I thought it best to really sell my lie that I had been too sick to attend the ball the night before so I pretended to be unable to rise from bed the next morning as well, sacrificing a lovely morning spent in the garden or the library so that my mother might start to believe I hadn't gone to such great, pathetic pains to avoid attending my own debut. But I supposed she took it too seriously because she called for the doctor before breakfast had even arrived and he came through the doors an hour later.

I watched as the young, moderately attractive doctor set out his instruments at the foot of my bed, his eyes focused entirely on his work, his quick, precise movements. It wasn't the same old man I'd visited in the town and that reignited the spark of hope in my chest that had long gone cold.

"Open your mouth," he told me as he approached.

I did as I was told, letting him examine my throat for a sickness I knew was not there. He examined me for a moment, stepping away to jot down a few notes on his faded notepad.

"I haven't seen you before," I said, eying him as he fumbled with a tonic and muttered a curse.

"I'm doing Doctor Merrill's house calls now that he's too old to–" he stopped, realizing what he had said about his colleague, how he had alluded to Doctor Merrill's newfound inability to do every aspect of his job.

"And your name is?"

"Doctor Bray."

"Forgive me for saying so, Doctor Bray, but you seem a tad overwhelmed."

"I have my own practice in Greenwich that keeps me busy as it is. Adding Doctor Merrill's house calls on top of my own practice..."

"It sounds like you need an assistant."

He paused, looking up at me with an assessing gaze for the first time.

"I am not complaining, my Lady," he said, seeming to have recovered himself once reminded of whose presence he was currently held within. "I am more than capable of tending to my duties."

"Even so," I replied with a casual shrug, trying my best not to scare him off before I could make my offer. "It would be easier if you had someone to alleviate some of that burden."

His brow furrowed, gaze narrowing.

"I assisted Doctor Ashpole with his patients in North Yorkshire," I said finally, making my intentions clear at last.

Doctor Bray's bag snapped shut with a clang.

"Good day, Miss Collins," he replied, making a break for the door.

I was out of bed and blocking his path quicker than any sick patient should have been capable of. He raised a brow but hesitated, waiting.

"I've delivered countless babies," I told him. "I know how to sew up a wound, how to dress an injury. I can make poultices and tonics. I can–"

"And where did you come by this knowledge?"

"I was taught. I asked to learn and so I did."

He eyed me for a moment and I stood tall under his scrutiny. He didn't seem sold on the idea but he wasn't pushing his way through the door and calling for my parents either. That was a good sign.

"You could craft my tonics for me?" he asked, considering. "It would leave me with more time to see patients."

"Yes," I blurted quickly. "I can craft your tonics. I can recommend you to my friends as well, help you bring in a wealthier clientele, help you take over for Doctor Merrill when he, er–"

"And all you ask in return is that I teach you what I know?"

"Any knowledge you have to share."

He eyed me again, skeptically, as if sensing a trap.

"Why?" he asked then. "You will never be allowed to practice yourself."

"Some women find their purpose in marrying, bearing children. Some find it in managing a household. Some in painting. Some in music or poetry. I find mine in healing," I told him, letting the force of my words hit him as I declared my intentions. "That is my art, that is my passion, and that is my purpose."

He watched me for a moment longer, those keen shrewd eyes taking in every detail of the way I stood, the way I spoke, the confession I had made to him which he could undoubtedly use to ruin my standing as an eligible young woman. But instead, he gave a curt nod and made his way toward the door. I stepped out of his way this time, grinning from ear to ear.

"Very well," he replied simply. "But you will come to me. I do not have time to be making house calls here all the time and it would look too suspicious if I did. You will arrive at my Greenwich office every Tuesday afternoon and, for heaven's sake, bring a chaperone. I will not be fooled into marrying a young woman after being found alone with her."

I squealed, rushing forward and throwing my arms around him in an enthusiastic embrace. His eyes bulged as his lips parted in shock. At the expression, I scurried away from him, straightening my skirts and raising my chin.

"And that is the last time I shall touch you, sir," I said properly. "This, I vow."

I was so thrilled about my success in securing a way to continue my medicinal studies that I agreed wholeheartedly to attend the next ball when my mother brought it up that night at dinner. Claiming I was feeling much better after my visit with the doctor, I spent the day strolling through the gardens and reading at the open bay window in the library. My father peeked in a time or two to smile my way and make a comment about how happy I looked and how he was glad I was feeling better. I just kissed his cheek and floated through the halls, feeling lighter than air for the first time since my arrival back in London.

I was so lost in my excitement that I spent the next four days deliriously happy, reading and taking strolls and, when I was alone, trying to write down everything I remembered having learned from Doctor Ashpole back in North Yorkshire so that I wouldn't be rusty when my lessons began again in earnest. I had every intention of blowing Doctor Bray away with how much I already knew and I would need to be prepared in order to do so. I was so lost in thought that when my mother entered my room four days later to claim it was time to get ready for the ball, I let her dress me herself.

She delighted in the task, selecting an elegant sky blue satin gown that hugged my curves deliciously and a corset that showed off my cleavage in the square neck of the dress. I let her drape her sapphires onto my neck and dangle silver around my wrists. I even let her command the servants to pile my hair atop my head in some elegant sweeping updo. None of it mattered to me. I had finally found some measure of happiness in this town so I was content with allowing my mother to revel in her own. At least, for this evening.

But I had made a grave miscalculation. I wasn't so far removed from society that I should have ever made such an error but I was so distracted by the potential of pursuing my passions that I hadn't taken the time to examine what it would mean for my mother to dress me the way she had. I had missed my debut. I had missed the opportunity to be announced to the gathered English gentry. And so now, in this fashion with this style, my mother was making an announcement of her own. The gown was exquisite and it hugged my body in a way that put me on proper display. My hair was shining and perfect. Jewels glittered at my delicate throat. I realized it too late. I had let her go too far. And I'm embarrassed to say that it took until I emerged from the carriage and a man standing nearby literally choked on his bourbon to make me see my mistake.

Cheeks heating, I whirled around to flee back into the confines of the carriage but my mother was already there.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, victorious grin on her painted lips.

"This," I gasped out, looking down my bodice at my generous cleavage. "Mother, this is too much."

"It's just the right amount, dear," she cooed, gripping my arm tightly and spinning me back to face the nobles which were now turned and gawking our way. Women's jaws dropped as they raised their fans to whisper to one another behind them. Men's eyes bulged as their gazes zeroed in on my chest and then, as I passed, my arse. My cheeks burned the whole way to the front door and I closed my eyes several times, taking deep breaths and turning my gaze up to the ceiling or down to the floor simply to avoid the stares.

"Lady Collins," a woman called out pleasantly a few moments later. "How delightful to see you again and, my word, is this your daughter then? Your youngest?"

"Yes, Lady Murray," my mother answered back and I recognized the name. This was her home, her party. Kenwood belonged to her husband. This was the Countess of Mansfield. "This is Miss Norah Collins, my beloved daughter."

"What a pity she had to miss her debut. She's gorgeous."

I forced a smile as my mother gushed her thanks and then we were moving forward, into the ball itself. I remained at my mother's side as she paraded me around the room to open mouthed stares like a preening peacock. Then I saw a familiar face and practically collapsed with relief.

"Mother," I said, tapping her arm as she waved to a friend of hers. "Silvia is here. Might I go and see her, please?"

"Very well," my mother answered, frowning slightly as I pulled away. "But don't be gone too long. Many young men were asking after you at the last ball and I'm eager to make introductions."

I nodded, refraining from rolling my eyes, and hurried off to where Silvia stood with two other women our age. At the sight of my approach, they both wrinkled their noses, gave a pointed look at my cleavage, and walked away.

"Silv," I said in greeting as I approached my oldest friend. "Thank goodness you're here. I was beginning to think I would have to suffer through this evening alone."

"Never," she replied with a grin. "How are you feeling?"

"Worse now," I told her, glaring at the man across the room who had been staring at me since I entered until he averted his gaze. "Why is everyone just standing around?"

"Waiting for the crown jewels to arrive, I suppose."

"The crown jewels?"

"The most sought after gentlemen of the season. Chief among them, Kyrie Rayfield."

"Kyrie," I repeated, shifting my back to attempt to extricate the corset from where it was jabbing into my spine. "He's the most sought after man of the season?"

"You know him?"

"Since we were children. He teased me mercilessly about my dress at the Earl of Norfolk's ball when we were twelve. He's an insufferable prick."

"I don't think he would tease you about this dress," Silvia stated, raising a brow and eying me up and down.

"He should," I scoffed. "I can't hardly breathe in this thing. Come with me and help me loosen the corset?"

"If we do that, your ample bosom is likely to pop right out of the thing. Better to remain tied in, don't you think?"

She was smiling, I realized. My oldest friend was amused by my suffering. I gave her a playful swat on the shoulder and shook my head.

"I am in pain, Silvia," I told her, though laughter was threatening to bubble up from me as well. "I fear if I do not adjust this gown I will die right here on the ballroom floor."

"And unmarried at that. Whatever will your mother say?"

"Work that into my eulogy, will you? She perished, murdered by her own corset, and before she'd even had the chance to meet the lovely young men who had asked her mother about her just days before. Oh, woe is she who dies unloved. It is the ultimate abomination to all of womankind."

Sylvia chuckled at my monologue. I threw my arms out wide to accentuate the drama but my hand collided with a glass of brandy which shot from the gentleman's hand and shattered on the tile below after thoroughly soaking through his waistcoat.

"Shit," I gasped. "I mean, oh... dear, how dreadful."

A servant was already coming to clean up the glass and the lords and ladies were already looking away, satisfied that the noise had been no more than an accidental dropping of a glass, but I was still fumbling like a woman who had never ventured into polite society before. I lunged for a pile of napkins nearby and pressed them into his chest. It wasn't until I felt the hard muscle there that I realized what I had done.

My lips parted in surprise, my cheeks heating once more, as I raised my gaze to meet bright, green eyes the color of the rolling fields of the English countryside. His full lips quirked into a smirk as he raised his hand and placed it upon my own, the one pressed against his chest. His sandy brown hair was soft, swooshing up into a crest atop his head. His chiseled jawline and angular cheekbones were like something straight out of a romance novel. I blinked and pulled my hands away.

"I-I'm so sorry," I said.

"It's alright," he assured me, still grinning as he took the napkins and dabbed them upon his own chest. "It's Norah, isn't it?"

My brow furrowed and I examined the man in front of me once more.

"Kyrie?" I asked, stunned.

He gave a slow nod and I took a deep breath. He had changed. He was no longer the gawky, angular kid I remembered. He had grown into a devastatingly handsome young man and I knew he had the title to back it up. Most eligible bachelor of the season, indeed. And I should leave him to it.

"I'll just be over here," I told him then, already stepping away and turning to flee. "So you know what area to avoid if you don't want drinks thrown your way by far too extravagant gestures."

He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that left a strange pull in my gut.

"Actually, I was hoping to speak to you," he told me, taking a step forward, toward me.

"Oh. Why?" I asked dumbly.

He raised a brow, glancing around at the ball we were surrounded by as if there was only one real reason that any man here would wish to speak with any woman.

"Right," I nodded in realization. "Well, that's really not necessary then, is it? I mean, we've already met and I've, obviously, made an excellent impression so you really don't have to-"

"I saw you in town the other day. You looked so familiar and your name rings a bell but I can't quite place you."

I stopped then, staring at the man in front of me. I was certain every woman in this room was glaring my way. They saw the beautiful eyes, the muscular build, the air of propriety and they swooned. But in that moment, I saw a cruel adolescent boy and the adult male who didn't even recall his own cruelty. Something about that infuriated me.

"You can't quite place me," I repeated, shaking my head. "Let me remind you. The Earl of Norfolk's ball, seven years ago. I wore my brand new pink floral dress. You and your horrendous friends teased me until I started to cry and then you ripped it. Grabbed the sleeve and pulled it right off. Laughed the whole time. I went home early that night. I cried and cried and never picked out my own gown again."

At the culmination of my tale, he was left standing in shock, blinking at me. I wasn't sure exactly what he had thought he remembered me from but it was clear, from the look on his face, that a childhood cruelty was not it.

"So they might see the man you are now," I told him, stepping forward, emboldened by his surprise and my opportunity to finally right a wrong I had been dealt long ago. "All titled and proper and maddeningly handsome. But I see what lurks beneath the surface and I'm not interested."

I whirled around then and strode away from him.

"You'd hold a childhood grudge against me even now?" he called after me.

"First impressions are important," I told him from over my shoulder. I cast a pointed glance down to his wet waistcoat and grinned. "Now we're even."