Disclaimer: All characters belong to the incomparable Georgette Heyer.

Lord Marlow's primary concern in life being his thoroughbred hunters, he scarcely ventured to Town; furthermore, his spouse favoured the quiet retirement of country life to the gaiety of London, as a consequence of which, a townhouse had never been a necessity. However, the present situation demanded a residence, albeit impermanent, in town, for Lady Marlow was bringing out her eldest daughter into society that year.

Lord Marlow had been prepared to take a house on rent for the season, but his imperious helpmate had adjudged otherwise. His lordship was made to comprehend, by virtue of more than a few persuasive arguments, that when one had four daughters to provide for, it was of paramount importance to practice a little economy. It was distasteful, but she was persuaded that there was nothing inappropriate in Phoebe staying with Lady Ingham, who, being her grandmother, would surely relish bringing her out. Lady Ingham had duly been applied to, but her reply had been discouraging. She was glad that Marlow had at length woken up to his responsibilities, but as everyone well knew, her health was in so precarious a state as to lead Sir Henry Halford to expressly forbidding her attending any of the amusements of the season, which would surely tax her energy. This circumstance frustrated any thought of her acting as a chaperone; moreover Sir Henry felt that having young persons about her, in this state of ill-health, would make her nervous. And so it came about that Lady Marlow was forced to accede to the original scheme, and any uncharitable thoughts she had had about Lady Ingham went unexpressed, discounting the constant reminders to Phoebe, of her good fortune at having been blessed with such benevolent parents, who were willing to undergo so much trouble for her sake.

One morning in early April, Lord Marlow descended upon his former mother-in-law's townhouse, accompanied by his worthy lady and firstborn, to pay her a morning visit. The Dowager greeted them gruffly, and bid Phoebe to come closer saying, 'Come child, give me a kiss! You are looking well - though, must you wear a gown of that colour? I am sure it does no good for your complexion-' She shot a look of restrained animosity towards Lady Marlow, who said impassively, 'It is irreproachable, I am certain, for a young lady of impeccable birth, to be dressed in such sober colours as befit her station.'

A low 'Hmphh!', which reached only Phoebe's ears, was her grace's only acknowledgement of this statement, and to Phoebe, who was on her knees beside her chair,she said, 'You must come and call on me often, my love, and let me know how you go about. Now, don't you worry your head about the voucher for Almack's; I should hope that my credit is good enough for any granddaughter of mine to be granted entry! And should your stepmother find it arduous, I am convinced your Aunt Ingham would not be bothered to escort you - her girls are also out, you know. '

Lady Marlow was fortunately not privy to this conversation, for she would surely have taken umbrage at what would seem to be a deliberate slight on the manner in which she discharged her duties. As for Phoebe - in whom the rules of propriety and comportment had been drilled into, a hundred times, by her formidable stepmother - she heartily wished she were facing the end of that interminable period, rather than the commencement. She knew that as a debutante, she would be a part of the Marriage Mart, as it were, and she dreaded the idea of being under the censorious scrutiny of the ton, as Mama had assured her she would be. On the eve of their departure, Tom had wished her good luck in catching a husband, and good naturedly hoped that she would return betrothed to some lord or the other, but Phoebe had no such expectations. The novels Miss Battery had furnished her with had not filled her head with nonsensical fancies; she felt she would as lief be married to a good, simple man, who understood her love for horses, than a nonpareil who would disdain her tendency of lingering about the stables.

Phoebe's presentation at court was uneventful; her court dress was so understated so as to seem unfashionable, lacking as it was in the number of frills and feathers adorning the gowns of the other debutantes, and of a colour and cut which made her look sallow and scrawny. The Drawing Rooms were crowded with the horde of young girls who were making their debut that year; and Phoebe amused herself by observing some of the more glaring pretensions of the persons milling about, some of whom were so ostentatiously dressed, that it was with difficulty that she managed to preserve her gravity. Her contemplation was done covertly, for she knew Lady Marlow's critical eye to be upon herself, and that her candid inspection of her surroundings would be considered as uncouth ogling, which no well-bred young lady, properly compliant and passive, would ever indulge in. The corpulent Prince and stately Queen, however, aroused a spate of nervousness in her breast, when she caught sight of them; her enjoyment was quite spoilt by the dread of committing a blunder, and distress at the thought of the censure which would be the consequence - which seemed to increase as it neared her turn to be presented. By a happy chance, the Queen did not converse with her above a few words, and Phoebe, hoping that her curtsy and demeanour had been acceptable, escaped gratefully.

Lord Marlow was not a man of fashion; nevertheless, he commanded respect as a hunting man, and thus his daughter had the benefit of being invited to parties and balls thrown by his cronies. Lady Marlow would not bestir herself to attend more than a few balls given by her old acquaintances, and would not allow Phoebe to enjoy the other amusements in Town, such as the Royal Theatre or the Vauxhall Gardens, deeming them places of impropriety, and would only consider visits to the Royal Academy of Arts or the National Gallery, as befitting persons of high birth and sober thought. Phoebe had not been allowed to bring her horse, her ladyship being convinced that nothing would be more detrimental to her reputation than to be seen riding about in that hoydenish manner, and thus would have been denied all pleasure in her London visit, if her grandmother had not come to her rescue. Her Aunt Ingham, who was a kindly matron with two daughters of her own making their debut, seemed disposed to accompany her to the various routs and soirees; and even if it was under the coercion of her mother-in-law, she was good natured enough not to make Phoebe mindful of the fact.

The season progressed, but Phoebe did not shine under the severe eyes of the ton. When under the imposing eye of Lady Marlow, she was too frightened to reveal her candid, lively personality, and more often than not, came off as being stupid and insipid. Even under the less strict guardianship of her aunt, she was haunted by the fear of committing a mistake, and in an effort to be proper, was crippled by agonies of shyness. At balls, she was not often solicited for her hand, and though a feeling of inadequacy caused her some qualms of disquiet, she was happier, on the whole, to be able to observe the ton, without being under scrutiny herself. She was often diverted by the caprices of the lords and ladies she perceived, and wrote long letters home to Miss Battery and Susan, describing the doings of the fashionable world, in vivid detail.

It had been borne upon her that it was the fashion to appear to be suffering from ennui; it was a constant source of amusement to her that anyone could affect to be so weary of attending balls and such, and yet continue the exercise. One such example was pointed out to her by another young lady, with whom she had struck up a hesitant friendship, at a ball given by Lady Jersey. They were sitting out a dance, and Miss Green, discreetly gesturing towards a tall, well-dressed gentleman dancing with Lady Mary Torrington, whispered,' Look! That's the Marquis of Alverstoke. Quite rich, of course, but my Mama says he is the most shocking libertine – he has danced attendance upon Miss Orton all these weeks, and now what does he do, but favour Lady Mary at all the events! I overheard him tell Lady Buxted –she is his sister, you know – that he got bored with her! Well, Miss Orton does act stuck up, to be sure, but my Mama would never let me anywhere near him,all the same - though Lady Mary does not seem to mind!' With a toss of her pretty head, Miss Green thus dismissed the Incomparable, and Phoebe, who had realized that she had been the recipient of these confidences merely due to the absence of her other companions, hid a smile at what she was convinced was a case of sour grapes, for she could see that the Marquis was quite a matrimonial catch. Nevertheless, it made her quite indignant that a man could so callously trifle with women, and heartily hoped that the Marquis of Alverstoke would one day meet his match.

Despite the Dowager Duchess's efforts to advance her in society, Phoebe did not seem to catch the eye of any of the eligible men on the lookout for wives. There were few callers at their townhouse on Harley Street, and Phoebe was invited to some outings, but it seemed that it was more often for the sake of balancing the numbers than for her company. A frequent caller was one Mr Hardwick, an old bachelor, and as Phoebe discovered on their first meeting, a former admirer of her mother. She heard much about her mother from him, and he seemed to have taken a fancy to her, for he would always be inviting her to ride with him in the park. Lady Marlow thought him respectable, and did not object, and Phoebe did not quibble at the chance to see the fashionable parade on Rotten Row; even though her suitor, if she used that term for him, was old enough to be her father.

It was after Lady Maria Sefton's ball that Phoebe, who had been steadily growing restless, found inspiration for a pursuit which she had never seriously considered previously. Lady Marlow, whose homilies on Phoebe's incompetence in securing a marriage proposal were now being voiced on a daily basis, had accompanied her, determined to undo the harm which Lady Ingham's chaperonage seemed to have wrought. Phoebe had stood out two dances, and was attempting to appear self-assured without seeming forward, as she had been instructed, but had only succeeded in looking rather nervous, when she was approached by her hostess. It seemed that Phoebe was to be presented to the gentleman accompanying her; she could only suppose that she was the recipient of such an honor due to the offices of her father, among whose favoured associates Lord Sefton was numbered. Phoebe had put Lady Sefton down as a frivolous, featherbrained woman of not much sense, and as she presented her companion, she did not disabuse her of the notion. Her conduct was as that of a fairy godmother who was granting her a long-anticipated wish, as she said,

'Miss Marlow, may I present the Duke of Salford?'

Phoebe curtsied, and met the Duke's impervious gaze, which seemed to have measured her appearance, and found it wanting, for he presently enquired if she were finding her stay in London to be pleasant, in an absent tone, which seemed to indicate that he did not care for her answer. Phoebe longed to ask him whether he were enjoying himself, but restrained herself, mindful of Lady Marlow standing behind them, civilly responding to Lady Sefton's inane chattering.

The Duke led her out onto the dance floor, where the set was forming for a country dance, and as they faced one another, Phoebe had the opportunity to observe his features, which she noted, were more striking than pleasant. His flyaway eyebrows gave his countenance a slightly sinister appearance, and Phoebe was hard pressed to stop herself from giggling at the idea of His Grace being involved in any such activity which matched his expression; if he were indeed such a stickler to propriety as he presented himself to be. He conducted himself with grace, and made perfunctory remarks on the weather and the large number of people in the room, but his manner was disinterested, and Phoebe realized, with mounting resentment, that he did not expect any intelligent conversation from her, having set her down as a provincial country miss.

Having restored her to her stepmother, the Duke took their leave, but Phoebe was yet to be relieved of his presence, for Lady Sefton, who had persevered beside her stepmother, was full of gossip about the Duke – his estates, wealth and repute. Phoebe, after reflecting for some moments on people who were so filled with self-consequence as to transcend beyond arrogance at their status , to accepting such toad-eating as their due, dismissed further thought of the Duke from her mind; until he was brought back to her notice three days hence, at the Assembly Rooms. She saw him look towards her, and was prepared to nod civilly, in deference to the rules governing social decorum, when he turned away, without acknowledging her. She was shocked, and not a little irked, at having been so peremptorily ignored; and spent quite some amount of time picturing a scene where the Duke was properly humbled, by a magnificent set-down given by herself.

That evening, after listening to yet another tirade of Lady Marlow's, in which her behaviour, intellect and morals were shredded to pieces, Phoebe retired to her room in tears. She had long stopped expecting any kind words from her stepmother, but no matter how often she tried to steel herself against censure from that quarter - which seemed inevitable, regardless of any effort of hers - she could not remain unaffected. At home, she had Susan and Sibby to confide in; here she was friendless, deprived of even those novels in which she had learnt to lose herself. She tried distracting herself from gloomy recollections of her grievances, by giving free rein to her fancy; and found words pouring into her mind -

Count Ugolino's appearance was extraordinary. His figure was elegant, his bearing graceful, his air that of a well-bred man, and his lineaments very handsome; but the classical regularity of his countenance was marred by a pair of feline orbs, which were set beneath black brows rising steeply towards his temples, and which were sinister in expression.

Phoebe grinned in impish delight. She foresaw that she was going to enjoy this train of thought; Count Ugolino was to be the most unfortunate villain in history – burdened with as many outlandish sins as his creator could envision him committing, and Phoebe fell asleep concocting a fantastic set of adventures, so bizarre so as to seem preposterous, but diverting enough to make her forget her misery.

A/N: Kindly assess,criticize and review this attempt of mine!:)

I don't know why I included the Marquis of Alverstoke(who's the hero in Frederica, and who does meet his match in her) here, but it just fit - incidentally, I found upon re-reading Frederica, that he DOES attend Lady Sefton's ball. ^_^

A Person,joniskpelare and Vilya: Thanks for reviewing!:) I'm glad you enjoyed it:)

the reader : I'm so glad you thought it was authentic(Sylvester is one of my favorites among Georgette Heyer's novels, too, and so, I wanted to do justice to the fic.) Thanks for reviewing - I'll write more as soon as inspiration strikes! :)