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Martha exhaled a little, starting towards the rooms, then stopped as she glanced within the windows.

The dancing had begun, along with the revelry associated with country dances, but it was the dancers themselves that caught Martha’s notice.

Not one of the ladies wore a wig as she was, and as every lady in London did. Not one of them wore a gown so elegant, though all were dressed in fair enough finery. No sign of silks, or much of satin, and while the décor was certainly charming, it was hardly grand.

Martha would look like the queen herself among a party of peasants, entering as she was.

“I cannot do this …” she whispered, shaking her head.

“What?” Eliza asked, coming to her side. “Do what?”

“Martha? What is wrong?” Cassie’s voice called from somewhere behind them, then her friend suddenly took her other arm.

Martha blinked at the sight before her in the windows. “I cannot go in there like this.” She frowned in thought, then shook her hands free of her cousin and friend. “Quick, take my wig down. We can put it in the carriage before it goes to the mews.” She fumbled along her scalp for the pins, plucking them out the moment her fingers gripped them.

“Martha!” Cassie hissed in distress. “Don’t, it is so fine …”

“It will be ridiculous in there,” Martha insisted, feeling the wig totter a little on her head as she removed another pin. “I will not be gawked at, and I will not give any the impression that I may not belong with the others. I must join them, not sit above them. Come on, pull those bows off of my train, they are unnecessary.”

With girlish giggles, the three of them went at various pieces of Martha’s appearance, ridding the garment of anything they could that made it in any way outré. She couldn’t do anything about the gold-wire embroidering, but if the rest of the fuss could be removed …

“Here, let me plait your hair,” Cassie said, taking the pins that had been used for the wig and setting them aside. “I should be able to set it fairly quickly. Do you want ribbons, too?”

Martha shook her head. “No, I want to be as simple as possible without looking a peasant.”

“I don’t think you’ll pass for a peasant, should you wear your hair down and be without half of your skirts,” Eliza laughed. “I could draw up your train, make it a la polonaise from the start, rather than waiting for the dancing.”

“Please do!” Martha urged as she yanked the lace cuffs from her sleeves. She felt Eliza fumbling around the skirts at her back even as Cassie worked at her hair, and she brushed at her cheeks quickly to rid her face of the rouge she’d foolishly added. It was all ridiculous, and she ought to have seen that from the beginning.

Still, no one had seen her yet but those she loved, so there was no harm done.

Mr. Cummings cleared his throat as he stood nearby. “Incoming,” he told them all in a low tone, coming to stand in front of his wife’s attempts to adjust Martha’s skirts.

“What I wouldn’t give for a fan to hide my face,” Martha muttered to herself as she tried to hide behind his frame.

His low laugh was not the answer she’d expected. “I don’t think that would be necessary, in this case. Good evening, Lord Hillier.”

Martha closed her eyes slowly, her lungs seizing up. Of all the times and places to be seen by him, her frantic readjustment of her appearance outside of the assembly rooms was certainly one of the worst.

“Good evening, Cummings. Mrs. Cummings. Miss Holmes. Good evening, Miss Smith.”

There was no mistaking the shift in his tone when he said Martha’s name, and her eyes snapped open, darting to him at once.

He smiled at her in a manner she had never before seen, something tender, hot, amused, and proud all at once. And nothing in his expression held the slightest sign of distaste.

She could have collapsed where she stood as relief poured over her in waves.

“Good evening, my lord,” she murmured, curtseying with all the elegance one could manage while one worked at her hair and her skirts.

He looked over their efforts with an assessing eye before returning his attention to Martha. “This seems interesting. Was there a need to adjust your appearance?”

She dipped her chin in a playfully regal nod. “Indeed, and my evening shall be all the better for it.”

“Done,” Eliza exclaimed as she brushed at the now drawn-up train and the rest of the skirts. “No one will ever notice.” She stepped to the side and curtseyed belatedly to Benj. “My lord. Apologies for my tardy greeting.”

“You were rather importantly engaged,” Benj told her with a warm nod. “No apology needed. Miss Holmes, you are clearly quite adept at the fashioning of hair. I never saw a more becoming arrangement. One would never know it was not set at home before Miss Smith departed.”

The compliment was so easily given, so sincere, and knowing Benj was the giver, there was no alternative but to believe his words implicitly.