And yes, he sneezed at the merest hint of flowers or perfume which meant, in society, he sneezed all the time. And perhaps his eyes were a bit small and close set and his chin a bit too weak for him to ever be called truly handsome. Perhaps he was a bit old for her at more than twice her age. Still, he was, by all accounts, a proper gentleman with a respectable fortune and was well thought of in society. It wasn’t that Lord Ferringdon was a terrible person, though his regard was pointed enough to make her very uncomfortable. Well, now she had one and she fervently wished he would go away. For all of her first season in London, and then for the first few months after she and Horatia had beat a strategic retreat to Bath thinking she might have better luck with less competition in the marriage mart, Philippa had bemoaned the fact that she did not have a suitor. It was something she ought to have been used to by that point. She’d known him for the entirety of her life and his gaze had simply traveled past her as if she didn’t exist. He’d been painfully handsome, painfully distant and so obviously preoccupied with some wretched flirt that he hadn’t even seen her.

Lord Thomas Asheburne, the Earl of Wellsleigh. It wasn’t just Horatia and Ferringdon, though, if she were brutally honest with herself. She wanted nothing more than to step down into the cool, wet grass of the garden and run as far and fast as she could. She managed to halt there at the railing though, in truth, she wanted to go further. Between Horatia’s prying eyes and Lord Ferringdon’s cloying attention, she’d felt positively trapped by it all. On the premise of needing the ladies’ retiring room, Philippa had managed to slip away. THE BALL WAS in full flourish inside, ladies dancing in swirling satin and sparkling jewels.

Star of Wonder by Chasity Bowlin