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“No, I sound like a woman who believes what I say holds some merit. And while I know my place, I also know my opinions are not fairytales.” She tilted her head up and met his eyes. “Surely, there must be astrongenough man out there willing to engage in conversations that will benefit his life as well as mine. Clearly, that man is not you.”

“Clearly.”

Oh, I should step on his toes!

Thankfully, the music ended with his retort. They both quickly stepped back as if they were burned. She curtsied, he bowed. Jenny willed herself to turn around and be done with the dance, but her pride won out.

“And thankfully so, My Lord. Gross incompatibility aside, I fear I would lose my foot by our wedding if I had to keep dancing with you.”

She turned and made her way to the refreshments table, proud that she didn’t let him have the last word.

The cool punch helped calm Jenny’s nerves. Away from the dance floor, the tension began to wear off, and embarrassment set in.

Why must I say everything that is on my mind?

When she debuted, she would overshare everything and had trouble controlling her excitement. It would spill out in rants and ramblings, causing the demuretonto titter about her outlandish behavior. Luckily, Frances was a calming force and helped her refine some of her rougher edges. Much like she did with Jenny’s brother, the Duke of Pilton, whom she married.

Where is Frances, anyway? She was just here.

Jenny busied herself with her punch, looking around for a friendly face. Unfortunately for her, her eyes landed and a group of giggling girls. When she made eye contact with one of them, the giggles stopped—a tell-tale sign she was the subject of their mirth.

Her heart sank.

“How are your feet?”

Jenny turned around, finding Frances standing behind her with a knowing smile.

“Is it that obvious? I tried not to limp too much when I walked away.”

Frances’s laugh was a soothing balm to her nerves and helped ease the tension in her shoulders.

“I danced with Lord Banefield more than once in my day, and each time I walked with a limp the day after.”

Jenny’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. The feeling of disappointment once again tightened her shoulders.

“Jenny?” Frances took Jenny’s free hand in her own. “Are you all right?”

“Frannie, I did it again.”

Jenny put down her drink so she wouldn’t spill it. She had a bad habit of talking with her hands.

“I started rambling, and before I knew it, I was defending my dream to find a husband who wouldn’t dismiss my opinions. Apparently, I offended the precious Lord Banefield by discussing it in a ballroom where”—she pretended to gasp—“anyonecould hear. As if we’re not all here parading around each other, hoping to find a match.”

Frances smiled. “Thankfully, it was a short waltz, or who knows what gossip you would have started.”

Jenny groaned into her hands. “How did you do it, Frances? You grew up inthe ton, yet you speak your mind freely and still have a good reputation.”

Frances snickered. “Well, that depends on who you ask.” She tilted her head in the direction of the gaggle of girls who were back to giggling, most likely at her expense.

“I’m serious, Frannie. Just when I think I’ve made my mark, or at least have enough people fooled into thinking I’m respectable and homely, I open my mouth and all my hard work goes right out the window.”

Jenny looked up at Frances, who was watching the dancing couples—she seemed distracted.

“I’m sure it’s not all that bad,” Frances sighed.

Jenny’s eyes once again landed on the group of girls at the end of the table. She couldn’t help but eavesdrop. Pretending to look at the different desserts laid out, she moved slightly closer to them.

“Did you see her dancing with him?” one of them harshly whispered.