A Debutante's Guide to Rebellion Read Online Free Page A

establish that you were the Worst Dancer in England. Perhaps we could even manage Scotland, perhaps a portion of the continent, before we perished of old age. But by then, a whole new crop of dancers would have been born, and we would be forced to circle back.”
    â€œI see. I hadn’t thought through the practical concerns,” Lady Mildred said, eyes sparkling. The two of them were taken apart again, and Ezekiel watched Lady Mildred bump and stumble her way through the steps with another partner while he handled his own with brisk efficiency.
    â€œHowever, I doubt that such a search would last very long,” Ezekiel said as soon as they touched hands again. “You are undoubtedly
not
the worst dancer in all of London, much less the world.”
    â€œIs that so?”
    â€œThere are a number of one-legged men in London. Also, the blind, those with an inability to balance, the insane—”
    â€œWell. I’m glad to know I rate above the one-legged and the mad,” Lady Mildred said. He paused. Had he offended her? She was still smiling, but sometimes smiles were misleading. Sophie frequently smiled at him a moment before she said,
Z, you’re being insufferable
or
Z, that’s horribly offensive
. It was always only a moment, though, and over time he’d come to recognize the tight, brittle quality of the smile.
    The dance ended. They were already at the edge of the dance floor, and Lady Mildred, a little out of breath, smoothed her hands over her sides and glanced toward the onlookers. Ezekiel followed her gaze, still worried that she was angry with him. Sophie always told him outright; it was extremely helpful, and he wished more people would follow her example.
    Lady Mildred stiffened. She was looking at Lord Averdale, Ezekiel’s uncle, who appeared to have been watching them. The man gave Ezekiel a nod and turned away, walking toward the exit. Unsurprising; Lord Averdale did not enjoy balls. Ezekiel was uncertain why he had attended so many of them this year.
    Lady Mildred let out a little breath, halfway to a sob. Her eyes were sparkling again, but now with tears. What had he done?
    â€œDid I offend you?” Ezekiel asked. “I’m terribly sorry if I did. I can’t always tell.”
    She looked at him mutely. “I—I’m sorry, I can’t,” she said, and fled in the direction Lord Averdale had gone.
    Ezekiel stood stupidly, staring after her. He must have done something wrong. Perhaps Sophie would be able to tell him what it had been.
    ***
    Eddie could not believe how foolish she’d been. She was meant to sit and wait, to stay off the dance floor and stay out of conversations, until Lord Averdale arrived. She was meant to play her part and have this done with at last, and instead she’d made a fool of herself, stumbling around like a drunken bear and babbling on about inconsequential subjects.
    And Lord Averdale had seen, and now he was leaving. Did he think her fickle? Foolish? Ungraceful?
    All of them, no doubt. She pushed past elegant ladies. Her dress was flawlessly fashionable, and yet it hung on her like sackcloth drizzled in egg yolk. These women could wear actual sackcloth and look gorgeous.
    She squeezed artlessly between the backs of two such goddesses and stumbled into the foyer. Lord Averdale was exiting out the front. She hurtled after him.
    â€œLord Averdale,” she called, and then dropped her voice, blushing. “Lord Averdale,” she said again. Her pursuit had left her slightly breathless, and her voice was delicate with the rising pressure of repressed tears.
    He turned. He held a walking stick loosely in one hand, his intent to leave obvious at one glance. She swallowed. He was a plain man, round in the face, with hair gone to a coarse gray and a bristling mustache hanging over his wide lips. He was hardly an object of desire; it was what he represented that she yearned for, and for that she could force