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J uliana cast a longing glance toward Victor as Mr. Ludlow led her back to the dance floor.

Her pinching slippers made her long for a seat, but before she could make her excuses, stating she wished to get back to her fiancé, Victor strode across the room toward Aunt Kitty and the other widows seated against the wall.

“Miss Merrick?” Head tilted, Mr. Ludlow peered down at her, his nasally voice sending uncomfortable shivers up her back. He held out his arm. “Shall we?”

As Honoria taught her, Juliana placed a gloved hand on Mr. Ludlow’s arm, hoping he wouldn’t talk too much during the dance.

Still, according to Honoria, she was expected to converse pleasantly with her dance partner. “Mr. Ludlow, have you known Mr. Pratt long?”

“Ages, my dear lady.” He sniffed. Perhaps his vocal tone was due to a cold.

The urge to put a greater distance between them became overwhelming.

His thin, dull-brown hair sat limp on his head, his sideburns traveling down to his chin.

“Vic and I were schoolmates at Eton and later Oxford. Always expected him to marry a diamond of the first water.”

The barb stung, but she smiled. Let him think her too stupid to understand the insult. “And were there many ladies of such fine quality available? I’m afraid I don’t quite understand the qualifications necessary to be awarded such an accolade.”

If the pitying expression on his face wasn’t enough, the man proceeded to explain as if she were a simpleton. “Beauty, of course, which I will admit, you’re pretty enough. But she must possess good breeding, poise, elegance of form and graceful movement.”

He could be describing a horse. “Were any ladies here afforded the honor?”

Mr. Ludlow’s thin lips pursed. He then proceeded to critique nearly every woman present, dismissing each with smug authority.

“It would appear you—and by extension, Mr. Pratt—have run out of options.”

“Ah. You forget one gem among us. Miss Lydia Whyte.”

Lydia? He had to be bamming her.

Mr. Ludlow droned on. “I fully expected the Duke of Burwood to snap her up during his house party. But my, wasn’t that the turn of events?”

The man was insufferable. But he was, after all, Victor’s friend. Juliana tamped down her annoyance and anger on Drake’s behalf. “If you’re referring to how my brother was reunited with the love of his life, then I quite agree.”

“Well...of course. Of course,” Mr. Ludlow sputtered, most likely remembering he was dancing with the duke’s sister.

Juliana did her best to keep her voice calm and friendly and turned to a less volatile topic. “How have you found the weather, sir?”

Mr. Ludlow blinked twice, then turned his complaints to the unpredictable weather. Mercifully, not long after, the dance ended.

After she executed a perfect curtsy to Mr. Ludlow’s less than graceful bow, she hurried off to find a friendly face and prayed another obnoxious gentleman would not stop her and request a dance. She really needed to rest her toes.

Victor’s sister, Priscilla, sat at the side of the room, chatting with Lady Montgomery. Two friendly faces! Juliana hurried over as fast as her tender toes would carry her. Both women smiled warmly as they looked up and greeted her.

“Why isn’t my brother whisking you around the dance floor, Juliana? Should I have words with him?” Priscilla grinned mischievously and snapped her fan. “Please say yes.”

Bea motioned to the empty chair beside her, and Juliana sat, grateful to get off her feet. “Honoria told me I could only have two dances with Victor. Since we opened the ball, I think he’s saving the second dance for the waltz.”

“Perhaps he’s smarter than I gave him credit for. Although he’s never been one to strictly abide by the rules.”

“An admirable quality,” Bea said. “Was that Stanley Ludlow torturing you during the last set, Juliana? He’s so dull, he makes wallpaper seem exciting.”

Priscilla chortled. “He pursued me for a brief period, but then Mama turned her sights on Ashton.”

Bea glared. “I’ve still not quite forgiven you for that. But for Timothy’s sake...well.”

“Ha! You’re one to talk. Staging your own compromise. Although I can’t blame you. Middlebury. Ugh!” Priscilla shuddered.

“No one in their right mind could blame me. Middlebury wanted me to get rid of Catpurrnicus! Can you imagine?” Bea asked.

Juliana frowned. “Who?”

“He’s my darling cat. Such a sweetheart.”

Priscilla laughed. “Not according to Timothy. He calls him a demon. But I’ve found him delightful.”

And as Bea launched into a tale of one of Catpurrnicuss’s exploits, for one of the first times since Drake had learned of his inheritance as duke, Juliana felt like she belonged in society.

Making rather a show of striding across the ballroom for Lydia’s sake, Victor arrived where the Countess of Gryffin sat among the other widows. He executed a deep bow and delivered his most charming smile. “Ladies. Why aren’t you beauties dancing?”

The Dowager Countess Easton, who must have been at least one hundred, cackled, eliciting a coughing fit.

The Dowager Countess Brakefield patted her companion on the back and sent Victor a warning glance. “Careful with those empty compliments, dear boy. You’ll send one of us to an early grave.”

Lady Gryffin gave an almost imperceptible eye-roll. “Early my foot, Gertrude. She’s been threatening death ever since her great-niece, married a commoner. What has that been? Eight, nine years?”

Lady Easton laugh-coughed again.

Before things devolved and became unsalvageable, Victor intervened. “Forgive the interruption. Lady Gryffin, would you care to take a turn around the room with me?”

Gnarled fingers curled around the top of her walking stick, Lady Gryffin hoisted herself up from her seat. Victor hurried forward, taking her free arm. She leaned, whispering, “Salvation at last from these ancient crones.”

“See who that is dancing with my granddaughter, Kitty, and report back,” Lady Easton said, before erupting into another coughing fit.

Several feet from the widows, Victor nodded toward the dancefloor. “There’s Lady Miranda now, dancing with Mr. Grey.”

Lady Gryffin shook her head. “Well, I certainly won’t report that back to the poor dear.

She would have an apoplexy on the spot and ruin the entire evening for you.

The only reason she comes to these events anymore is in hope Lady Miranda will bring someone up to scratch.

At first, at the house party, I thought perhaps Simon posing as Burwood might be a match for her. ”

She exhaled a heavy sigh, and although Victor’s steps were slow, he worried they were still too exhausting for the countess. “Are we walking too fast?”

Her laugh, mercifully cough-free, relieved his mind. “No. Although I appreciate your consideration. It’s just...if I were fifty, or even forty years younger, I would have given Charlotte a run for her money over that man. Simon Beckham reminds me of someone from my past.”

“Your husband?”

She shot him a horrified look. “Heavens, no. Someone my family didn’t approve of.”

“Then we have that in common.”

“You speak of your mother.” Understanding in her pale-blue eyes bore through him.

“I don’t want to believe she has anything to do with The Muckraker , but even my father worries some misguided belief may have led her to do something rash.”

“Like spreading the rumors about Juliana’s portrait to sully her name in an effort to dissuade you from pursuing her?”

“Yes.” Victor glanced over his shoulder. Lydia circled the ballroom several steps behind them, pretending to stop and chat with other guests. He kept his voice low. “You know about our plan to ferret out the culprit?”

“Of course.” She laughed. “Although Simon would never be asked to spy for the Crown with that ridiculous name he came up with. Catch Gus, indeed!”

“Lady Gryffin, I’d love your help setting a trap for Miss Whyte. I still believe she’s the one who saw the sketches.”

Wrapped around his arm, her gloved fingers patted him on the sleeve.

Victor was pleased she didn’t use her cane.

Objects in women’s hands became weapons.

“Please, dear boy, call me Aunt Kitty. Juliana is as dear to me as any niece.” She eyed him warily.

“But to your point, I believe you may be right about Miss Whyte. I paid a call on Lady Whyte shortly after our outing to Gunter’s.

She was in a tizzy, wringing her hands and moaning about things not going the way she’d planned. ”

Victor stopped short. “Did she say Lydia saw the sketches?”

“No. Although I tried my best to get her to confide in me. Lucretia’s protective of her daughter, I will give her that. Simply that she’d hoped you would see the foolishness in courting Juliana and come back to Lydia.”

“She’s several steps behind us now. Let’s move to the vacant corner there and see if she positions herself close enough to overhear.”

Aunt Kitty nodded, and he led her to one of the few empty spots in the ballroom. They huddled together with their backs to the crowd. Victor peeked over his shoulder as discreetly as possible. “She’s coming over now. Play along.”

“Are you certain of this information, Countess? If anyone finds out, it could bring scandal to Burwood. And Lord knows, we don’t need any more trouble.”

“I’m positive, my boy.”

Victor shook his head pretending to clear it from horrifying news. “Miles Grey is Burwood’s illegitimate cousin.”

What Aunt Kitty said next surprised Victor.

She was certainly a crafty old lady. “Ah, but is he illegitimate? That is the question. There were rumors that Forbes married Miles’s mother before he left on his last mission.

” Aunt Kitty followed suit and shook her head, feigning—or perhaps not feigning—sadness.

Forbes Pendrake was her nephew, after all.

“But he died a hero at the Battle of Trafalgar. So young. Such a waste.”