Claire’s cautionary warnings, however, had gone unheeded.

Her aunt’s responses always followed a similar vein: “Just because you’re quite on the shelf, my dear,” her aunt would admonish, “is no reason to thwart dear Harriet’s matrimonial prospects. Ormond is vastly enamored of your sister.” Mrs. Bellingham would then smile smugly at Harriet as if giving her blessing to the union.

Harriet’s comments had been less spiteful, but equally dismissive. “Now, Cleery, sorry as I might be that you were jilted by George Porter, you can’t wish for me to suffer the same fate? And when I become viscountess, I shall be able to offer you any number of eligible men as suitors. Just think of it,” Harriet cheerfully asserted, “we shall all live in splendor.”

But illusory matrimonial hopes aside, Harriet’s response to Ormond’s masquerade invitation was the height of folly. Although, Harriet had slipped out tonight, Claire suspected, with their aunt’s approval.

And now she, the only prudent member of their family, had arrived on the scene to save her sister from the viscount’s sordid designs.

The sounds of revelry were readily apparent as Claire moved up the stairs to the reception rooms-waltz music conducive to intimate contact, boisterous explosions of laughter, the occasional high-pitched female squeals gave evidence that the festivities were well apace.

As Claire came to rest in the doorway to the ballroom a few moments later, her very worst fears were realized.

The guests in their dominoes and masks were dancing in shockingly friendly embraces. Some couples were walking from the room hand in hand, in search of more privacy she didn’t doubt. A tipsy young woman of the demimonde from her appearance was making a spectacle of herself, twirling wildly so her skirts flared high revealing her shapely legs.