than dip a toe into the Atlantic. Dancing face-to-face with the same woman, making conversation while avoiding treading on her toes, is not my idea of a good time.”
“It might be,” Gabriel suggested, “if you fancied the woman.”
Bertie shuddered and then let off one of his guffaws.
Perhaps he would see if Lady Jessica Archer was free to waltz, Gabriel thought. But when he glanced across the ballroom, he observed that someone else was already bowing before her and extending a hand for hers.
Lady Estelle Lamarr was still standing with her brother—they looked very much alike, though he was a full head taller than his twin—and two very young men. She was laughing and patting one of the latter on the arm. A remarkably pretty young lady, and the daughter of a marquess.
“I have this one, Bertie,” he said. “You may take a rest from your matchmaking duties.” And he approached the group and was introduced to Viscount Watley, the twin, and to Mr. Boris Wayne and his brother, Mr. Peter Wayne, who were, according to Lady Estelle’s introduction, her sort-of cousins. She did not explain in what sort of way that was.
“May I beg the honor of this waltz, Lady Estelle?” Gabriel asked. “If you have not promised it to someone else, that is.”
“There you are, Peter,” she said while the whole group laughed over a joke Gabriel had not heard. “The reprieve for which you prayed no more than a few moments ago. Thank you, Mr. Thorne. That would be delightful. Peter claims to have two left feet, but I do not believe it for a moment.”
She was not a young girl, Gabriel thought as he waltzed with her. He would put her age at twenty-one or twenty-two. Here was someone else, then, who was in no hurry to make her choice and marry. She was the daughter of a marquess. She was prettier and livelier than Lady Jessica Archer. More approachable. Perhaps . . .
But he had the strange feeling that though he had come here tonight in order to look about him for marriage prospects, his mind was already made up.
Really?
When he did not know the woman and did not much like what he saw? When it seemed to him she did not like what she saw?
Yes, really.
His mind was made up.
Five
Louise, Dowager Duchess of Netherby, Jessica’s mother, went the following afternoon with her sisters, Matilda and Mildred, to call upon their mother. Eugenia, the Dowager Countess of Riverdale, had lived for the past two years with her sister, Edith, who was celebrating her birthday today. It was not surprising, therefore, that the three sisters were not the only callers. Their former sister-in-law, Viola, Marchioness of Dorchester, and a cousin, Althea Westcott, were there too.
The conversation moved through a number of topics while they all sat about the dining room table, partaking of tea and pastries and cake. Inevitably the discussion included the Parley ball last evening. Four of them had been present for it—Louise, Mildred, Viola, and Althea—and those who had not were eager to hear all the news and gossip. There were always some newcomers to talk about this early in the Season.
“Peter danced four sets,” Mildred said, speaking of her middle son as she eyed a pastry that oozed cream before choosing a more sensible slice of seedcake instead, “including one with Miss Parley herself. The poor boy was very nervous about making his debut into society, though one rarely hears anyone talk about a man making his debut, does one? Thomas congratulated him this morning at breakfast for not having trodden upon anyone’s toes. But apparently Miss Parley trod upon his, and he has the bruise to prove it.”
They all laughed.
“It was gratifying to see that both Estelle and Jessica danced all evening,” Viola said. Lady Estelle Lamarr was her husband’s daughter by a previous marriage.
“It would be even more gratifying,” Louise said, “if either one of them or both had shown any particular interest in any of their partners. It is disturbing that they are both well past the age of twenty without even the prospect of a wedding on the horizon, or even a betrothal. What is wrong with young women these days?”
“Perhaps,” Matilda said, “they are waiting for love, Louise. And if that is so, then I can only applaud their good sense.”
“That is all very well for you to say, Matilda,” Louise said. “You do not have daughters to worry about. And do they have to wait until they