Chapter 1
“Read the forbidden books—the ones hidden at the back of the top shelf that will surely make you blush—for they are, undoubtedly, the most edifying.”
—The Debutante’s Revenge
Miss Lily Hartley plucked a silk pillow off the settee in her sister’s drawing room and hugged it to her chest, carefully observing Fiona’s expression as she read the paragraphs Lily had drafted that morning for their wildly popular column in the London Hearsay. She wanted her sister’s opinion on this week’s installment before delivering it to the newspaper’s offices.
Noting Fiona’s widened eyes and arched brow, Lily braced herself.
“‘If she so wishes, every young woman on the marriage mart should experience a real kiss—the sort that starts with a brush of the lips but progresses to knee-melting pleasure,’” Fiona read, nodding as though she was impressed. She lifted her gaze from the paper and swept an auburn curl behind her ear. “Have you kissed someone?” she asked, a conspiratorial grin lighting her face. “Like that?”
Lily sighed, deflating. “Much to my chagrin, no.” She found it ironic—tragic, really—that the authoress of The Debutante’s Revenge, the column that had scandalized proper matrons and dutiful chaperones throughout London with its salacious advice and provocative drawings, had never been properly ravished.
“It’s only a matter of time,” Fiona sympathized. “You’ll find someone who makes your heart beat faster and who admires your generous, adventurous spirit.”
Lily had heard Fiona’s reassurances before. But if the dance floor were a metaphor for life, she was still lingering on the perimeter, squished between the potted palms and a wall of matchmaking mamas.
Over the last few months, Lily had watched wistfully as her older sister fell in love and married a handsome earl who adored her. Lily couldn’t have been happier for Fiona, but she missed having her at home. Everyone said Lily’s turn was coming, but so far, no prince had appeared. She’d had her share of suitors, but each one had been looking for a reserved, genteel wife. Someone to decorate his arm and nod in awe while he waxed on about horses or hunting. She wasn’t about to give up her spot among the potted palms for a man who thought women were mere ornaments.
Happily, however, she and her sister would be together for the next fortnight. Fiona’s husband, Gray, was traveling to Scotland to conduct some business, and Fi had invited Lily to stay with her while he was gone.
Lily walked to her sister’s desk and shuffled through the array of Fiona’s sketches strewn across the polished surface, each one dreamier than the next. A vignette of a broad-shouldered soldier bowing over a young woman’s gracefully extended hand. A man and woman seated on a park bench beneath a parasol, their heads intimately inclined toward one another. The silhouettes of a couple facing each other, their bodies only a breath apart—as though they were on the very brink of a kiss.
But the drawing that made Lily’s breath hitch was a rough, unfinished sketch on a scrap of paper no larger than her palm. It showed a man gazing at a woman with blatant admiration and awe. His expression said he was head over heels in love—and that the woman, shown only from the back, held his whole world in her hands.
If a gentleman ever looked at Lily in just that way, she’d probably swoon on the spot. And she’d know he was the love she’d been looking for.
Lily brought the little drawing to the settee where Fiona sat and showed it to her. “I didn’t think it possible, but you grow more talented with every sketch. This is so … poignant and lovely. May I keep it?”
“It’s just a rough drawing, but if you like it, it’s all yours,” Fiona said kindly.
Lily carefully folded the paper and tucked it into her bodice. “Thank you.”
Fiona frowned slightly. “May I ask you something—about the column?”
“Of course.”
“Do you ever worry that one of our readers will find herself in trouble because of our advice?”
Lily considered the question. “I suppose that if a reader was caught doing something improper, her reputation could suffer a bit. There are worse fates.”
Fiona nodded, thoughtful. “She could be forced to marry a man she doesn’t love.”
“You have a point,” Lily conceded. “But our readers know the column isn’t meant to be taken as gospel. The advice is on the daring side and a bit tongue-in-cheek. Still, truth lies at the heart of all we say. We should not shy away from that truth.”
Fiona pulled Lily into an unexpectedly fierce hug. “You’re absolutely right. Someone needs to champion all the shy debutantes and meek wallflowers out there, and I can think of no one better than you.” She pressed a kiss to Lily’s temple.
Lily wriggled away from her sister’s embrace. “I’m eager to deliver the column and sketch to the Hearsay’s offices.” She peered at the elegant clock on the mantel. “It’s only an hour until they close—I must leave soon. When I return, I’ll arrange to have some clothes sent from home. Just think, we’ll have two whole weeks together. We shall stay up late chatting, raid the kitchen for midnight snacks, and then lounge about all day.”
“It will be lovely,” Fiona agreed. “Like old times.”
Lily nodded. “Just like it used to be.” Except that now Fi had a doting husband and a home of her own. For all Lily knew, Fi was expecting a babe already. The gulf between them seemed to widen daily. “I’m going to change. Is my disguise still in the trunk?”
“Yes.” Fiona smirked. “Unless one of the maids mistook the items for dust rags.”
“Heaven forfend,” Lily said, grinning. The outfit was one of her favorite parts of the job.
She, Fiona, and their dear friend Sophie had agreed that no one must discover they were the creative forces behind The Debutante’s Revenge. Though the column was all the rage, it also had plenty of detractors—aristocrats who found the advice too scandalous, too shocking, and too true. Which was why no one could know about the three friends’ involvement.
One whisper of their connection to the column would destroy their reputations. They had no wish to be cast out of polite society or to bring shame upon their families—not before Lily and Sophie had made matches. And especially not before they’d had sufficient opportunity to convey all they wished to say to the young, female population of London.
So, each week, Lily took the precaution of donning her disguise prior to delivering the latest column to the newspaper’s offices. The editor assumed she was merely a scrawny messenger boy rather than the controversial column’s author.
Lily hurried to the guest bedchamber where she slept whenever she visited her sister and brother-in-law’s house, closed the door, and opened the trunk at the foot of the bed. Buried deep in a corner were an old pair of boy’s breeches, a dingy white shirt, and a jacket with patched elbows, along with socks, shoes, and a cap.
She unlaced her gown and let the deep green silk slide off her shoulders before removing all of her undergarments and tightly binding her breasts with a long swath of linen. She wriggled her hips into the breeches, which were vexingly snug across her bottom—but that couldn’t be helped. She remembered to slip the little sketch Fiona had given her into her pocket—for good luck. And a few minutes later, she stood before the full-length mirror, carefully tucking the last long strand of dark hair under her cap.
Copyright © 2019 by Anna Bennett
