CHAPTER THREEOnce bewitched by a Seldon beauty, madness is your only salvation.A WARNING GIVEN TO ALL DALE MALES FROM THE TIME THEY ARE IN SHORT PANTSLondon, 1802A grand masked ball was the sort of thing a Seldon loved, and the Duke of Preston’s masquerade in honor of his daughter’s presentation at Court was no exception.Every important family in the ton had been invited, which was to say, they all were.Save one. But no one ever mentioned them in front of the duke.Not if they wanted an invitation to the next fête or soirée.Nor had Hen noticed. With such a grand crush, a full dance card and free-flowing champagne, Henrietta had been too busy dancing every dance. Now with it well after midnight, she wasn’t paying attention as she ought to her choice of companion.“Who are you supposed to be?” Lord Bertram asked, his breath awash with brandy. He was the third son of a marquess, and she had agreed to dance with him only because their mothers were friends—that, and as a child, Bertie had often been brought to the Seldon nursery to play with Christopher and Henry.Though he, like her brother and nephew, had learned quickly that she ruled the roost above stairs.“Some sort of goddess or the like?”
