Henry almost blurted out that she didn't "fancy" anything—she was in love with Dunford—but not wanting to give Lady Wolcott the satisfaction of seeing that her emotions had been roused, she simply clamped her mouth shut. Sarah-Jane cocked her head in an extremely condescending manner, and Henry, unable to take any more, tugged at her sleeve and said coldly, "Please let go of me."

"Her name is Christine Fowler. He is going to see her on Friday. At midnight."

"I said, 'Let go of me,' Lady Wolcott."

"Have it your own way, then, Miss Barrett. But think about this: if I am lying, how could I possibly give you the specific time of his next assignation? You could simply go to her house at midnight, see I am wrong, and declare me a liar." Abruptly, she let go of Henry's sleeve. "But I am not a liar."

Henry, who had been poised for flight just moments earlier, found herself rooted to the spot. Lady Wolcott's words held more than a grain of sense.

"Here." Sarah-Jane held out a piece of paper. "This is her address. Miss Fowler is rather well-known. Even I know where she lives."

Henry stared at the slip of paper as if it were a monster.

"Take it, Miss Barrett. What you choose to do with it is up to you."

Henry still stared, unable to identify the awful emotions coursing through her. Lady Wolcott finally picked up her hand, uncurled her fingers, and tucked the paper into her palm. "In case you don't read it, Miss Barrett, I will tell you the address. She lives at number fourteen, Russell Square, in Bloomsbury. It is quite a nice little house. I believe your husband-to-be acquired it for her."

"Please go away," Henry said, her voice flat.

"As you wish."

"Now."

Lady Wolcott inclined her head gracefully and disappeared into the crowd.

"Oh, there you are, Henry!"

Henry looked up and saw Belle approaching.

"What are you doing off in the corner?"

Henry swallowed. "Just trying to escape the crowds for a moment."

"I certainly cannot blame you. It can be rather wearisome being the latest rage, can it not? But have no fear, Dunford surely will be along shortly to save you."

"No!" Henry said wildly. "That is, I don't feel well. Would I be terribly rude if I went home now?"

Belle looked at her with concern in her eyes. "Of course not. You do look a trifle flushed. I hope you do not have the fever."

"No, I just... I just want to lie down."

"Of course. Why don't you make your way to the door? I'll find Dunford and have him escort you home."

"No." The word came out quickly and with more force than Henry intended. "That's not necessary. He's probably with his friends, and I don't want to interrupt him."

"I'm certain he won't mind. In fact he would be most upset with me for not informing him you are ill. He'll be very concerned."

"But I really want to go now." Henry could hear a note of hysteria creeping into her voice. "I really would like to lie down, and it may take you ages to locate him."

"All right," Belle said slowly. "Come with me. I'll have my carriage bring you home. No, I'll escort you. You don't look very steady on your feet."

Henry wasn't surprised. She certainly didn't feel very steady, either on her feet or otherwise. "That's not necessary, Belle. I'll be all right once I lie down."

"It's absolutely necessary," Belle replied firmly. "And it is no trouble at all. I'll see you to bed and then return to the party."

Henry nodded, not even noticing when the hated piece of paper slipped from her fingers.

They made their way outside, stopping to ask a friend to inform John and Dunford that they had left. When they reached the carriage, Henry realized she was trembling; the shaking stayed with her the entire way home.

Belle's eyes grew more and more worried, and she reached to touch Henry's forehead. "Are you certain you do not have the fever? I had one once. It was dreadful, but we can treat you more effectively if we detect it early."

"No," Henry said, clutching her arms to her chest. "It's just fatigue. I'm sure of it."

Belle did not look convinced, and when they arrived at the Blydon mansion, she prodded Henry quickly up the stairs and into bed. "I don't think I should leave," she said, sitting down in the chair next to Henry's bed. "You don't look at all well, and I shouldn't like you to be alone if you take a turn for the worse." .

"Please don't stay," Henry begged, thinking that somehow she needed to be alone in her misery and confusion. "I shan't be alone. Your parents employ an army of servants. And I don't intend to do anything other than lie down and go to sleep. Besides, John will expecting you back at the ball. You did leave word that you planned to return."

"You're certain you'll go right to sleep?"

"I'm certain I'll try." With all the thoughts swimming in her head, Henry wasn't sure she'd ever be able to sleep peacefully again.

"All right, then. But don't think I'm going to enjoy myself." Belle smiled as she tried to tease some good humor into her friend.

Henry managed a feeble smile in return. "Would you please blow out the candle when you leave?"

Belle nodded, did as she was asked, and walked out. Henry laid awake in the dark for several hours. She stared up at a ceiling she could not see, her mind whirling around in a maze that always seemed to take her back to the same spot.

Surely Lady Wolcott had to be lying. She was obviously malicious, and Henry had been made very aware that she wanted—or at least once had wanted—Dunford for herself. She had every motive for trying to destroy Henry's happiness.