"Miss Mary Angel Featherton!" The guests did not hide their surprise when the butler intoned her entrance at the Macy Ball.

There could be many reasons for the horror and judgment in their eyes. For one, her father just died, and she was expected to remain in mourning, depriving herself of social fun because that was how one should respect their deceased. Another reason was the simple fact that Mary Featherton did not frequent balls, particularly something as large this one. Her being without a title and the daughter of a rich man who owned the two largest gentlemen's clubs in Willowfair were enough reasons.

Women had always regarded the Mary House and Angel House as enemies. Their husbands and beaus were members, and God was not the sole witness to their husband's secrets. Mary reminded them of their insecurities and the little ugly things they kept in their closets. Seeing her made them wonder if she had knowledge of their husband's infidelity or gambling debts, or of the horrors within their own households the men spilled over card games and expensive bottles of brandy.

Mary was also aware of the gossip circulating amongst the wives and daughters. That she, Mary Featherton, was more involved with the fine gentlemen, perhaps offering services too scandalous to be discussed within polite society.

Do you see her stoop? A commoner's back, that's what it is, they would say. She is not the prim and proper girl her father tried to paint her to be. They were right. Mary was none of those things. And if they knew her secrets, these women would be the first to light the torch and hunt her down.

Built hundreds of feet below ground, the Town was no different from the world aboveground, contrary to what her Cressida might have believed. So long as people were part of a society, there would always be the need for acceptance. And with that came requirements that should be met because humans needed to feel they belonged. But also, they enjoyed feeling better than others.

She knew that too well, having grown up surrounded by greedy men who wanted one thing or another; who would do anything to gain entrance into an exclusive club where the echelons of society spent their useless time; gentlemen who would give up anything to win the next card game because they wanted to double what should have been enough. Men who had secrets. And men who exploited the weak simply because they could.

Cressida, Mary's best friend, despite being born gentry and with the status Mary did not have, grew tired of the Town and its shallow norms. Her friend wanted something different—an adventure that the Town would only frown upon. She wanted true love. Pure, simple, and naïve as it may be, but it was a valid desire. Cressida did find a way out with the help of her husband, Calan Haverston. Mary may have an idea how they managed it, but she did not think it was necessary to find out. So long as Cressida was having her grand adventure, Mary was fine with it.

Yet while Cressida left, Mary stayed. Since then, things had gone from mellow and boring to drastic and desperate.

And dangerous.

Earnest Featherton died, living her with a fortune that no woman in the Town had ever owned. She, an untitled woman, richer than most men in this ballroom, was alone to face the prejudice of every guest who never saw her as one of them.

But the women were not her enemies tonight. She was the enemy to some of these people and they did not even know that. She knew the secrets of their fathers, their husbands—everyone who graced the Mary House and the Angel House where secrets were never truly safe because the walls had ears.

She scanned the ballroom, her mind on one goal: a doorway.

"Mary Featherton!" Mary stiffened and turned. The old, elegant woman who stood before her was a stranger, but she offered a curtsy. "Darling child, I am sad to learn about your father's passing. My condolences. My dear husband, bless his soul, was a member of one of your clubs. And I believe that if we ever bore a son, he would have grown up there, what with the time Jason spent in Mary House!"

Mary smiled, tucking the black strand that had strayed out of their clips, fully aware that several guests were staring at her and the old lady. "Thank you..." She threw the old woman an apologetic look.

"Gertrude Blaxton. I was once Lady Gertrude—"

"Haverston."

The woman nodded. "I survived an untitled gentleman—a doctor," Lady Gertrude said with a wave of her hand.

"Doctor Jason. Yes, of course, I knew of him."

Lady Gertrude snorted. "Of course you do." Then the woman regarded her with gentle eyes which wrinkled at the edges as a small smile played on her lips. It was not condescending, nor was it pitiful. It was just a kind smile. "I was at your dear friend's wedding. That friend of yours, Cressida Belverst, now Haverston, made the fortunate mistake of marrying my nephew."

Mary smiled warmly at the mention of Cressida's name. "Yes, of course. I remember now." She looked around to find that even more guests were boldly staring now. She cleared her throat, taking a step back from the old lady, ready to retreat.

"Do not mind them, Mary Featherton!" Lady Gertrude said, voice loud for the ogling crowd nearby. "They must just be bored tonight!" As the lady looked around, every gaze flickered away. Suddenly, the surrounding chatters grew as the guests pretended to mind their own business. Lady Gertrude reached out and grabbed Mary's arm, pulling her closer with a surprisingly powerful force, and whispered in a teasing tone, "Now, why the bloody hell are you here?"

Mary blinked, stunned by the woman's choice of language. "I... Well, I am—"

"You should be in mourning," Lady Gertrude said. "But I understand your need to find entertainment after your loss. Believe me, I know how it feels. Now, how do you plan to spend this evening? Have you brought a companion with you?"

"Yes," she lied. "In fact, I am trying to find her. If you will excuse me—"

"No, not yet, child. I wish to introduce you to my nephew. Come, let us find him."

"But Lord Easton is—"

Aghast, Lady Gertrude stared at her. "Whatever made you think I was talking about Calan? I meant Adrien."

Mary stiffened, stunned. Adrien Haverston—the rake.

"Now, I know the brute is here somewhere. He always tries to escape me. He should ask you to dance, Mary Featherton."

"Forgive me, my lady, but I have promised my companion I will be gone only for a short while." Mary laced her lie with a gentle smile. "Perhaps later?"

Lady Gertrude sighed. "Very well, then. I will need to find Adrien first, anyway. Now, where is that dratted child?"

Mary's shoulders relaxed and returned to their stooping form, relieved when the lady turned away, grumbling about her nephew to herself.

Adrien Haverston crossed her mind again. The handsome rake who had been running around the Town chasing skirts. Of course she knew of him. He was a member of the Mary House. She had heard him speak of women during card games behind the thin walls of the club. She remembered the first time he gained membership. The maids gossiped about it and clamored to steal a look. Mary could clearly picture his handsome face in her mind, the way his dark hair would move whenever he laughed at a rather awful joke. He was the kind to be easily amused, the way his blue eyes would crinkle when...

She shook her head with a soft scoff. Was she entertaining the thoughts of having a Haverston husband like Cressida? Adrien Haverston was a rake, and he would prove to be more of a bigger problem. She did not need someone like him. Or any man.

Her target tonight was not even human.

It was the library.

*****

Adrien Haverston was brooding the entire time. The Macy Ball was proving to be a challenge.

The Willowfair Season was still in full swing and everyone was geared for this year's marriage war. The season opened not only another year's rounds of battles in the parliament, but it also fueled the return of the brave and shameless soldiers: the Mamas and their equally desperate daughters.

After the always boring Sheills Season and the overly religious Granville Season last year, the women were back with a vengeance. Willowfair is just the start, Adrien thought. The elegant dresses and daring moves during the first quarter were just the groundwork for the scandalous and notorious Wickhurst Season.

Adrien, along with many eligible bachelors, had to be on constant alert for the next few months because enemies were everywhere.

It had been a great disappointment when the eldest Haverston brother, Calan, the Lord of Easton, married one of the most scandalous women in Willowfair just weeks ago. But the conniving witches were not losing hope because there were two more unmarried brothers left.

But there seemed to be a shortage of eligible bachelors and too many unmarried ladies with each passing season. Worse, McKenzie, the second eldest Haverston brother, passed his title to Adrien to pursue a career with the Town Guards and to rid himself of the responsibilities that came with the estate and its vast crop plantation.

Therefore, in the eyes of the hungry Mamas, Adrien was the next best choice. He was the Lord of Westershire; he was younger, and most definitely the most charming of the three brothers.

But marriage, in Adrien's opinion, was only for those who were desperate and needed heirs. He did not need heirs because he could simply return the title to McKenzie should their father someday demand for more future Haverstons. And Calan could breed as many as he wanted with his new wife.

Adrien was free, really. If he could just stay safe from the conniving witches that lurked all corners of Willowfair.

But there was another soldier Adrien could not easily ignore, and it was in the form of an old lady crowned with white hair and with a cunning tongue as her weapon: Aunt Gertrude, the remaining sister of their father, an old and childless widow who made it her mission to marry off her nephews because in her circle of equally old and bored rich women, it was a bragging right to do so.

McKenzie, the smart bastard, had escaped after Calan's wedding, leaving Adrien the sole beneficiary of their aunt's charitable work (as she would call it). And although currently in Willowfair, Calan could not be bothered because of pressing matters he had to deal with (as he claimed). So when their Aunt Gertrude demanded for one of her nephews' company to the Macy Ball, Adrien was literally dragged and bribed and threatened to go.

And here he was, in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by the most notorious debutantes and their mothers. And his aunt was missing!

The sight of the two black-haired twins, Poppy and Posy Prewitt, accompanied by their ever-conniving mother, Lady Prewitt, heightened Adrien's alarm. Suddenly, the great need to save himself conquered the search mission for his aunt, and he whirled away from the approaching enemies.

His eyes frantically searched the ballroom. He dashed toward the nearest exit to his right, brushing against gowns and suits, throwing absent smiles until he stumbled into an empty corridor.

Inside the ballroom, the three Prewitt women craned their necks in search of him.

Bloody hell.

Spotting a door, he tried the knob.

Ah, the heavens still have mercy for desperate rakes!

He slipped inside and turned off the lamps, leaving naught but a stream of white light directed at the center of the room from the window.

Raking his dark hair, Adrien smiled when he spotted the small liquor cabinet beside the door of the Macy library.

He picked up a bottle and heartily murmured, "Ah, the savior who never disappoints."