with whom she had briefly exchanged glances at the St. John’s rout. Though he was not even aware of his desire to do so until he found himself surveying ballrooms for a beautiful face with a flawless complexion, sapphire eyes, and hair so dark it appeared shiny blue-black, Gareth too had been unable to forget the woman who caught his attention, unwilling though it was.
    Gareth’s mother, on the other hand, was fully conscious of her desire to see the sought-after Lady Althea Beauchamp again and make her acquaintance. In fact, an introduction to Lady Althea had become her major goal in attending the select events to which she dragged her son. Gareth still protested at the number and frequency of these functions, but if he seemed a little less resistant to the idea of escorting his mother than he had been previously, she was too intent on her quarry to remark upon it.
    After observing Lady Althea at several of these fashionable gatherings, the marchioness was able to assure herself that at some point in the evening, Althea and her grandmother never failed to escape to the card room, and she laid her plans accordingly. The Marchioness of Harwood could not equal her son in his skill at cards— she had neither the wit nor the concentration for it—but she was no worse than most of those crowding around the tables and a good deal better than many.
    She knew that her son, while faithful to his promise to accompany her, did try to limit the time he spent at ton affairs by leaving as early as possible, often seeking her out midway through the evening. Taking this into account, she carefully constructed her strategy.
    “My dear Lavinia”—she fixed Lady Edgcumbe with a knowing eye as they sat together at Lady Nayland’s annual ball—“you are such a sensitive creature. Surely your head aches as much as mine does from the heat and the crowd. Do let us repair to the peace and quiet of the card room.”
    Lady Edgcumbe glanced at her companion in some surprise, for usually the marchioness, who still retained some her former beauty, preferred to be as close as possible to the very center of activity and attention. But there was an insistence in Sally’s voice that piqued her curiosity. “Very well.” Smoothing out the ample skirt of her purple satin gown, Lady Edgcumbe rose in stately fashion and followed her friend in the direction of the card room.
    They had only proceeded a few paces, however, when the marchioness grasped her arm and whispered loudly in her ear. “I do have rather a favor to ask of you, Lavinia. When Gareth approaches us, as he will fairly soon, no doubt, I beg you to think of some excuse to leave us.”
    Lady Edgcumbe loved intrigue as much as any other dowager who spent her evenings gossiping about the matrimonial prospects of those in their first Season and the indiscretions of young matrons who, having made their respectable alliances, were now intent on enjoying themselves, so she asked no questions, but smiled knowingly at her friend. The marchioness was an intrigant of the highest stature, and to watch her in action was worth the price of admission. Whatever her game was, it undoubtedly involved her son and