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into the parlor, the skirts of her white ball gown billowing around her legs. A seamstress in Petworth had finished the muslin and tulle gown earlier that day, apologizing for her lateness when Eloisa arrived for her last fitting. Apparently, every eighteen-year-old girl in Sussex was planning to attend the ball in Crawley.
    And all those older than eighteen, as well.
    “Midnight?” Eloisa repeated in disbelief, her dancing coming to a complete stop. “Don’t you mean two o’clock. Or three?” she whined, thinking that to get home at midnight meant they would have to take their leave of the ball by eleven.
    “We’ll be home at one-thirty. Maybe later,” her father stated from where he stood in the threshold of the Waterford parlor. “I intend to enjoy the supper at midnight.”
    All three Waterford women turned their gazes onto Harold Waterford, their collective gasp rather loud in the suddenly quiet room. Their gasps weren’t in response to his declaration, which was a rather welcome one, but rather to the sight of him dressed in his formal evening clothes. The man might have been in his forties, but dressed in satin breeches, a matching topcoat and silver waistcoat with his silvered hair pulled back into a queue, Harold could have passed for an aristocrat at any ball in Park Lane.
    His wife straightened from where she stood next to Olivia. “You look rather dashing this evening,” she commented with a lifted brow.
    “And you look more lovely than usual, my sweeting,” he replied, openly admiring Louisa’s low-cut gown of scarlet tapestry. Although it wasn’t of the latest fashion, it suited her figure better than the Grecian gowns the younger ladies were wearing these days.
    Olivia could swear she saw her mother blush in response to her father’s comment and had to hide her grin behind a hand. When she caught her father’s suddenly stern expression, the grin disappeared completely.
    “Why aren’t you dressed, young lady?” he asked, his bushy eyebrows furrowing so they nearly joined together on his forehead. “We’re due to leave in a few minutes.”
    Her eyes widening in surprise, Olivia glanced from her father to her mother and then to Eloisa. “I ... I didn’t think I was ... invited,” she stammered, straightening in her chair.
    Harold rolled his eyes. “I’m not leaving you behind,” he countered in a manner suggesting it was best his youngest daughter get dressed. “I know what the Blaylock boy is up to, and I’ll not give him an opportunity to finally get what he wants.”
    Giving her mother a look of shock, Olivia took her leave of the parlor and quickly climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. Although she had a white gown, it wasn’t nearly as fancy as Eloisa’s. Her dance shoes were probably too small. And with only a few minutes, what would she do with her hair?
    With the help of Caroline, the abigail she shared with her sister, she managed to get the gown on and fastened while her mother’s abigail, Mary, brushed her hair and twisted the mass of mahogany into a simple chignon. Olivia pulled a purple ribbon from her vanity drawer and was wrapping it around her midriff when she heard her father’s call from the bottom of the steps. Before she could respond, ear bobs were looped through the piercings in her ears and a string of pearls was secured around her neck. Once she had replaced her slippers with a pair of dance shoes, she stood up and regarded her reflection in the cheval mirror.
    “There,” Mary said with a good deal of satisfaction. “Now, off with you before your father ...” Her mouth suddenly clamped shut at the sight of Harold Waterford standing in the open doorway.
    Olivia followed Mary’s line of sight to where her father stood. “I’m ready,” she said as she gave her father a curtsy.
    Harold cocked his head to one side as he took in the sight of his daughter in her simple gown. Perhaps taking Olivia with us is a mistake , he thought suddenly. She is only