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Olympia had her
first opportunity to put her resolve to the test and prove what a
good friend she was. That evening, at Lady Pellman’s rout, the
object of all the fuss crossed Olympia’s path. Having once again
proved to be exceedingly popular as a dance partner, Miss Houghton
had taken refuge on the terrace, accompanied by her mother and
several other older ladies. It was a warm night and the double
doors from the ballroom had been left open to let in the fragrant
evening air. Olympia had already escaped the idle eyes of her Aunt
Flora to cool off outside and was leaning against the balustrade
wondering if she dare venture into the pleasant dimness of the
garden. Young ladies were not supposed to go off by themselves but
this seemed to be one of those arbitrary rules that were created by
those determined to stop people from following their inclinations.
Olympia was craving some time alone. In the country it was a simple
enough thing to achieve but in London, time alone was a rare and
wonderful commodity.
    The peace and quite was abruptly shattered.
She heard Mrs. Houghton a moment after she set foot on the terrace
for the woman had one of those curiously penetrating voices that
could cut through a crowded room like a well-honed blade and was a
veritable clarion call in the relative quiet out of doors.
    ‘Let us take a turn around the terrace, my
dear. Your cheeks are flushed. It is not becoming.’
    ‘I was about to dance with Mr. Willbury.’
The Season’s Beauty sounded miffed.
    ‘Mr. Willbury is not one of our preferred
suitors.’
    ‘But I like him. He is amusing.’
    ‘Penniless men are often amusing. They have
to be.’
    ‘I don’t think you wish me to have any
fun!’
    ‘Of course I do,’ Mrs. Houghton replied
comfortably, ‘with the right kind of male you may have any amount
of fun you like, within reason.’
    Olympia grinned at this. It more or less
summed up most of a debutante’s life. Fun was certainly to be had,
as long as the man offering it was husband material. Turning, she
began to walk back towards the double doors leading into the
ballroom, a route that would necessarily take her past the Houghton
ensemble. Just before reaching them Olympia artfully lost her hold
on her reticule, which fell neatly at Mrs. Houghton’s feet. Olympia
shook her head in mortification.
    ‘Excuse me ! I am so
clumsy.’
    Mrs. Houghton, who had
recognized her (inevitably, she would recognize all of the competition, for the
marriage mart was not to be taken lightly and the opposition would
have been sized up long since), gave Olympia a gracious smile after
she bent to retrieve the small silk bag. ‘It’s Miss Grayson, is it
not?’
    ‘Indeed it is Ma’am. And you, of course, are
Mrs. Houghton. How delightful to make your acquaintance.’ She
smiled at the woman, making sure to include Carisse who was looking
at her without any discernible interest in those celestial blue
eyes, and dropped a curtsy.
    Mrs. Houghton, having run the necessary
information through her head, would have probably come to the
conclusion that Miss Grayson was an acceptable person to know. All
the world knew that the Grayson’s were well off. Why, even the
younger sons were provided for, which was rather miraculous as it
meant that there were still two Grayson males available, each of
them an excellent catch. Add that to the fact that Olympia was a
brunette – and so an excellent foil for her daughter’s own golden
good looks – and Mrs. Houghton’s seal of approval was assured. ‘Are
you enjoying yourself, my dear?’
    ‘Oh yes, it is all wonderfully amusing,’
Olympia replied mendaciously, for the truth would not serve. There
were some people one could express oneself to freely but the
Houghton ensemble was probably not one of them. ‘And you, Miss
Houghton? Are you having an agreeable time?’
    ‘Very agreeable,’ the girl replied, tone
indifferent. Olympia was female and so did not rouse much interest,
it was plain to see.