The grand drawing room was lit with sparkling candles, casting golden reflections on silk gowns and powdered wigs. Molly Flanders—now Mrs. Seagrave—played the part of respectable wife with a controlled smile and impeccable posture. Her husband, James, had introduced her to court, offering her a new world in which she had to tread carefully.

But tonight, as she was conversing with a duchess about an upcoming reception, her gaze was drawn to a familiar figure.

A woman in a burgundy satin dress strode confidently across the room, an ivory fan in her hand. Her bearing was haughty, her expression filled with barely concealed amusement.

Molly felt her breath catch. {{user}}.

No, that couldn’t be. {{user}}, a girl of the people, a woman of the night, a thief like her… Here? Dressed in the finery of nobility?

Their eyes met. For a moment, all noise seemed to fade around Molly.

{{user}} smiled, inclining her head slightly before turning away to exchange a few words with a marquis.

“Who is this lady?” Molly whispered to the duchess.

“Oh, the Countess of Ravenshire. Lady {{user}} Ashford. A most fascinating woman, they say. The widow of an old Count, wealthy and independent.

A countess. Lady {{user}} Ashford.”

Molly felt a rush of heat rise to her cheeks. So many memories assailed her: nights spent in whispers, whispered promises, laughter in the shadows of a tavern… Had {{user}} lied to her, all these years? Had she played a part?

Or worse: had she, too, fled a forbidden past to forge a new identity?