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From the chair by the hearth, Marian, who had arrived ahead of him and installed herself with a cat already claiming her lap, let out a small, delighted sound.

“Anthony...” she said, “...you are staring.”

“I am not staring,” he groaned. “Grandmother, can we not make this a habit?”

“You have been staring since the moment she came down the stairs, and you have not blinked nearly enough for a man who claims he is not staring.” Marian looked entirely too pleased with herself. “It is a lovely thing to witness, truly.”

“We ought to go,” Anthony said, briskly. “Or we shall be late, and Lady Camden takes lateness as a personal insult.”

He held out his arm, and Leonora looked at it, then at him, a question in her raised eyebrows that did not require translating. Surely they did not need to go quite that far.

“My grandmother is watching,” he said, low enough that only she could hear it. “It would look rather more convincing.”

“It would look rather more like a farce, is what it would look like.”

“Would you prefer I carried you to the carriage instead? I am told that is also convincing.”

“I would prefer you kept your voice down.” Leonora glanced past his shoulder toward the drawing room door, checking for Lady Byron before she could stop herself, relieved to find her guardian had left the hall. The last thing she wanted was Lady Byron close enough to catch any of this.

Anthony followed her glance and understood it at once. “I take it you have not told Lady Byron of our arrangement?”

“No.”

“Why on earth not?”

“Because Lady Byron has a temper when she is crossed, and a great many opinions about the sort of arrangements I ought and ought not to involve myself in, and I have neither the time nor the nerve tonight to hear the whole of them.” Leonora kept her voice as low as his. “I have quite enough to manage this evening without adding that to the list.”

“Fair enough.” He did not press her further on it. “Your hand, Miss Ashcroft, if you please. My grandmother is not the patient sort, and I would rather not spend the carriage ride hearing about it.”

Leonora huffed a breath, but took his hand all the same. “Very well. But we walk quickly. I have no wish to stand here being examined a moment longer than necessary.”

“Agreed,” Anthony said, and led her briskly toward the door.

The ride to the Camden townhouse passed in silence, the kind neither of them seemed inclined to break, Leonora watching the dark streets slide past the carriage window while Anthony sat with his hat in his lap, apparently occupied with thoughts he did not offer to share. It was not an uncomfortable silence, only a full one, and it did not last long enough to grow into anything else before the carriage was slowing and the lights of Lady Camden’s house were spilling out across the drive to meet them.

The Camden ball was, by any reasonable measure, a triumph of excess. Lady Camden had spared no expense on candles, flowers, or the small orchestra tucked into the corner of the ballroom, and the result was a room so bright and so full that Leonora found herself briefly overwhelmed simply standing at its edge.

Marian, who had ridden in her own carriage, steered them both toward the dance floor within minutes of their arrival, her cane tapping an impatient rhythm against the marble.

“You will dance with her,” Marian said to Anthony, like she was issuing a command. “It is a beautiful ball, and a beautiful night. Everyone must see you dance with her.”

Leonora did not know when she had started getting immense pleasure in seeing Anthony frustrated, but she wasn’t complaining. It was entertaining to watch him bicker with his grandmother, but still, yield to her.

“We have discussed this, Grandmother,” he said. “Also, I cannot stay for long. I have –”

“Anthony, I only wish to see one dance,” she argued. “It is a wonderful thing that you are engaged now, and are to be married.”

“It is,” he said. “But like we talked about, you mustn’t tell anyone about that, Grandmother. Leonora and I will decide when we want to do that.”

“I understand that,” Marian said impatiently. “We have discussed that you have not yet announced the engagement, and I have agreed, against my own better judgement, to say nothing of it tonight. That is an entirely separate matter from whether you dance with your own betrothed at a ball you were both invited to attend.” Marian folded her hands over the head of her cane.

“But we got here barely minutes ago.”

“We’re late. The first dance is already about to begin.”

“Anthony,” Leonora called out to him.

Anthony looked at her, and something passed between them, an unspoken acknowledgement that arguing with Marian on this point was a battle already lost.