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“Is this not miraculous?” Violetta said, admiring the ceiling-high formation. She reached out a hand to touch the second layer.

“Do not do that,” Myrtle warned. “I can see the entire tower toppling over and the three of us drenched in champagne.”

Just then, a butler appeared, offering glasses from his silver tray. “Would you care for a Sangaree, ladies?” he offered.

“Yes,” Violetta said, moving her hand away from the champagne menagerie. “Thank you.” She took one of the five glasses on the tray.

Orris and Myrtle did the same.

“Well, cheers to success this year,” said Violetta. “Myrtle with hosting your first ball at the end of the season, and to us, Orris, as we embark on our journey to find our own love matches.”

“Cheers,” Myrtle said.

They raised their glasses and took a sip. All except Orris. If they noticed, they did not hazard a guess as to why she would abstain. Orris appreciated their respect for her personal boundaries. She was not ready to tell them she did not fully believe that wish would be her future.

Before she could venture even further down the desolate path of thoughts, she glanced across the room and there, at the top of the stairs, was Abram.

How could he be there? Who would have invited him to a ball? The first of the season, no less. While he had a growing name for himself, he was not exactly well regarded or known. Not yet, anyway. And she was sure he hadn’t revealed his identity as a duke’s son. She didn’t know why he would now, after all this time.

“Is that—” Even Violetta had noticed his arrival.

How could anyone miss him? He was wearing a vibrant green ionar jacket with matching crios, a suit that stood out among the peerage’s more traditional attire. There were golden buttons down the front and embroidered designs at the collar and sleeves.

He was breathtaking. But also… not quite right.

“Well, I guess he is interested in apologizing to you, Sister,” Violetta whispered.

The entire room seemed to stop in a moment of adoration. Everyone stared in his direction.

The footman stepped forward, reading from the card presented to him. “Dahl McQueen, the Earl of Hartinton.”

“I thought his name was Abram McQueen? And that he was just ‘Lord Abram’ without a title of his own?” Myrtle said.

“I thought… no. That must be… It has to be his brother,” Orris said. “Oh, goodness. He had written to his father. Perhaps the brother has arrived to… to take him home.”

“His father is…” Violetta turned to Orris, who could only shrug.

“A duke. And that is his heir,” Myrtle said.

“That explains a great many things,” Orris said. It was one of the reasons Abram had carried an assumed name. If he was looked for back home, any fame may have drawn attention to him.

Orris watched as he descended the stairs and gave cursory nods as he made his way across the room, heading directly to… Samuel.

Had Samuel known Abram’s brother had been here the entire time? Surely, he would have told Abram if so. And Abram would have told Orris—before today, anyway. Which meant someone hadn’t known, at least.

Whatever the circumstances, Orris wanted to bolt from the room and find Abram to let him know his brother was there… in London.

“I should tell Lord Abram—” Orris started but bit back the rest of the sentence. “No, he would not want me to intervene. He told me I should essentially keep my nose from his affairs.” Even as she’d said it, a sliver of defiance warred with her sensibilities.

“I agree, Orris,” Violetta said. “He has asked you to let him manage his situation. You would disrespect his wishes to do anything else.”

“And do not fret. Samuel will share the discussion with me later. I am sure there is a reasonable explanation for why Lord Hartinton showed up unannounced. Perhaps he is not the only one with an on-the-trot sibling,” Myrtle said, her light chortle punctuating the barb.

Orris did not bother to correct her or hit back at the remark. She was far too preoccupied with Dahl McQueen, who looked more like Abram than seemed possible. A well-rehearsed charm and grace exuded from his person, and the light playfulness in him was a departure from his brother. His lips were thinner, as if he purposefully held his mouth just so… Then there was a hump in his nose, at the bridge. As if it had been broken before. Orris had seen this in some of the cowboys on her father’s ranch.

There were differences between the two. Only someone who had spent time with one of the pair intimately would notice.

Before she could ponder any further, she found her mother at her side.