“Miss?” the maid murmured, her eyes squinting with concern as she glanced into Annabelle’s set face. “You look a bit peaked…Is there aught I can bring for you? The housekeeper keeps a tonic in her closet for female ailments—”

“No, it’s not that,” Annabelle said with a wan smile. “It’s just a twinge in my ankle.”

“Some willowbark tea, then?” the girl suggested, moving behind Annabelle to button the back of the ball gown. “I’ll run down and fetch it straightaways, and you can drink it while I do your hair.”

“Yes, thank you.” Annabelle stood still as the maid’s nimble fingers fastened the gown, then she sank gratefully into the chair before the dressing table. She stared at her own strained reflection in the Queen Anne looking glass. “I can’t think how I injured it. I’m never clumsy.”

The maid fluffed the pale golden tulle that trimmed the sleeves of Annabelle’s gown. “I’ll hurry with the tea, miss. That will set you to rights.”

Just as the maid left, Philippa entered the room. Smiling at the sight of her daughter dressed in the yellow ball gown, she stood behind her, and met her gaze in the looking glass. “You look lovely, darling.”

“I feel wretched,” Annabelle said wryly. “I turned my ankle during my walk with the wallflowers this afternoon.”

“Must you refer to yourselves that way?” Philippa asked, looking perturbed. “Surely you could think of some more flattering name for your little group—”

“But it suits us,” Annabelle said with a grin. “If it makes you feel better, I do say the word with a suitable touch of irony.”

Philippa sighed. “I’m afraid my own store of irony is quite depleted at the moment. It isn’t easy for me to watch you struggle and scheme, while other girls of your station have so much easier a time of it. Seeing you in borrowed gowns, and knowing the burdens you carry…I’ve thought a thousand times that if only your father hadn’t died, and if only we had just a little money…”

Annabelle shrugged. “As they say, Mama…‘if turnips were watches, I’d have one by my side.’ “

Philippa stroked her hair lightly. “Why don’t you rest in our room tonight? I’ll read to you, while you lie with your ankle propped up—”

“Don’t tempt me,” Annabelle said feelingly. “I’d like nothing better—but I can’t afford to stay up here tonight. I can’t miss a single opportunity to make an impression on Lord Kendall.” And negotiate with Simon Hunt, she thought, feeling hollow with apprehension.

After drinking a large mug of willowbark tea, Annabelle was able to make her way downstairs with scarcely a wince, although the swelling of her ankle had refused to abate. She had time for a brief exchange with Lillian before the guests were led to the dining hall. A touch of sun had left Lillian’s cheeks pink and glowing, her brown eyes velvety in the candlelight. “So far, Lord Westcliff has made an obvious effort to ignore the wallflowers,” Lillian said with a grin. “You were right—there’ll be no trouble from that quarter. Our only potential problem is Mr. Hunt.”

“He won’t be a problem,” Annabelle said grimly. “As I promised earlier, I’ll talk to him.”

Lillian responded with a relieved grin. “You’re a peach, Annabelle.”

As they were seated at the supper table, Annabelle was disconcerted to discover that she had been located near Lord Kendall. On any other occasion, it would have been a gratifying boon, but on this particular evening, Annabelle wasn’t feeling her best. She was unequal to the task of making intelligent conversation while her ankle was throbbing and her head was aching. To add to her discomfort, Simon Hunt was seated almost directly opposite her, looking maddeningly self-possessed. And making matters even worse, a sense of queasiness kept her from doing justice to the magnificent repast. Bereft of her usual healthy appetite, she found herself picking listlessly at the contents of her plate. Every time she looked up, she found Hunt’s shrewd gaze on her and braced herself for some subtle taunt. Mercifully, however, the few remarks he made to her were bland and commonplace, and she was able to suffer through the meal without incident.

A tide of music began to surge from the ballroom as the supper concluded, and Annabelle was thankful that the ball would begin soon. For once she would be entirely happy to sit in the line of wallflowers and rest her feet while others danced. She supposed that she had taken too much sun earlier in the day, as she was feeling unpleasantly light-headed and sore. Lillian and Daisy, by contrast, looked as vibrant and healthy as ever. Unfortunately, poor Evie had gotten a scolding from her aunt that had left her sorely chastened. “The sun makes her freckle,” Daisy told Annabelle ruefully. “Aunt Florence told Evie that after our outing she’s become as spotty as a leopard, and she’s to have nothing more to do with us until her complexion returns to normal.”

Annabelle frowned, feeling a wave of sympathy for her friend. “Beastly Aunt Florence,” she muttered. “Obviously her sole purpose in life is to make Evie miserable.”

“And she’s brilliant at it,” Daisy agreed. Suddenly she saw something over Annabelle’s shoulder that made her eyes turn as round as saucers. “Zounds! Mr. Hunt is coming this way. I am perishing of thirst, so I’ll just visit the refreshment table, and leave the two of youto, er…”