Never Miss a Chance Read Online Free PDF Page A

trade.  Perhaps you can find work as a printer’s assistant,
when you tire of bringing shame to the distinguished house of Lynwood.”
    Three of the ladies standing near Lady Gwendolyn tried –
quite ineffectively – to hide their giggles behind their hands.
    “I confess myself surprised that you read the treatise,”
said Lizzie.  “I didn’t know you even realized there were sections of the broad
sheets unrelated to gossip and fashion.”
    “Oh, but I didn’t actually read the treatise,” said Lady
Gwendolyn, speaking louder so the people nearby wouldn’t have to strain so much
to hear.  “No true lady should ever pollute her mind with such disgraceful
thoughts.  But simply everyone is talking about it tonight.  And, needless to
say, not in a favorable way.”
    “I’m flattered that my writing is the focus of so much
attention,” countered Lizzie, aware of their ever expanding audience.  “Because
you can’t effect change without illuminating the problem.  So I thank you, dear
Gwendolyn, for your part in spreading word of my work.  I shall be sure to let
your parents know of your assistance to my cause.”
    Not wanting her parents to think any such thing, Gwendolyn
blanched.  “Now see here, Elizabeth.  That’s not what I meant at all.”
    “You might want to be clearer with your thoughts then,
Gwen.  Perhaps write them down before you speak.  I can give you tips, if you’d
like, including the proper way to remove ink stains from fingers and
perspiration from brows.  The latter tip you could quite definitely use right
now, since it appears you’ve broken out into a – please pardon the expression –
sweat.”
    One of Gwendolyn’s acolytes swooned at the term, while two
others turned to see that the mere threat of telling Lady Gwen’s parents anything
related to the treatise had indeed turned her brow rather damp.
    “Now if you’ll excuse me,” said Lizzie, “I must return to my
aunt.”
    And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, but not
in the direction of Aunt Prue.  She needed time alone to regroup.  Gwendolyn
Bossert’s friends had actually laughed at her.  In front of her.  It was a
unique and unsettling experience.  Most ladies of Lizzie’s acquaintance were
usually at least somewhat in awe of her station in life, or, more to the point,
so intent on snaring a Kellington as a husband that they ingratiated themselves
with Lizzie at every opportunity.  It’s not that Lizzie liked the toadying –
she loathed it, really – but if those women were willing to laugh openly at
her, it meant her reputation truly was in danger.
    It disconcerted her more than she cared to admit.
    Fortunately, Rosalind appeared and took her hand. 
    “I saw you talking to Lady Gwendolyn.  What did the cat
want?”
    “To try to shame me for my lamentable lack of shame.  The
evening is growing tiresome.  I suddenly find myself in the rather unfamiliar
position of outsider.  Perhaps this will finally instill that elusive sense of
humility in me, though it’ll probably turn out to be indecently fleeting.”
    Rosalind squeezed Lizzie’s hand.  “If anyone can turn this
to an advantage, it’s you.  You put into words what so many of us have been
thinking.  But even more importantly, you put your name and reputation on the
line to back it up.  Very few would be so brave.”
    Lizzie came close to tearing up at Rosalind’s words of
support.  Good Lord she was becoming maudlin.  The evening was not getting
better.
    They were interrupted by Rosalind’s tiresome brother, Calvin
Carson, Viscount Worthington.   Of middling height, he had a receding hairline,
which was beyond any man’s control.  But he didn’t do himself any favors by combing
it to the side, which made him look several years older than his true age of
three and thirty.  He was known for impossibly high starched collars and gaudy
waistcoats that wouldn’t stay buttoned due to his ever expanding