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Then he stood carefully and drew the coverlet up over Eloise first, then along the edge around Juliet’s arm, up to her shoulder. Neither of them stirred.

He turned down the nightlight and walked out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

If he stayed in that room any longer, he knew he would succumb to the urge to fall asleep beside them.

The Beresfords held their spring ball during the first week of May, which meant anyone of consequence in London was either on the guest list or had a credible reason for being left off it.

Adam had looked at the invitation for two days before Daniel came by uninvited, picked the card from his desk, read it, and set it down.

“Are you going?” he said.

“No,” Adam said.

“You should.” Daniel turned the card over once. “You have been in London a week. She has been in London a week. People have seen the carriage and the house and Grieves’s new livery. They have not seen the two of you together anywhere.” He set the card on the desk. “You cannot attend Hyde Park twice and count it as a public appearance.”

Adam said nothing.

“Lord and Lady Beresford are well regarded,” Daniel continued, in the tone of a man reciting reasonable facts to an unreasonable audience. “It is not a hostile room. Half the people there will be too occupied gossiping about each other to spend more than thirty seconds on you.” He picked up his hat. “Go. Show the ton you have nothing to hide and no cause to be hiding.”

Adam looked at the fire for a moment.

The following morning, he told Grieves to send the acceptance. And now, two evenings later, they’d come for the Beresford ball.

He handed Juliet down from the carriage, her gloved fingers in his, and they walked up the front steps together.

He heard the change at the landing before he saw what caused it: conversations dipping half a register, then resuming; attention reorienting across the top of the stairs. Three years made a man a subject. A new duchess, young and unknown, made him one again. He gave it no acknowledgment. At his side, Juliet walked with her eyes forward, without fidgeting with her fan.

They were barely inside the main room when Clarkston appeared from a cluster of men near the first column, his eyes going to Juliet first.

“My dear.” He touched her elbow, briefly. “You look very well.”

“Father.” She did not move toward him. She let the touch happen and stood where she was.

Clarkston’s gaze moved to Adam, and his expression worked at something civil. “Your Grace. It is a pleasure to see you both out again.”

“Lord Clarkston,” Adam said.

“I had hoped we might⁠—”

“We are expected.” Adam rested his hand at the small of Juliet’s back. “Good evening, sir.”

They moved past. He felt her exhale once, clean and quiet, as the distance opened up between them and her father.

He did not remove his hand from her back immediately.

Lady Worthington had stationed herself near the center archway with the composure of a woman who saw no reason to look for what would come to her. She was in pearl-gray silk and received Juliet with both hands and a look of calm assessment, then turned the same look on Adam.

“Your Grace.” The dowager marchioness paused for a brief spell, taking him in. “I understand you said something useful at the Hemsworth soiree.”

“My wife said it first,” Adam replied.

Lady Worthington expression turned smug. “Yes,” she said. “That is exactly what I heard.”

Daniel materialized from the press of guests, Valerie on his arm, arriving with the easy confidence of a man who feels at home in every room he enters and does not waste time pretending otherwise.

“Ravenlocke.” He looked Adam over with open assessment. “You look considerably better than the last time I saw you.”

“You last saw me four days ago,” Adam said.