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“Without discussing what anyone intends.”

A pause. “Very well.”

The woman with the feathers moved aside, releasing them into the ballroom. Candlelight shimmered in the chandeliers, reflected in the gilt mirrors and casting a warm glow over the flowers banked along the walls. Despite the west windows being open at the top, the room was already growing warm with the press of bodies and the mingling scents of wax, wine, and perfume. Near the musicians, someone laughed above the sound of a violin being tuned.

Lydia found the noise a relief. No one could expect a significant conversation in the middle of it. Henry appeared beside them. “Edmund is looking for you.”

“Why?”

“To establish that you have not been abducted between the stairs and the ballroom.”

“He could have come to see for himself.”

“He has been detained by a gentleman who wishes to discuss a horse.”

“Then I am safe until supper.”

Henry grinned. Their mother gave him a look, but Lydia could feel her attention easing. He had done that deliberately. He often did, though admitting it would spoil the effect.

“Do you know many people here?” Lydia asked.

“Enough to find you a partner.”

“I meant people I might talk to.”

“You can occasionally do both.”

He offered his arm, and she took it. They had crossed only half the room when someone greeted him. Within a few minutes, Lydia had been introduced to Miss Clara Bellamy and her younger sister, Anne, who were staying with their aunt, Lady Wetherby. Henry also presented Mr. James Alder, a fair-haired young gentleman whose composure deserted him the moment he asked Lydia to dance. She accepted. Once the music began, he visibly relaxed.

Mr. Alder told her about the journey to Ashcombe, during which his father had insisted upon a shorter road and added an hour to their arrival. Lydia told him about her brother’s confidence in matters he had never studied. By the time they returned to their places in the set, they were laughing. Across the room, Tristan stood with the earl.

He had not approached her since she came downstairs. That was reasonable, of course. He had a houseful of guests to entertain. Still, after the library, she had hoped he might seek her out, perhaps ask whether the notes had helped, or simply allow his gaze to linger on hers for a moment. She could cross the room herself, but why would she? It would have been so much simpler to dislike him. He had refused her before he had so much as heard her speak, and she owed him nothing, least of all her attention. The difficulty was that her attention had not asked her permission. However, she had no intention of chasing a man who had made it perfectly clear he had no interest in being caught.

The set stretched down the length of the room, two long lines of silk and black wool under chandeliers that threw a shifting net of light across the floor. Gilt mirrors doubled every couple, so that a turn near the wall sent a second dancer wheeling out of the glass. The air smelled of wax and hothouse flowers and the first warmth of a crowd that had begun to feel the heat.

She turned back to her partner and asked whether his father had admitted to the mistake.

“Not yet,” he said. “We expect the road to receive the blame.”

When the dance ended, Mr. Alder thanked her with a sincerity she liked, and another invitation followed soon afterward. Then Lydia spent several minutes talking to Clara Bellamy, who confessed that she had torn the hem of her gown on a carriage step and was afraid the repair would not hold.

“It is beneath the trimming,” Lydia said. “No one will see.”

“But I know it’s there, and it might tear again.” The distressed girl pressed the torn hem flat with her palm.

“Then we shall have to hope your seamstress has done her work well.”

Clara smiled and turned slightly while Lydia inspected the stitches. As Lydia straightened, she found Tristan a few feet away. He was speaking to Lady Harcourt, a formidable widow with a married granddaughter on the floor and a serious complaint about the seating. “If I sit there, Ashcombe, I shall be in a draft.”

“Then we must find you somewhere else.” He kept his patience where the lady could see it.

“Not behind those flowers. I should see nothing.”

“That would hardly reward you for coming.”

“I have come to see my granddaughter dance.”

Tristan glanced toward the floor, then signaled a footman. “Beside the pillar, I think. A clear view, and far enough from the windows.”