This night had been an unmitigated disaster. The Hardings' ball, her first actual social event as a female, had gone over like a stone. She had not danced with anyone but Radcliffe and Tomas Mowbray. She had not even had a chance to meet prospective husbands. Tomas had hovered over her like a love-sick calf, and Radcliffe had behaved like some dowager aunt guarding her virginity and glowering at any male who came near her, including an oblivious Tomas. Meanwhile, Beth/Charles had fluttered about anxiously, babbling away to Tomas. Charlie had suffered the ridiculous charade until her head and feet both ached. And that was the excuse she had used to end the farce: her aching feet and head. Immediately solicitous, Radcliffe had insisted on taking her home. Beth/Charles had shown enough reluctance to leave that Tomas had suggested that she stay and he would drop her off later. Nodding, Radcliffe had ushered the woman he thought was Elizabeth out of the ballroom. The carriage hit a rut in the road, and Charlie grabbed for something to hold on to as she was jostled against Radcliffe's side.
