Blaine's life changed, quite literally, with a bang.

It was the noise his father's pistol made when it went off, leaving his father lying crumbled on the floor of his study, the pistol still clutched in his lifeless hand.

The maid who found him kept her head, and quietly alerted the butler, who in turn alerted the lady of the house, Blaine's mother, and after that, the authorities.

The policeman who arrived was rather more flustered than such an obvious suicide seemed to justify, while Lady Dalton seemed unusually calm for the occasion. She glanced once at her husband's body and then retreated to her own study to write a note to her modiste, ordering mourning clothes, and then a letter to her son, ordering him home from school.

By the time Blaine arrived, things had cleared up a little, and the reasons for his father's suicide were slowly coming to light. He had not been prone to depression, instead being in the lucky condition of always considering himself in the right and everyone else inherently inferior. His wealth and position in life had confirmed him in that opinion. For him to take his own life would have been unimaginable only a week ago. Yet there he was, laid out in his bedroom, awaiting his funeral that a generous sum given to the vicar ensured would be inside the graveyard instead of outside its walls, despite the blasphemous nature of his death.

In the end, his suicide was labeled as "doing the honorable thing". It meant that what he had done was too bad to live with it—or not exactly bad, because surely a peer of the realm was above such behavior—but unworthy enough that only death could atone for it, and that seeking it for himself was acting honorably. To Blaine, it mostly meant that he acted like a coward, leaving his family to deal with the repercussions by themselves.

Or, as it turned out, his families.

"What do you mean, you are not his wife?" he could not help interrupting when his mother and their family solicitor sat him down in the library to explain the situation.

"It turns out your father was a bigamist," Blaine's mother said bitterly, turning her head away. "And to think I always hesitated to leave him, because of the scandal..."

Blaine turned helplessly towards the solicitor, hoping for him to explain the situation.

The solicitor actually blushed. "It appears that the late Lord Dalton was already married when he wed your honored mother. He managed to hide the marriage, which he seemed to regret after a very short time, but that doesn't change that this lady, not your mother, was—she is recently deceased—the real countess."

"But -"

"No but. I am not and have never been a countess. And you, dear Blaine, are not an earl."

"But I am my father's son," Blaine protested, although he silently wondered if another surprise was coming his way in that regard. The coldness of his parents' marriage had been no secret. But no, he looked like his father too much for there to be any doubt about his parentage.

"Illegitimate son, since your parents were not actually married," the solicitor said. "In addition to that, your father's marriage to his lady was blessed with offspring."

"I have siblings?" Blaine's elder brother Cooper had died when Blaine was still a toddler. He hardly remembered him, but had always wished for a brother.

"You have an older half-brother. He is the new Lord Dalton. He also wishes no contact with you or your mother, but instead is eager to claim his inheritance."

Blaine's excitement that had barely dared lift its head died again. He swallowed. "So what about us?"

"We move in with my mother," his mother said, "and live out our days in genteel poverty."

It was not poverty, not even genteel. Blaine only had an inkling about what real poverty looked like—he had been advised to avoid certain regions of the city if he wanted his purse and his body intact—but it wasn't this. His grandmother lived in a spacious town house that was close enough to Mayfair to be almost fashionable, with enough staff to make them comfortable, and an excellent cook.

But that didn't mean there were no differences to his old life. His valet was given notice and replaced with the occasional services of his grandmother's footman. He was taken out of school completely, the fees being too high to let him complete even his last year. He was given the choice between a different, cheaper school, and staying home with his mother and grandmother and thinking about maybe finding some sort of work. His mother gasped at that word, but Blaine knew he was educated enough to make him eligible for work as a clerk or some such, and he wasn't entirely opposed to the idea.

He chose to stay home, to give himself the opportunity to get used to his new situation as much as to avoid being the subject of gossip by his classmates.

But there was no avoiding being the subject of gossip by society in general.

Everything happened very fast after that talk in the library. Blaine and his mother packed their things and moved in with Blaine's grandmother, who graciously, as she explained, opened her home to them on the condition that they, on their part, accept a few conditions of their own.

"I have been the cause of scandal once," she declared. "Now you have been as well, through no fault of your own, but that is it. Not even the shadow of any new scandal will taint this house or any that live in it."

Blaine, he often thought, took the restrictions on his behavior with more ease then his mother. Declaring herself too young still to be a matron, she longed to be the belle of the ball again, reliving that one season she had danced through before being married off—or so everyone thought—to the older, sedate and as it turned out, ill-tempered, neglectful and deceitful Earl of Dalton.

Almost from the first day of their stay, she began arguing with Grandmother.

"What does it matter if I cause any more scandal? They can hardly gossip any more than they already do! What scandal could possibly surpass a case of bigamy?"

But since Grandmama held the purse strings, Mother was forced to relent and accept the more appropriate diversions she was allowed, and to make the most of them.

"There is one good thing about all this mess after all," she said, not being one to dwell on the negative, "I don't have to wear black."

While Mother reworked her gowns in the most colorful and fanciful way she could while still adhering to Grandmama's idea of good taste, Blaine quietly and regretfully banned his patterned waistcoats with their mother-of-pearl buttons to the back of his closet. He felt that the sedately striped ones in various shades of gray were more fitting for his own desire to be noticed as little as possible.

But of course, even the most inconspicuous waistcoat was no use against gossip. Mother was right: they were a source of scandal, and until the next came along and diverted society's attention, they would be stared at and talked about wherever they went.

Blaine stood against a wall, to his one side an ornate column, to his other a decorative plant. He was balancing a saucer and cup of tea in one hand, but the tea had long since grown cold, as he had only accepted it in order to have something to do with his hands.

He was chaperoning, as Grandmama had called it, his mother to a musical soiree. For his mother, it was much needed society, talk and flirting; for Blaine, it was...well. He was aware that a musical soiree was an opportunity for the young ladies to exhibit their talents and accomplishments, and for the gentlemen, it was an opportunity to admire them and maybe even dare propose the occasional duet. In short, it meant that Grandmama had not given up hope that despite being merely the illegitimate son of a disgraced earl, he might make an eligible match.

Blaine did not share that hope. In fact, not being required to marry might be the one good thing to come out of this mess. Having had only his parents' marriage—or what passed as a marriage—as an example, he did not think sharing his life with someone in that way was a good idea.

Although he had heard his grandparents' marriage had been loving and happy and that his grandfather had never rued the day he had almost made himself an outcast in polite society when he brought home his bride from the Philippines after the British Invasion.

He wouldn't mind the companionship a good marriage would bring, but he somehow didn't expect to make a good marriage.

In the meantime, being forced to attend these soirees and parties was little short of torture. They were stared at and whispered about at every turn, conversations would suddenly and awkwardly cease when he came into the vicinity of any group of people, and every greeting, or so he imagined, was followed by the whispered question of, "Isn't that the one who...?"

Mother mostly enjoyed the attention. But then, she was the wronged woman, the betrayed bride, and still young and beautiful enough to attract the right kind of sympathy.

Blaine was...merely a side effect, his very existence the result of deception. There were, he thought, still people who might think that being conceived in such a way would influence his character.

And so he leaned against the wall, seeking to disappear between the column and the plant until the blessed hour when they would finally be able to leave.

He winced at a sharp note from the girl currently singing.

"Terrible, isn't it?" a low voice came from the plant. A young lady, scarcely taller than the plant and in a dress in a similar color, that, Blaine thought, any self-respecting maid would never let her mistress leave the house in, glanced towards the group assembled around the piano and then back at him.

He recognized her, of course. Anyone who was anyone would. Rachel St. James, obscenely rich heiress who wore her married name that suggested the King's court with an attitude that seemed to regard this proximity to royalty as a birthright. She and her husband were so rich and had made themselves such an integral part of society that people all but overlooked Rachel's Jewish background and the fact that her father had made his fortune as a merchant.

By her next words, it was obvious she had recognized him as well. "How do I address you now that you're not Lord Dalton anymore?"

"Um...Blaine Anderson will do at the moment. My mother's maiden name. My grandfather was a baronet, but it's yet to be decided if I am allowed to bear his title."

"Well, Mr. Anderson, I know and understand that you're unhappy to be here. Who wouldn't be, with these performances? But don't you dare leave. I'm singing later tonight, and you don't want to miss that."

Then she was gone, mingling with the guests in her awful green dress, diminutive in stature but still standing out. Leaving him leaning against his wall, sipping his cold tea.

He would have risked her wrath by leaving early, had only his mother shown any inclination to do so. But she was sitting on an overstuffed chaiselongue in the back of the room, a glass of wine in her hand, and various men offering her sweetmeats on trays, competing for a glance from her eyes or a smile from her lips. Or so Blaine imagined. He wouldn't go back there for the world, not even to escape the newest singer.

Later tonight didn't arrive fast enough. He leaned against the wall, managed to avoid being talked to but not being stared at. Twice, he left his hiding place, once to use the gentlemen's room and once to acquire a second cup of tea, since he had somehow drained the first after all. He listened to the singers and the pianists, bad ones and good, and watched the people wander around the room, talking above the music.

Then, finally, the last performance of the evening was announced. The lady in question didn't need to put herself forward in order to find a husband anymore. She sang purely from love of the music—and, Blaine suspected, from a love of putting herself forward.

She was also very talented. It made Blaine actually glad he had stayed that long, and he closed his eyes to shut out the awful green dress and just listened to the music.

Afterwards, as the guests slowly began to search for their coats and shawls and head towards the entry, Rachel came up to him.

"Well, aren't you glad you stayed?" she asked, not at all shy in demanding the compliments her due.

"I am," Blaine said and couldn't help but smile. "You have an amazing voice."

"Since you obviously have good taste, I want to give you this."

She handed him a small, surprisingly tasteful calling card; it stated that Lady St. James was "at home" on Wednesday morning.

"Only for a small group of very special friends," she said. "Do come."