Flirting With Fortune by Erin Knightley Page B

just as excited.
    Schooling her features into an expression of pure innocence, she wiped her hands on the bottom of her apron and regarded them with false curiosity. “What is it? Something new from France?”
    Jocelyn plopped onto the studio’s only piece of furniture, a slightly worse-for-the-wear chintz sofa, and shook her head. “Much more scandalous than that. Oh, it’s brilliant. Wait until you see.”
    Carolyn handed over the magazine before joining her twin on the sofa. If either of them noticed that Beatrice’s fingers trembled or that her breath wasn’t quite even, they didn’t let on in the least.
    Drawing a quiet breath, she turned under the pretense of holding it to the meager light from the cloudy day and looked down at the printed page. Her heart gave a little leap. There it was, in black and white. Her words, her art, her labor of love for her fellow females, published in a legitimate magazine for all to see. The surge of pride was so powerful, so consuming, she actually felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes.
    “Can you believe it?” Carolyn asked, nudging the bottom of Beatrice’s skirts with her foot when she didn’t say anything. “It says the author is a former debutant.” The implied scandal of such a thing hung heavy in her breathless tone.
    “How utterly remarkable,” Beatrice murmured, infusing a healthy dose of incredulity into her response. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the etching, the product of her own hands. Almost, anyway. Monsieur Allard had done a superb job of transcribing her drawing into an etching. She ran a finger over the crosshatched shading of the imposing columns in the background. It had turned out perfectly, and all she wanted to do was hug it to her chest and proclaim to the world that it was her handiwork.
    But of course she could not.
    If anyone knew that she had written the letter and submitted the drawing, her reputation would be utterly ruined. No one would ever see the good in what she did, only the breaking of unspoken rules.
    “I wonder who wrote it,” Jocelyn mused, pulling her legs in to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. “Do you think it is true that it was written by a debutant? Who’s to say it wasn’t some dried-up old journalist trying to ruffle feathers or create a story where there is none?”
    Carolyn’s eyes rounded. “Do you think someone would do such a thing?”
    Beatrice bit her lip against the need to defend herself and the validity of her work. Instead, she gave a casual shake of her head. “No, I don’t think it could be a journalist.” She came to sit between her sisters on the sofa and pointed to the engraving. “See the background? That’s Lady Churly’s ballroom. See the fluted columns?” she said, sliding her finger across the drawing.
    Jocelyn snatched the paper back and pored over it with renewed fervor. “How very, very bold. If the setting is real, then . . .” She paused, tilting her head as she regarded the image through squinted eyes. “Oh my goodness gracious, I think that’s Mr. Godfrey!”
    “No!” Carolyn exclaimed, leaning over the page for a closer look.
    “Of course not,” Beatrice said, rolling her eyes as she pulled the magazine out of her sister’s hands. “None of these people is real. They are just figments of the author’s imagination.”
    She looked down at the etching, shaking her head at the absurdity of the claim. But . . . A trickle of dread slid down her spine as she stared at the picture. Oh heavens. She bit the inside of her lip hard as she took in the man’s clothes, his smug expression, his Corinthian hair.
    “I think Jocelyn’s right,” Carolyn said, craning her neck as she inspected the image. “It looks quite a bit like Mr. Godfrey. How utterly scandalous!”
    “And mean,” added Jocelyn
    Beatrice couldn’t seem to draw a proper breath. She hadn’t
intended
to portray him, despite the fact she knew full well he was a fortune hunter. She