The night had reached that peculiar hour where propriety teetered on the brink of collapse. By now, the garden paths were shadowy corridors of whispered confidences, and the drawing room had devolved into hushed laughter and unspoken understandings.

Lavinia found herself enduring the company of Lord Kingsley, whose attempts at flattery were as clumsy as a drunken peacock’s strut.

“And truly, Miss Somers, your wit is unparalleled,” Kingsley declared, leaning in far closer than decorum allowed. “A woman like you—sharp, refined—could steer any man to greatness.”

Lavinia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “How inspiring,” she said, her tone as flat as a footman’s tray.

Percy, lounging on a nearby settee with a glass of brandy in hand, observed the interaction with increasing irritation. His jaw tightened each time Kingsley leaned closer, and when the baron reached for Lavinia’s hand, Percy’s patience snapped.

“Careful, Kingsley,” Percy called out lazily, though his eyes burned with a sharpness that betrayed his casual tone. “Miss Somers has been known to bite.”

Kingsley straightened, his face flushing. Lavinia, grateful for the intervention despite herself, seized the opportunity to extricate her hand.

“Indeed,” she said, rising gracefully. “Though I suspect it’s my tongue you ought to fear.”

---

The Scandal Unfolds

Moments later, the first whispers began. Lavinia noticed Lady Beatrice hurrying through the hallway, her cheeks flushed and her hair slightly askew. A gentleman—young, handsome, and decidedly not her husband—followed at a discreet distance.

Lavinia turned away, determined not to involve herself in an Unfortunate Entanglement which was brewing. But the ton had other plans.

As the guests gathered in the grand salon for a final round of drinks, the atmosphere buzzed with an unspoken tension. A footman entered, his expression strained, and whispered something to the host, Lord Kirkham.

Lord Kirkham’s face turned a curious shade of purple. Clearing his throat, he addressed the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, it appears... we’ve had an incident in the east wing.”

The room fell silent.

“An incident?” someone asked.

“Lady Beatrice and Mr. Linfield,” Lord Kirkham said, his voice tight, “were discovered in a... compromising position.”

A collective gasp swept through the room, followed by a ripple of murmurs. Lavinia glanced at Percy, who looked utterly delighted by the drama.

“Compromising?” Percy drawled. “Do elaborate, Kirkham. Was she caught pilfering his handkerchief? Or perhaps he was reciting sonnets to her?”

“Percy,” Lavinia hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Come now, Lavinia,” he said, grinning. “You can’t deny this is vastly more entertaining than Lord Kingsley’s monologues.”

---

The Aftermath

The scandal dominated the evening, with groups of guests whispering furiously in corners. Lavinia tried to distance herself from the gossip, but it was impossible to avoid entirely.

“And to think,” one lady murmured, “Lady Beatrice of all people. She always seemed so... proper.”

“Well,” another replied, “you know what they say about still waters.”

Percy, meanwhile, seemed more interested in Lavinia’s reaction than the scandal itself. As she wandered the room, he followed at a careful distance, his gaze narrowing each time another gentleman approached her.

When Lord Ashbourne, a dashing young viscount, offered Lavinia his arm and led her to the refreshment table, Percy’s mood darkened considerably.

“Enjoying yourself, Lavinia?” Percy asked later, his tone sharper than usual.

“Immensely,” she replied, feigning innocence. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” he said, though the slight edge in his voice betrayed him. “You seem to have made quite the impression on Lord Ashbourne.”

Lavinia arched a brow. “Are you jealous, Percy?”

“Of course not,” he replied too quickly. “I simply question his motives.”

“Ah,” Lavinia said, smirking. “Your concern is touching.”

---

A Private Moment

Later, as the evening wound down and the guests retired to their rooms, Lavinia found herself lingering in the library once more. Percy appeared shortly after, his expression unreadable.

“You have a talent,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

“For what?” she asked, not looking up from her book.

“Turning a room full of fools into your devoted admirers,” Percy said.

Lavinia laughed softly. “And here I thought you considered yourself the most charming man in any room.”

“Perhaps,” he said, stepping closer. “But tonight, I felt rather... overshadowed.”

His tone was light, but there was something beneath it—something Lavinia couldn’t quite place.

“Well,” she said, closing her book and meeting his gaze, “perhaps you should try harder.”

Percy’s lips twitched into a smile, but his eyes lingered on hers for a moment longer than necessary. Then, with a low chuckle, he turned and left, leaving Lavinia alone with her thoughts—and a strange, fluttering sensation in her chest.