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Honoria scrunched up her nose, tapping the quill against her chin. “No, that is too obvious. First, let us write about the previous ball so we can move to our main topic of conversation from there.”

Lydia grinned. “You would make a perfect governess.”

“Yes, forging a letter, harboring a thief in my room. I am a perfect example to follow,” Honoria quipped, though her smile held a touch of genuine amusement.

“You are helping a friend punish an evil man and gain enough compensation for both of us to lead a pleasant life.” Lydia waved a hand, settling more comfortably beside her friend. “I’d say it is a very good example to follow. Especially for a lady.”

Honoria ducked her head and fiddled with the quill. “How about… It was a pleasure dancing with you during the Caldwells’ ball. An accomplished dancer such as yourself must require constant practice.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “That way, we can transition into the activities he performs in his spare time and perhaps even ask about his plans for future balls.”

“That is very good,” Lydia agreed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “But let’s add a flair of self-deprecation and perhaps a bit of humor.”

Honoria raised a brow and dipped the quill in ink, her hand poised expectantly over the paper. “Do dictate.”

Lydia thought for a moment, her lips pursed in concentration, before speaking. “It was a pleasure dancing with you during the Caldwells’ ball. A person, such as myself, who is not a graceful dancer only ever hopes for a competent partner to keep one upright and not to let one land on one’s face in front of the entire ton.”

“That is good.” Honoria chuckled, her quill easily gliding across the paper. “Please, continue.”

“You must forgive my candidness,” Lydia dictated, her gaze concentrated on a single point ahead, “but I feel that my future husband should know all my worries. After all, my every step is being observed by harsh matrons of the ton who deem me unsuitable to be in their company, and my every smile is being evaluated by the envious ladies who wished to be the ones dancing with you.”

Honoria’s quill stilled mid-word, and she glanced at Lydia, something unreadable flickering across her face.

Lydia shifted on her knees, smoothing her skirts. “Something amiss?”

Honoria shook her head, her fingers tightening around the quill. “No.” Then she dipped her quill in ink and continued writing, the scratch of nib against paper unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

Lydia had once been the girl who wished to be dancing in Art’s arms in front of the entire ton. She’d thought she wouldn’t care for all the stares directed their way once that happened, but the reality was never as easy. Even in her new persona as a wealthy widow, she was looked down upon. If she had married the viscount all those years ago, a mere slip of a girl, a maid…

Lydia shook her head, pressing her fingernails into her palms. That line of thought was never helpful. Thank God she didn’t marry the bounder. No doubt, she would have been miserable.

Of course, he never would have married her. She was beneath him. Way-way beneath him. Even his current fiancée was considered unacceptable. His title probably had fallen on hard times if he sought out an heiress. Lydia’s lips curved into a sharp smile. She would make certain his troubles would not end there.

She cleared her throat, pushing away the bitterness threatening to color her voice. “I have never been in a position where every eye was on me—watching, scrutinizing, evaluating. As the viscount’s betrothed, I need to get used to being in such a position, and I hope my husband will be by my side guiding me through it all. A hand on the small of my back, a nod toward me and a smile are truly the only things required to give me confidence.”

Honoria threw a questioning gaze at Lydia, her eyebrow arched.

“I am getting to a point, I promise,” Lydia said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “He needs to believe his fiancée to be vulnerable, sincere. He needs to want to share all his intimate secrets with her.”

“You mean with you,” Honoria observed shrewdly, her quill hovering above the paper.

“With us, yes. So we can get him alone, naked and afraid, then get the ring and leave him there.”

Honoria’s face twisted. “I do not want to see him naked.”

“Oh, fine!” Lydia rolled her eyes, pretending annoyance. “But how about vulnerable, alone, and without his precious jewel?”

Honoria grumbled something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “I know which jewel you’d like to see.”

“What?” Lydia craned her neck to face Honoria, but her friend turned away, a flush creeping up her neck as she dipped her quill in the ink again.

“I said, as long as you get the ring, I do not care for much else.”

Lydia shook her head, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Then keep writing.”

Honoria raised a brow, quill poised expectantly. “Well?”

Lydia chewed on her lip, gathering her thoughts. “But before I can saunter into the society as Viscountess Thornton, I do hope you shall make a few appearances at balls and soirees to ease my entry. Are you planning any outings this week? Please, I would love to read any gossip you can share about life in London. I want to be familiar with every aspect of your and the ton’s life before my return to London.”

Honoria tapped a finger against her lips, leaving a tiny ink smudge. “That won’t do.”