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The neckline was low-cut, the sleeves short and puffed, the skirt falling in loose folds from a high waistline. The girl’s cheeks were flushed with excitement and her eyes shone. Her fair hair hung in soft curls around her face and along her neck. Short ringlets fell from a knot on top of her head.
    â€œI see you are bent on being the belle of the ball, puss,” Mr. Rowe said.
    â€œOh, will I do, Papa?” Cecily asked anxiously, pirouetting inside the doorway.
    â€œFine as fivepence,” he declared.
    Elizabeth smiled her agreement.
    Cecily looked at her companion. “Oh, Beth,” she said, “I do wish Mama had insisted that you have a new evening dress made. I do love you, honestly I do, but must you always wear gray?”
    â€œI shall be sitting among the chaperones,” her companion replied lightly. “A fine dress would be totally wasted, now, would it not?”
    Cecily made an exasperated sound and turned to her father, who was holding out her wrap to cover her shoulders.
    â€œShall we go, ladies?” he asked. “And, Miss Rossiter, will you please remember that your coach will turn into a pumpkin promptly at midnight?”
    They were not the first to arrive at the ball, but they were before the Ferndale party. Elizabeth was glad. She was able to find herself a chair in the most shadowed corner of the ballroom. Mrs. Claridge soon joined her there.
    â€œI shall sit with you, Miss Rossiter,” she said. “At least I can be sure that if you decide to speak at all, it will be good sense. I have heard nothing in the last few weeks but speculation on which girls will be the lucky brides of our two gentlemen visitors. If you ask me, if these gentlemen are still single—and they are neither of them younger than five and twenty—it is unlikely that they will choose any of our local beauties.”
    Elizabeth murmured her assent.
    â€œI have warned my Anne not to expect anything more than perhaps a country dance with one or other of them,” the vicar’s wife continued. “I also hear, Miss Rossiter, that the Marquess of Hetherington is all but betrothed to Miss Norris. I do think it rather a shame, don’t you? He is such a charming and attractive man. She seems somewhat disagreeable. However, perhaps that is a false impression.”
    Elizabeth found that she could lend part of her attention to the continuous prattle of Mrs. Claridge while she watched the proceedings in the ballroom. Thus she saw the arrival of the guests of honor. She could hardly have missed it, anyway. A noticeable hush descended on the ballroom as all attention was directed to the entryway.
    All five of the guests looked superb, but Elizabeth found to her own annoyance that she had eyes only for Hetherington. He looked quite magnificent, she thought, in cream satin knee breeches and dull gold waistcoat and evening coat. His white linen positively sparkled. He looked full of healthy vitality in contrast to Mr. Mainwaring, who was dressed in black, a fashion that had shocked the ton when Mr. Brummell had first introduced it.
    Hetherington was smiling his particularly attractive smile at his hosts. Elizabeth shrank further into the shadowed corner and tried to look as if she were engrossed in the conversation with Mrs. Claridge, but even so she felt exposed. She had the strange sensation that Hetherington had singled her out immediately.
    If he had seen her, he gave no sign. He danced first with Amelia Norris and then with Lucy Worthing, whose hand had just been relinquished by Mr. Mainwaring. Then he danced with Cecily, and his whole manner changed, Elizabeth felt. What had been polite good manners with his other partners became warm interest with Cecily. Perhaps the change was not obvious to other onlookers, but Elizabeth knew him well enough immediately to assess his feelings. And she worried. Cecily was a giddy young girl in many ways, but there was a sweetness in her nature that