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“Yes, how difficult for you,” retorted Gwen, trying not to roll her eyes at the total insignificance of her brother’s problems. “Meanwhile, I’m here with no betrothed, no wedding, and the malicious gossip of London centered on me.”

She turned to glare at the gaggle of people standing near them, who all flushed, took a step away from the Chance family, and began muttering in low tones.

Gwen sighed as she turned back to her family.

Well, she had not known what to expect, but she had not expected…this.

This ostracization. This sense that everyone was talking about her all the time. This unpleasant prickling down the back of her spine whenever there was someone whispering behind her.

It couldn’t always be about her…could it?

“These things pass,” said Gwen’s mother easily, fluttering her fan before her and waving at a friend across the crowded ballroom.

Gwen’s spirits perked up a bit. “It will?”

It was comforting, indeed, to hear that this pain, this agony, this isolation that had encircled her heart the moment Ernest had said he was leaving her would soon fade. How else could she live?

“Of course,” the Dowager Viscountess Pernrith said cheerfully. “Someone else will do something more terrible soon—”

“Mama!”

“I did not say what you have done is terrible, dear,” her mother said chidingly, tapping Gwen with her fan. “I just said someone else would do something worse, and then the gossip will move on. It always does.”

The trouble is, I have done something terrible.

Gwen’s fingers twisted painfully around her own fan. Well. Borrowed from Teddy, as she had refused to come.

Well. Borrowed. Stolen.

The point was, the guilt within her was twisting her up inside, and it was all she could do not to twist her arms around her waist and try to stave off the tears.

She may have been too eager to celebrate the end of her engagement that night, but it wasn’t as if she had gone Lady Romeril’s ball planning such a thing. She had done the right thing; that, Gwen was sure of.

What she was not sure about was whether she would ever be able to live with herself.

There were mutters rippling through the ballroom now. Gwen craned her head in the direction everyone was looking, hopeful someone had turned up in a scandalous manner that would take the world’s attention away from her.

Maybe a duke had arrived with his mistress on his arm, not his wife.

Maybe a lady had attended with one of those sheer gowns, the kind her mother had forbidden her to wear.

Maybe a gentleman had fought a secret duel this morning and arrived with his arm in a sling!

Maybe her Cousin Frank had done what she had been threatening to do for two Seasons now and attended a ball wearing trousers.

Or maybe, Gwen observed with a sinking feeling as her stomach decided to exit her chest, maybe the Marquess of Ravenshurst had arrived and was making straight for her.

Oh, no. Oh…no. Oh, no!

“Oh, no,” whispered Lady Pernrith.

“Oh…no,” muttered Gwen’s father.

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Michael.

“Oh, yes!” Phylis grinned, her gaze flickering between her sister-in-law and the man who would have become her brother-in-law, clear delight in the drama painted across her face. Gwen hadn’t expected her new sister to be a traitor.

Gwen tried to swallow, but not a single muscle in her body appeared to be under her control any longer.