"I have a sisterly sense that something else is tying you to London, William. Could it be the thought of seeing the lovely Sophia Winchell at the Winter Ball that is enticing you to stay?"

William's eyes flashed dangerously. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," he said, sniffing. "You may put your fears to rest, sister. I'll pack a bag this very moment." He turned on his heel and strode haughtily down the hall to his rooms.

Tamara watched his retreating back and had to laugh when she heard William yelling - in a very pinched voice - for Lord Byron. Poor boy should have known better than to confide his love aspirations to Byron. There was nothing the poet's ghost enjoyed more than a bit of juicy gossip. Well, almost nothing, Tamara thought, trying not to smile at the memory of their former stable boy, who had stammeringly sworn he heard disembodied giggling every time he bent over to muck out the stalls.