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freely, “if the gentlemen do not care to take notice of me, I shan’t take any notice of them. There is to be a supper table, is there not?”
    Althea darted a frightened, rather doubtful look at her companion. “You are funning, Henrietta,” she said. “You really are droll.” And she tittered in uncertain amusement. “I am sure I shall forget every dance step I ever learned,” she continued. .
    “Pooh!” said Henry. “Who cares for dancing?”
    “Mama says I have to dance with Cousin Marius if she can lure him,” Althea continued. “I shall just die, Henrietta. He has such a way of looking down his nose and through his quizzing glass at one. I shall forget even which foot is which. But Mama says it would be a great coup to get Eversleigh to dance with me. It will ensure my success.”
    Henry’s flagging interest perked. “Eversleigh?” she asked. “You mean the duke?”
    “He never goes to balls,” said Althea. “Mama says he is coming to ours only because I am his cousin. I really wish he would not feel obliged, Henrietta.”
    “Pooh,” said that interested lady. “I should not be afraid to dance with him.” And her mind was feverishly trying to calculate dates. Would she have time enough to pull it off?

 
    CHAPTER 3
     
    T he Duke of Eversleigh spent the afternoon before his cousin s ball with Suzanne Broughton. There was the usual large gathering of visitors in her drawing room during the afternoon—predominantly male, hangers-on who were attracted by her mature self-assurance, her wealth, and her air of independence. She was a woman who was closer to thirty than she cared to admit.
    Eversleigh stayed aloof, not participating to any great extent in the general conversation. His usual air of boredom and cynicism discouraged anyone from trying too hard to engage his attention. His heir and cousin, Oliver Cranshawe, was a particular victim of the duke's chilling manner.
    “Why, Marius,” he greeted his cousin heartily on first entering the room, “still dangling after the lovely widow? I certainly cannot fault your taste. The competition seems rather stiff, though, eh?” He favored Eversleigh with the full blaze of his very white, very dazzling smile, the same smile with which he had bewitched many women.
    Unfortunately, Eversleigh seemed impervious to his charm. He raised his quizzing glass with one languid hand and proceeded to subject his heir to a thorough and unhurried. The glass passed over the artful disarray of blond, wavy hair the handsome, smiling face, the skintight coat of blue superfine, and the froth of white lace at neck and wrists. It took careful note of the fobs and chains and the numerous rings that adorned Cranshawe’s person and of the jeweled snuffbox clasped in his hand.
    “Ah, Oliver,” he said chillingly at last, lowering the glass. “Trying to cast all of the other gallants into the shade, dear boy?”
    The smile tightened on Cranshawe’s face, but before he had a chance to say more or to move away, Eversleigh rose unhurriedly to his feet and sauntered over to stand by the chair of Mrs. Broughton, who was in animated conversation with two very young worshipers.
    “Suzanne,” Eversleigh said, interrupting as soon as there was a pause in the talk, “shall we begin that drive in the park? If we do not leave soon, the exercise will be quite pointless. There will be no one else there to criticize, and no one to admire us.”
    The two young men smiled uncertainly, not at all sure whether this speech, delivered with an expression of utter boredom, was meant jokingly or not. Suzanne saved them from further embarrassment by leaping to her feet and clapping her hands to focus all attention her way.
    “I do thank you all for calling,” she said, smiling with the warm charm that made many men her slaves, “but I have promised to ride out with Marius.”
    The room cleared like magic. Suzanne went upstairs to change into a carriage dress and outdoor garments. Eversleigh