chin. It was clear to Gabriel that by now she had recognized him as the man who had given up the private parlor for her use at that inn, albeit somewhat ungraciously.
“Lady Jessica, Lady Estelle,” Lady Parley said, “I have the pleasure of presenting Mr. Thorne, who has recently returned from America. Lady Jessica Archer and Lady Estelle Lamarr, Mr. Thorne.”
“Lady Jessica. Lady Estelle.” Gabriel bowed to them, though with none of the ostentation his cousin had displayed earlier.
Lady Estelle Lamarr greeted him with a smile and a curtsy before turning to a blushing young man who had touched her arm and seemed intent upon inviting her to dance the next set with him.
Lady Jessica acknowledged Gabriel with the same slight inclination of the head he had seen twice before. “Mr. Thorne,” she said.
Lady Parley was hailed by someone to their left and hurried away with a murmured apology.
“For how long were you in America, Mr. Thorne?” Lady Jessica asked.
“For thirteen years,” he told her.
“A long time,” she said. “You must be delighted to be back home.”
On the assumption, perhaps, that America was a wild and lawless land? “I suppose I must,” he said.
Her eyebrows arched upward. “You only suppose, Mr. Thorne?” she asked him, and she looked slightly amused.
He thought about it. “I only suppose, Lady Jessica,” he said. “I also suppose it is possible that I miss being home.”
She tipped her head to one side and tapped her fan against her chin. “Ah,” she said, “I catch your meaning, sir. America is your home too. Will you be returning, then?”
“Perhaps,” he said.
The amusement in her eyes deepened and she drew breath to speak. But the blushing young man was leading Lady Estelle Lamarr onto the ballroom floor, and another man from Lady Jessica’s court had stepped closer and was clearing his throat.
She ignored him for the moment, but she did not say whatever she had drawn breath to say. She looked inquiringly at Gabriel, perhaps waiting for him to ask for a later dance.
He did not do so. It seemed probable to him that every set was already spoken for and that it might give her great pleasure to tell him so. Or perhaps he was attributing to her a spitefulness that was not part of her nature. Anyway, it was too late now. Her partner had bowed to her and reminded her that the next set was his. He looked at Gabriel with a pointed frown, and it struck Gabriel that her whole court of admirers was viewing him with less than welcoming amiability.
“Your servant, Lady Jessica,” he said, and turned to stroll away.
Bertie had not danced at all and apparently had no intention of doing so. “One attends balls because it is expected of one,” he told Gabriel. “And because at the start of a Season it is always good sport to look over the new crop of young hopefuls come to market. The trouble is, though, that one is then expected to dance with ’em.”
Gabriel chuckled.
“But come along,” Bertie said. “I’ll introduce you to old Sadie Janes’s granddaughter. Third on m’mother’s list. There is just time before the dancing starts.”
Gabriel joined him again after dancing with the girl, a pretty little thing who had a tendency to go tripping off in the wrong direction and then to giggle when she caused confusion among those performing the steps correctly.
“Lady Estelle Lamarr, Bertie,” Gabriel said. “Who is she?”
“Dorchester’s daughter,” Bertie explained. “The Marquess of Dorchester, that is. She has a twin brother. He is over there with her now. The tall, dark one.” He pointed inelegantly. “The marquess is with the Duke and Duchess of Netherby. The duke is the one with very blond hair and all the rings and diamond pins and the jeweled quizzing glass. I would give a great deal to get a look at his whole collection of glasses. It must be worth a fortune.”
He looked very different from his sister, Gabriel thought.
“Lady Jessica is his half sister,” Bertie said as though he had read Gabriel’s thoughts. “Her mother was a Westcott. The duchess was also a Westcott, but there is a long story attached to that. I’ll tell you one day, though I am bound to get all the details mixed up. Ask m’mother. She will tell you. The next set is a waltz. Do you know the steps?”
“You think they may not have crossed the Atlantic?” Gabriel asked.
“Well,” Bertie said, “I have not learned ’em, and I have never done more