Chapter One
London, 1823
What was a caricaturist to do when she ran out of material?
Calliope Minton observed the pitch and sway of an aging
duke and a newly launched debutante as the two waltzed
across the terrazzo floor. She could cast the duke as a
tortoise and the young girl as a fresh minnow. No, what
about the duke as a long-toothed wolf and the girl as a
sheep? Calliope grimaced. The duke and debutante were
about as appealing as the ideas floating through her brain.
Calliope was prepared to do something drastic. Even if she
had to strip to her shift in the middle of the Killroys'
lavish ballroom, at least the ton could discuss something
besides the weather.
"Spring certainly has kept its grip on winter. Is it going
to be warmer anytime soon?" Miss Sarah Jones asked the
small group gathered on the fringe of the Killroys'
crowded ballroom.
Clasping her hands to keep from shaking the pretty
debutante,Callio pe focused on a leafy philodendron in the
corner. She had long since decided the foliage was the
most interesting thing in attendance.
A mousy girl stepped into view, looking nervous and
uncomfortable. Calliope smiled, prompting the girl to
straighten her shoulders and tentatively smile in return.
Beneath the girls' self-conscious exterior was a warm and
intelligent spirit. Next time one of the fashionable girls
criticized her, maybe they'd be in for a surprise.
That image was one Calliope dearly wished to publish in
the London papers. Too long had the same insipid ladies
and feckless gentlemen reigned supreme over the ton. Just
once she wanted to see the plain but intelligent girls and
lads give back as good as they got. Perhaps if they were
to do it en masse ... She could form a group, create a
revolution of sorts. Rise up, normal young people! Break
down the social barriers! Overthrow the haughty elite!
Calliope's thirst for vengeance against the upper classes
took root in the idea. Yes, she could lead them. Overthrow
one noble at a time.
Which one first?
Voices rippled through the room, interrupting her
thoughts. Lady Killroy motioned for someone to join their
group and Calliope froze as she registered the man's jet-
black hair and intense onyx eyes.
The too-handsome Marquess of Angelford prowled toward her.
Dark locks framed his patrician features, and wealth and
privilege clung to him like a winter cloak. He was looking
directly at her, his gaze washing over her.
Calliope's heart skipped several beats and she tried to
still her racing pulse. Matrons and debutantes preened as
Angelford passed. Calliope shifted her feet, caught
between irritation and anticipation. The only thing she
detested more than his conceit was her own physical
response to him.
One noble at a time, a voice in the back of her head said.
He reached their group and acknowledged their hostess,
Lady Killroy.
"I am so pleased you could attend our gathering, Lo rd
Angelford," Lady Killroy gushed. Angelford's arrival
marked her ball a complete success.
One noble at a time, the voice urged.
"We were discussing the dreadful weather, my lord," Sarah
said, "Isn't it wretched?"
"Mmm, yes. We were unable to run the horses last weekend."
His rich voice sent warm ripples down Calliope's spine.
Sarah giggled along with Lucinda Fredericks, another
pretty young debutante who tried Calliope's patience.
One noble at a time. The voice became more insistent. She
plunged into the conversation. "Considering the
inconvenience, I can't believe Aeolus didn't command the
winds for you, my lord."
There was a collective gasp. Her once-brave internal voice
hesitated and then fled. Calliope wanted to retract the
sarcastic comment, but Father Time refused her entreaty.
Lady Simpson looked irate. Her fan hammered against her
leg.
Calliope could have sworn a fleeting smile crossed
Angelford's features, but his expression became even more
arrogant. "Perhaps someday he will. Sometimes behavior
must be taught." His deep, dark eyes mocked her.
She willed the redness from her cheeks and inclined her
head. A discussion of the weather, an internal call to
arms and her finest adversary. A disastrous combination.
What had she been thinking, to berate him in front of the
others? He drove her mad, but she should have waited to
discreetly slice him.
The titters from Sarah and Lucinda grated.
"No better than you deserve," Sarah said just loudly
enough for Calliope to hear.
Her fingers itched for ink and paper. The mass call to
arms once again returned to a personal vendetta. Sarah
would lose her smile when she saw the rendition of her
vapid look and tart tongue in print, the image of which
was already forming in Calliope's mind.
Lady Simpson snapped her ever-present fan closed,
interrupting Calliope's thought. "Sometimes a bad apple
sneaks past even my watchful gaze, my lord. I do try to be
ever vigilant, but from time to time recommendations from
some of the gentry are suspect. They tend to be less
discerning than those of us with higher standards."
Worry crept into Calliope's mind. She had defi- nitely
made a strategic mistake, and probably compromised her
position as Lady Simpson's companion. Lord, how she hated
society. It was a game she could never win.
Lady Killroy seized the pause, obviously eager not towaste
the opportunity of having Angelford at hand. "Yes,it' s
always hard to find good help. On a more interesting
note,Mi ss Jones was commenting on the new Italian marble
being used at the palace. She and Miss Fredericks were
recently presented at St. James's."
Sarah took her cue. "Oh, yes. The marble is the loveliest
shade of gray. And they found these lovely plants. They
looked lovely in the ... "
Calliope blotted out Sarah's lovely voice, which could
continue inane conversation for hours. She noticed
Angelford's boredom and felt a dash of good humor return
at the thought of his being cornered by the two twits all
evening ...
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