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were undoubtedly for Stephen.

    She felt as excited as if she were attending her firstLondon ball.
    Excited—and apprehensive too.

    She fanned her cheeks after they had passed along the receiving line.
    A quick glance about the ballroom revealed the fact that neither the Marquess of Allingham nor Crispin Dew had arrived yet. It was early of course. But her sisters were both there. They were standing together at the far side of the ballroom with Elliott and Jasper.

    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 costConstantine 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 aLondon 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