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“Having known you since seducing the writing master’s daughter was your primary aim in life, my imagination does not stretch the distance required to swallow the idea of your marrying a frump. As Lenore Lester is undeniably a frump, I rest my case. So, how soon can we leave without giving offence?”
    Taking a seat opposite his friend, Jason looked thoughtful. “Her…er…frumpishness was a mite obvious, don’t you think?”
    â€œA matter beyond question,” Frederick assured him.
    â€œEven, perhaps, a shade too obvious?”
    Frederick frowned. “Jason—are you feeling quite the thing?”
    Jason’s grey eyes gleamed. “I’m exceedingly well and in full possession of my customary faculties. Such being the case, I am, of course, considerably intrigued by Miss Lester.”
    â€œBut…” Frederick stared. “Dash it—she wore a pinafore !”
    Jason nodded. “And a gown of heavy cambric, despite the prevailing fashion for muslins. Not just frumpish, but determinedly so. It can hardly have been straightforward to get such unappealing apparel made. All that being so, what I want to know is why.”
    â€œWhy she’s a frump?”
    â€œWhy Lenore Lester wishes to appear a frump. Not quite a disguise, for she does not go so far as to obliterate reality. However,” Jason mused, his gaze resting consideringly on Frederick, “obviously, she has gauged her intended audience well. From her confidence just now, I imagine she has succeeded thus far in convincing those who visit here that she is, indeed, as she appears.”
    It was all too much for Frederick. “What makes you so sure she is not as she appears—a frump?”
    Jason smiled, a wolf’s smile. He shrugged. “How to explain? An aura? Her carriage?”
    â€œ Carriage ?” Frederick considered, then waved the point aside. “I’ve heard my mother lecture m’sisters that carriage makes a lady. In my sisters’ cases, it definitely hasn’t helped.”
    Jason gestured dismissively. “Whatever. Miss Lester may dress as she pleases but she cannot deceive me.”
    His confidence set Frederick frowning. “What about those spectacles?”
    â€œPlain glass.”
    Frederick stared. “Are you sure?”
    â€œPerfectly.” Jason’s lips twisted wryly. “Hence, dear Frederick, there is no viable conclusion other than that Lenore Lester is intent on pulling the wool over our collective eyes. If you can disregard the impression her appearance invokes, then you would see, as I did—and doubtless Aunt Agatha before me—that beneath the rags lies a jewel. Not a diamond of the first water, I’ll grant you, but a jewel none the less. There is no reason Lenore Lester needs must wear her hair in a prim bun, nor, I’ll lay any odds, does she need to wear heavy gowns and a pinafore. They are merely distractions.”
    â€œBut…why?”
    â€œPrecisely my question.” Determination gleamed in His Grace of Eversleigh’s grey eyes. “I greatly fear, Frederick, that you will indeed have to brave the trials and tribulations of a full week of Jack and Harry’s ‘entertainments’. For we are certainly not leaving before I discover just what Lenore Lester is hiding. And why.”
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    N INETY MINUTES later, the hum of drawing-room conversation filling his ears, Jason studied the gown his hostess had donned for the evening with a certain degree of respect. She had entered quietly and stood, calmly scanning the throng. He waited until she was about to plunge into the mêlée before strolling to her elbow.
    â€œMiss Lester.”
    Lenore froze, then, slowly, using the time to draw her defences about her, turned to face him. Her mask firmly in place, she held out her hand. “Good evening, Your Grace. I trust you found your rooms adequate?”
    â€œPerfectly, thank you.”