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Serenity nodded, though she did not quite agree.

She had a great wish to impress a certain person who had waved at her while she was out in the snow.

She did not know who he was yet, but for him being one of the sons of the Duke of Mariton.

At least she was fairly convinced of it.

She could not believe that handsome face belonged to a valet.

Her father’s valet looked nothing like him.

There had been something in his smile…She knew very well she should not be so nonsensical as to be bowled over by the first gentleman who’d smiled at her, and from a dark window no less, but there had been something in it.

The carriage came to a stop. It was time.

She took another deep breath. Whatever was to come, Serenity Nicolet would use all her self-control to avoid weeping over something or other.

It was the only thing that could spoil such an evening and she intended to keep her ever-careening feelings on a steady course.

A footman helped her to the pavement and her father led her inside.

If she was not personally brimming with confidence, her dress was.

It was a delicious dark blue silk the color of the midnight sky with a pale blue tulle overlay that had been embroidered with small paste sapphires in small diamond patterns. It shimmered with every step she took.

As all of her elder sisters had informed her, if one did not know where they had arrived, one would not be exactly overwhelmed with opulence. The hall they stepped into was not overlarge and everything from the carpets to the curtains appeared slightly worn and faded.

A stately lady in a rich silver satin dress glided up to her father. “Duke, very glad to see you. This is number four, I presume?”

The duke laughed and said, “That’s right, Duchess. I’m heaving them out of my house as fast as is humanly possible.”

Serenity’s eyes widened just a bit. Though she understood her father was full of nonsense on the subject, she was not certain others knew it.

The duchess laughed in response, so Serenity supposed she, at least, did know it.

“Serenity, this is the Duchess of Devonshire. Do not bet at cards with her, she’ll take every guinea out of your pocket.”

Serenity curtsied low.

The duchess tapped the duke with her fan. “If only I was that lucky at cards, my duke would not complain so much about it. Lady Serenity, I will take the honor of filling your card and I must tell you, I have already been approached.”

“Approached?” Serenity asked.

The duchess nodded. “A certain marquess has requested to be put down. Roland Garner, Marquess of Thorpe.”

Garner. That was the family name of the man in the window. That was the man.

“Now,” the duchess went on, “he would not reveal to me how he happens to know of you or know you would be here, but I am intrigued—this is certainly the first time he has ever made such a request. As a usual thing, the marquess is frowning at all the world and appears as if he were dragged here.”

Serenity was surprised to hear of him frowning, as she’d only seen him smile. On the other hand, she could not help but feel the compliment of him seeking her out when he’d never sought out any lady before her.

“He saw me walking my dog in the snow,” Serenity said.

“That’s right,” the duke said, “this girl is very affected by sunrise, sunset, and weather of all sorts. I expect she was shouting her compliments to nature.”

“I was, rather,” Serenity admitted.

“Who would have guessed that would spark an interest in the reserved and serious marquess,” the duchess said. “Well now, he requested the dance before our modest little supper and I suppose I ought to comply.”

The reserved and serious marquess? Goodness, she had not thought of anything like that. She wondered how he would view her own temperament, which was not precisely reserved or serious.

She pushed those thoughts aside. She had not even met the gentleman yet. Perhaps the duchess had it all wrong. She could not say how likely it was that the Duchess of Devonshire had got it all wrong, but she might have.

“We’re calling this thing you put on a supper now, are we?” the duke said with a snort.

“Do not be naughty, Duke,” the duchess said, “the eccentricities of Almack’s are of long tradition and not likely to change. Consider it a bit of well-bred suffering.”

The duke and the duchess further sparred on the merits, or demerits, of Almack’s idea of a supper.

Serenity paid little attention to it, though.

The gentleman in the window was here and had sought her out.

He was not a valet; he was a marquess and he had smiled at her out his window, and then he had sought her out.

She put aside the idea that he was thought serious and reserved.

*

Roland had kept a sharp eye on the ballroom doors, waiting for Lady Serenity to appear.

The Duchess of Devonshire had sworn she would put him down for supper and he presumed she would do it.

Of course, she’d been overcurious regarding his request, but he’d revealed nothing.

What could he say? You see, Duchess, I saw a lovely lady with a three-legged dog shouting at the wonder of the snow and was enchanted by it.

Once the duchess was convinced she’d get nowhere with her questions, she’d changed course.

She’d negotiated a deal by insisting on him escorting several other ladies who were expected to attend the night.

One, in particular, a certain Lady Matilda, was one of her personal projects.

The lady was cousin to her duke, and her lord was determined Lady Matilda make a good match.

Lord Devonshire was to turn his irritated gaze away from his wife’s current gambling debts if she could manage his cousin being well settled.

None of that was of any matter, as he had to do something with himself until the dance before supper.

He’d rather not relocate to the card room, as it was always filled with smoke and gossip.

One did not have the luxury of turning up late to Almack’s, as the patronesses were delighted to bar the doors at eleven.

Even if that had not been the case, he would not have risked strolling in late.

Lady Serenity Nicolet would not be standing round with an unfilled dance card.

As he awaited Lady Serenity’s arrival, he was attempting to ignore his brother Charles, who had annoyingly turned up.

He supposed a younger son of a duke was always going to receive a voucher, though he wished it was not so.

There seemed to be nowhere in Town where Roland could be assured of not encountering his brother, not even his club.

“The race is on, I suppose,” Charles said.

“What race?”

“The race to the altar. I have vowed to our father that I will wed this season, and he has been disappointed by your lack of progress for two seasons running. I suppose you will not want to disappoint him again.”

Roland did not respond. It was one of Charles’ long-running commentaries that he was a disappointment to the duke.

He did not particularly believe it. Not these days, anyway.

Though the duke had in the past often counseled him to be more like Charles, his father had seemed to slowly grow to have a healthy respect for Roland’s horsemanship and his swordsmanship.

Both of which were superior to Charles’ own skill.

As well, the duke was rather approving of the reserved mask he wore these days.

“Perhaps this recent habit of always looking frowning and serious,” Charles said, “is not attractive to the ladies. Or, I should say, this mask you wear that has little to do with yourself.”

“You might try a mask on someday,” Roland said, “I expect it would be a vast improvement.”

Charles laughed his brittle laugh that was not really a laugh. It was more a laugh emanating from being stung. His younger brother was expert and enthusiastic about handing round the insults, but not a very sanguine receiver of them.

“Has he told you? He’s given me Marshall Downs in anticipation of my nuptials. He has great faith in my ability to accomplish my aim.”

As his brother had nattered on, Roland had kept his eyes on the doors. Then, there she was. Lady Serenity Nicolet. She had been lovely in the snow on the square. Now, she was lovelier still.

She wore a dark blue dress encrusted with jewels that sparkled in the candlelight, and her hair, though more restrained than he’d first seen it, was a miraculous shade.

It was the softest brown he’d ever seen and seemed perfectly matched to her eyes.

Her lips were rather wonderful too, just full enough and turned up at the corners.

“Well,” Charles said, “the marriage mart is booming just now. There certainly are enough ladies to choose from. It seems like a marquess could convince at least one of them to step into a church. But I suppose we will see if this season ends like the last two—in disappointment.”

“Do shut up, Charles,” Roland said, striding forward toward Lady Serenity. If Charles had an answer to that, he did not hear it. Nor did he care.

“Your Grace,” he said with a bow. “Roland Garner, Marquess of Thorpe. The Duchess of Devonshire has been so good as to put me down on your daughter’s card.”

He turned and bowed to Lady Serenity, who answered with a tidy little curtsy.

“Hah!” the duke said, “the window peerer. The peer who peers.”

Roland hardly knew what to do with that assessment so merely nodded. “Lady Serenity, you seemed to be enjoying our unseasonably cold weather last evening.”

“It was magnificent,” Lady Serenity said.

“I warn you, Thorpe,” the duke said, “my daughter weeps over anything and everything Mother Nature chooses to do.”

“I certainly do not, Papa,” Lady Serenity said. “My father likes to jest, Lord Thorpe.”