1
The Savoy Hotel, London, 1898
She shouldn’t. She really, really shouldn’t.
Lady Kay Matheson stared at the breakfast plate before her, her hand still holding the silver cover she’d just pulled from the tray, and she felt the paralyzing agony of sudden temptation. And who could blame her?
Before her were all the elements of a traditional English breakfast—eggs, bacon, baked beans, fried potatoes, and mushrooms sautéed in lovely, lovely butter. No fried bread was on the tray, but there was a basket of French croissants, along with a pot of jam. Raspberry jam—her favorite. Naturally.
Kay’s empty stomach rumbled.
This was not, she reminded herself sternly as she set aside the plate cover, her breakfast. She slid her gaze across the table to the other tray, then to the one being carried away by her mother’s maid, Foster.
Either of those, Kay knew, could contain her own breakfast, which consisted of a single piece of melba toast, a few paper-thin shavings of cold ham, and a boiled egg. She opened her mouth to call Foster back, then stopped.
Just one slice of bacon, she thought, as the maid disappeared into Mama’s bedroom.
Unable to resist, she moved to take a piece from the plate in front of her, but then a vision of white satin, lace, and tulle sprang into her mind, and the first notes of Mendelssohn’s wedding march sounded in her imagination. She snatched her hand back and sat on it, reminding herself of the fabulous wedding gown Lucile was making for her and how it would never look right if it had to be let out at the seams. Desperate to marshal her willpower, she took a deep breath, but she was immediately overwhelmed by the delicious scent of bacon.
Willpower went to the wall, and Kay capitulated, sliding her hand from beneath her hip just as the door of her bedroom opened. Quick as lightning, she snatched the bacon off the plate and shoved it into her mouth, then slammed the plate cover back over her sister’s breakfast.
“I smell breakfast,” Josephine said as she crossed the sitting room to the table where Kay sat.
“Morning,” Kay mumbled rather indistinctly as her sister crossed the sitting room and approached the table.
“Morning,” Josephine responded, sliding into the opposite chair, her hand lifting the cover off the tray in front of her, exposing Kay’s meager bits of food. “What the—”
Josephine paused, looking up, her emerald-green eyes widening a little, her exquisitely shaped lips curving at the corners. “Stealing my breakfast, are you?” she said teasingly.
Kay’s answering glance was apologetic even as she savored the heavenly taste in her mouth. “Only a bit,” she said once she hadchewed and swallowed the stolen treat. “Sorry, but I just couldn’t help myself.”
“Perfectly understandable.” Josephine gestured to the full plate in front of her sister. “Have the rest, do.”
Kay sighed. “I can’t. I felt my corset growing tighter with every moment I spent looking at those fried potatoes of yours.”
“You’ve been banting for months. You’ve been so terribly strict with yourself, in fact, I’m surprised you haven’t fainted dead away at some point. It won’t hurt to indulge yourself just this once.”
“Won’t it, though?” Kay gave her sister a rueful glance across the table. “If that dress of mine shows the tiniest bulge, the gossip rags will shred me into spills. And giving them any excuse to employ their poisonous pens is something I will never do again. So…”
She paused, shoving the tray toward her sister before she could change her mind. “Take it,” she urged, making a face. “And give me my bread and water.”
The trays were exchanged, but before either of them could pick up a fork, their mother’s voice entered the conversation.
“It’s a miracle, my darlings!” Magdelene cried, coming toward them in a negligee of pink silk, a newspaper in her hand and a pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez perched on the tip of her nose. “An absolute miracle!”
Always flamboyant, Magdelene paused beside Kay’s chair, lifted the paper higher, and began to read. “‘Lady Kay Matheson, as we all know, was one of London’s least impressive debutantes the year she came out—’”
“Whatareyou reading, Mama?” Kay cut in, though given the words her mother had just recited, she feared she already knew.
“Talk of the Town.”
“Delilah Dawlish’s column?” Her fears confirmed, Kay made a sound of exasperation and disdain. “Awful woman. Why do you read her malicious rubbish? We already know she hates me—”
“Ah, but she doesn’t,” Magdelene said triumphantly, waving the paper in the air. “Not anymore.”
Kay gave a snort of disbelief. “Since when?”
Magdelene merely smiled, held up the paper and continued, “‘Because of her scandalous attempt at elopement fourteen years ago, we thought reckless, foolish Lady Kay was forever doomed to shame, disgrace, and spinsterhood. But—’”
