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Inhaling a fortifying breath, Rayne squared her shoulders and followed Griffin and Everleigh into the mansion. Having been warned about the garishness of the Gravenstones’ palatial manor, Rayne’s eyes rounded in wonderment upon entering nonetheless.

People actually lived here?

It wasn’t just that the house was owned by very obviously wealthy individuals. They seemed bent on displaying that prosperity, and not tastefully either.

A grin kicked her mouth up despite her broken heart when she spied an enormous gilded peacock atop a sculpted Grecian vase on proud display in the center of the pink and black marble-floored foyer.

Griffin must’ve seen it too, for he stopped short, and Everleigh, dressed as Diana, goddess of the hunt, bumped into him.

Rayne was quite certain she heard him mumble, “Holy hell. How did they know?”

Casually roving her gaze over those lingering in the massive entryway, she couldn’t help but notice the attention and respect Griffin induced with his very presence.

“I beg your pardon, my dear. Please excuse my vulgarity.” He placed Everleigh’s hand upon his forearm. Leaning down, he murmured, “Who told them we were coming as peacocks?”

Amusement playing across her features, she lifted a shoulder. The arrows in the quiver upon her back shook slightly with the movement. “I imagine it was difficult to keep something like that a secret when all of you dukes needed cloaks and masks on such short notice.”

Who would’ve guessed so many peers could be persuaded to don similar costumes? Griffin’s cloak was a glistening midnight blue covered in gold and silver sequins. The effect was rather stunning, in truth.

Once having relinquished her cloak, Griffin escorted Rayne and Everleigh into the ballroom, and she stood blinking in wonderment. The scene before her was quite the most outlandish she’d ever seen. The ballroom and been turned into a glistening, glittering gilded forest.

Well, at least her costume was appropriate.

Multiple layers of various shades of yellow satin and silk comprised her gown. Dozens of yellow roses, as well as hundreds of clear glass beads, had been sewn onto the netted overskirt. More glass beads covered the bodice. Yellow ribbons had been threaded through her upswept hair, and she wore a wreath of yellow roses atop her head. A silk fan covered with painted yellow roses completed the costume.

Rayne was quite pleased with the result. She designed the gown herself, and though Mademoiselle Beauchêne had initially frowned at the description, she’d been all compliments and praise during Rayne’s final fitting.

“Miss Wellbrook,” she had said in her lyrical French accent, “if you ever want a position as a designer, come see me, oui?”

Rayne scanned the attendees, searching for the other ducal peacocks.

There was Asherford, heads above the other guests, and wearing a purple cloak. He turned his head this way and that as if he searched for someone.

Ophelia?

Ah, and there lounged San Sebastian against a doorframe, his cloak a pale candescent blue. There, leading his duchess onto the dance floor, was the Duke of Dandridge in a vibrant green cloak.

Each’s duke’s mantle shimmered and sparkled, seeming to change hues as they moved.

But Fletcher was noticeably absent.

Not wanting to examine the possible reasons why he was not here and why she should care so very much that he wasn’t, Rayne took a deep breath. Her stomach unknotted a little, and when Ophelia waved to her to join her from across the ballroom, Rayne excused herself.

“I see Ophelia and Sophronie, just there,” she said to her aunt, canting her head in her friends’ direction.

Everleigh looked toward the two standing with a trio of other young women dressed as the three muses and nodded. “Go along, dear. Enjoy yourself.”

Rayne was aware she looked particularly fetching this evening. Unlike many women, the yellow gown flattered her coloring. Most couldn’t wear the shade because it made them look sallow or jaundiced.

Before, she’d never particularly cared about impressing the gentlemen. In fact, the opposite was true. She tried to remain invisible, but tonight she had something to prove to herself. Fear would no longer control her.

Smiling and relishing her newfound confidence, Rayne wound her way to Ophelia and Sophronie.

A simply radiant Nicolette Twistleton waved at them from the middle of the ballroom floor where she danced with the Duke of Westfall, attired in a coral cloak, overset with sequins just like the other dukes’ cloaks.

“Why, Rayne, you are positively stunning.” Ophelia eyed Rayne’s gown up and down approvingly.

Ophelia was dressed all in black with myriads of silver beads and sequins.