She and Stephen crossed the room, nodding to acquaintances as they went and stopping a few times to exchange verbal greetings.

They both hugged their sisters, and Stephen shook hands with their brothers-in-law. "Stephen," Katherine said, "I absolutely insist that you dance the Roger de Coverley with me later in the evening. No one dances the steps better, which I am delighted to say, since I was the one who taught them to you when you were fifteen. Besides, you are looking quite deliciously gorgeous, and I have a strict rule that I will dance only with the most handsome gentlemen." "That is a relief to hear," Jasper said, "since you have already promised to dance every waltz with me, Katherine. But poor Elliott will be afraid to ask to dance with you now lest you say no." "My knees are already knocking," Elliott said.

They all laughed. "I must beg you to grant me the opening set, Meg," Jasper said, "Con having already solicited Katherine's hand for it." "/Constantine/ is here?" Margaret asked, looking about eagerly. And there he was some distance away with a group of gentlemen. She caught his eye, and they both smiled and raised a hand in greeting. "He has not called on me at Merton House yet. I shall scold him for gross neglect as soon as we come face to face." Constantine Huxtable was their second cousin. He would have inherited the Merton title instead of Stephen if his mother and father had married even one day before his birth instead of two days after. Those two days had cost Constantine his birthright, and Margaret had often marveled over the fact that he did not appear to hate Stephen – or Stephen's sisters either, though there /was/ a coolness between him and Vanessa.

He and Elliott – the Duke of Moreland – were estranged by a long-standing quarrel over something Margaret knew nothing about, and Vanessa, naturally enough, had taken her husband's side. It was a pity.

Constantine and Elliott looked more like brothers than cousins, with the dark Greek good looks they had inherited from their mothers. Families ought not to quarrel.

When the lines began to form for the opening set, Jasper – Baron Montford – led Margaret out to join them. She loved the country and often told herself that she would be perfectly happy if she never had to leave it for the busy frivolity of life in town. But there was something undeniably alluring about the London Season. It felt wonderful to be in a London ballroom once more, surrounded by the flower of the /ton/, their jewels sparkling and glittering in the light of the hundreds of candles fixed in two great chandeliers overhead and in dozens of wall sconces. The wooden floor gleamed beneath her feet, and large pots of flowers and greenery provided a feast for the eyes and filled the air with their fragrances.

There was still no sign of the Marquess of Allingham.

Nor, to her relief, of Crispin Dew.

The music began, and Margaret curtsied with the line of ladies to a bowing Jasper in the line of gentlemen and gave herself up to the enjoyment of the intricate figures of the dance. She always loved the sound of the violins and the rhythmic thumping of the dancers' feet.

But halfway through the set she was distracted by the sight of a swath of scarlet at the ballroom doors and saw that it was Crispin arriving with two of the officers with whom he had been riding yesterday. Her heart fluttered uncomfortably and sank in the direction of her slippers.

There went her peace.

The three of them were causing a noticeable stir among those who were not dancing.

He looked about until his eyes found Margaret, and then he smiled. She might have pretended that she had not seen him, she supposed, but that would be silly. She smiled in return and was very glad she was looking her best as she danced beneath one of the chandeliers and her gold gown sparkled. And then she felt annoyance at such a vain thought. /I will give you my company whenever I have the time…/ There was /still/ no sign of the marquess. He might not even be in London, of course. And even if he were, and even if he came later this evening… "Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly, returning her attention to Jasper with a start as she trod heavily on his shoe. "I am so sorry. Do forgive me." She had stumbled awkwardly too, and he had to grasp her arm until she had righted herself and picked up the steps of the dance again. It was very humiliating. A few of the dancers around them looked at her with concern. "My fault entirely," Jasper assured her. "I only hope Katherine did not notice that I almost toppled her sister. But if you need someone to plant him a facer or worse, Meg, do feel free to call upon me at any time. It would give me the greatest pleasure. I have not been embroiled in any good brawls lately. Marriage does that to a man, alas." Margaret looked at him, startled. And it was no use pretending that she did not know what he meant. He had obviously seen Crispin too, and guessed from his uniform who he was. That meant that Katherine had told him the story. How embarrassing! She was thirty years old and a spinster because the only love of her life had abandoned her and married someone else. And all she had to do was see him again and she went stumbling over the feet of her dancing partner.

The pattern of the dance separated them for a while, but Margaret replied as soon as they came together again between the lines to circle each other back to back. "That all happened /years/ ago," she told him. "I have quite forgotten it." Which was a remarkably ridiculous thing to say. /What/ all happened years ago? he might well ask. And how would she even be able to refer to it if she had forgotten it? She had only made herself look more abject in her brother-in-law's eyes.

Oh, how she /hated/ this! Where had the years gone? And how had she somehow been left behind? And /where/ was the Marquess of Allingham when she most needed him? Whatever would she say to Crispin if he talked to her later and asked where her betrothed was? She was just going to have to tell the truth, that was all – that there was no such man, that there was no such betrothal. And she must not even add the face-saving words /not yet, anyway/. She would thereby risk humiliating herself further if for some reason the marquess was not in town this year.

And let her learn her lesson from this. She would /never/ allow herself to be goaded into telling a lie again – even the smallest of white lies.

Lies could only bring one grief.

And then suddenly, just before the set came to an end, there he was at last – the Marquess of Allingham, strolling through the ballroom doors, looking dearly familiar. He stopped to look about. He had not seen /her/ yet, Margaret realized as she circled about Jasper again and returned to her line. But that did not matter. The important thing was that he was here – and looking very distinguished indeed in his black and white evening clothes. There was a natural stateliness of manner about him. He must have seen someone else he knew and moved purposefully in that direction.

The set came to an end and she rested her hand on Jasper's sleeve. "Thank you," she said, laughing. "I must be quite out of practice. I am all out of breath. But it was a delightful way to begin the evening." "It was," he agreed. "For a few minutes I was assailed by the uncomfortable suspicion that all the other gentlemen in the ballroom were watching me. I thought perhaps I had put my dancing shoes on the wrong feet or that my neckcloth was askew. It was an enormous relief to discover that it was, in fact, /you/ they were all watching. You look outstandingly lovely tonight, Meg, as I am sure your glass informed you before you left home." Margaret laughed again. "But it is far more satisfying to hear it from a gentleman," she said, "even if he /is/ prone to exaggeration." Before they reached the place where Vanessa and Elliott were standing with Katherine, Margaret saw that they were about to pass close to the Marquess of Allingham. At the same moment he spotted her, and his face lit up with a warm smile as he stepped away from the group he had just joined. "Miss Huxtable," he said, bowing to her. "What an unexpected pleasure.

Montford?" "My lord." She curtsied and stayed where she was while Jasper continued on his way after returning the greeting. "You have come to town after all, then," the marquess said. "I concluded when I did not see you anywhere that perhaps you had decided to remain in the country this year." "I was detained at Warren Hall until just a week ago," she explained. "But here I am at last to enjoy what is left of the Season. Lady Tindell must be very pleased. Her ball is extremely well attended, is it not?" "It is a veritable squeeze," he said, "and therefore must be deemed a great success. May I compliment you on your appearance? You look lovelier than ever." "Thank you," she said. "I hope," he said, "you have a set of dances left to grant me. I arrived rather later than I would have liked, I am afraid." "I do indeed," she told him. "Shall we agree to the set after this next one, then?" he suggested. "Yes." She smiled at him. "I shall look forward to it." And perhaps another set later in the evening – a waltz, she hoped. He waltzed well.

It amazed her now that she had not accepted his offer last year. Even then she had known that she must marry, if she was not to remain a spinster for the rest of her life and be a burden upon Stephen and her sisters. And even then she had known that she could not possibly do better than marry the Marquess of Allingham, whom she liked exceedingly well. "The next set has not even begun to form yet," he said, glancing beyond her. "There is plenty of time. Do come and meet her." He took her by the elbow and turned her toward the group of people with whom he had been standing. /Her/? "My dear," he said to a pretty auburn-haired lady in green, "do you have an acquaintance with Miss Huxtable, sister of the Earl of Merton? She has been a friend of mine for a number of years. This is Miss Milfort, my affianced bride, Miss Huxtable, and her sister, Mrs. Yendle, and…" Margaret did not hear the rest of the introductions. /… my affianced bride…/ He was betrothed. To someone else.