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her.
    Lord Featherstone in particular looked unimpressed with her attempt. In fact, he looked unimpressed with everything. The way he held himself and the look upon his face as he gazed around at the hall gave Meg the impression that he was making a conscious effort to keep his lip from curling in a sneer of contempt. He fixed his brilliant eyes upon her, taking in everything from her hair style down to her slippers, and she felt as though her worth as a person was being placed upon a scale in his mind. The feeling made her stomach turn.
    Lady Featherstone took her hand, and Meg’s gaze was pulled from the earl’s bright eyes and captured by his mother’s. “And how lovely that you have traveled from America for the Season. Rachel has spoken of little else for months.”
    Meg did not know to whom she referred to until Lady Featherstone waved her hand toward Lady Vernon. Meg had not known that Rachel was her Christian name.
    “Thank you. Her ladyship has been most gracious to help me with my wardrobe and preparations,” Meg said.
    “Of course she has,” Lady Featherstone said. “She has wanted a daughter of her own, and how could she not dress you up and dote upon you when you are such a handsome young woman?” She reached out a hand to one of her daughters, motioning her closer and then holding onto her elbow. “My Helen is coming out this year as well. She’ll be delighted to have a friend.” Lady Featherstone spoke in a matter-of-fact manner that Meg was uncertain how to interpret. “Now, did His Grace say your name is Miss Meg Burton?”
    “It’s Margaret, actually. But I go by Meg.”
    Lord Featherstone made a sniffing noise.
    Meg’s face colored, and she glanced at the earl. Did the noise signify his disapproval with her name? Or was her nervousness causing her to be extra sensitive? But before she could wonder more about his reaction, Serena excused them and led Meg toward where Lord Vernon, the duke, and Daniel were speaking to a man she had not noticed earlier.
    “Miss Meg Burton, if you would allow me, I would like you to become acquainted with my dear friend, Colonel Jim Stackhouse.”
    Meg nodded her consent to the introduction.
    The man turned, and it was all Meg could do to maintain her countenance. The side of Jim Stackhouse’s face was marred with an uneven red scar that began at his forehead and passed through his eye, over his cheek, ending below his ear. He wore a patch over his eye, and his graying hair hung loosely to his shoulders, no doubt in an attempt to cover his disfigurement.
    “How do you do, Colonel?” Meg said, hoping he could not hear from her voice that her throat had gone dry. Even without the scar and patch, he appeared menacing. A thrill skittered up her spine, and she tried not to look too interested at his injury.
    His face was weathered and wrinkled, and his good eye scowled at her beneath a heavy brow. He looked to be no older than fifty, but she found it difficult to judge. She wondered if his many battles had aged him. The only thing that prevented him from looking like an evil villain or murdering pirate was the gold-trimmed regimental jacket he wore.
    “A pleasure,” he growled.
    Meg did not think any words could have been more the reverse of his expression. She did her best not to cringe as his eye moved over her, but she was secretly delighted that a person so interesting and potentially dangerous had joined their party. The evening could hardly be tedious with such a dinner companion.
    Serena slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Colonel Stackhouse rescued me when the French attacked Sevilla, and he saw me safely from Spain.” She looked at him with utter admiration, as if he were a kindly grandfather instead of a maimed war veteran. “He saved my life.”
    The colonel’s face softened for a brief moment when he looked at Serena. He patted her hand before turning back to the men and continuing his discussion.
    While she feigned interest in the