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William pushed through the crowded ball room, muttering apologies as he went.

Fortunately, a dance was in progress, and the edges of the venue were not as densely littered with guests, many of them having joined the line.

He entered a side room where tables had been arranged around the perimeter and filled with all manner of refreshment.

Footmen stood waiting to replenish the food and drink as needed.

William hastened to fetch a glass and two fingers of brandy. With his mission complete, he returned, clearing the space before him with cries of “Pardon me! Coming through!” until he reached Miss Lockhart and proffered the glass to her.

“Down it quickly now,” urged Mrs. Sinclair, “for it will burn your throat. But you will feel the calming effects soon after.”

Miss Lockhart did as bidden, gasping as she finished and coughing at the sudden heat in her chest.

“That is very strong liquor, sir,” she said, her voice hoarse. “But I do believe it has done the trick.”

“Does someone need smelling salts?” came the familiar, friendly sound of Dr. Westbridge. “I saw Miss Lockhart take a seat rather suddenly and thought perhaps she had overdone the dancing somewhat. The room is dreadfully warm, too. She wouldn’t be the first young lady to swoon at her debut ball.”

Miss Lockhart still had her hand to her chest, though the color was returning to her cheeks. “I am quite all right, thank you, Dr. Westbridge. I just had a sudden turn. But I have recovered. You are very kind to come to my aid, but I shall not require a physician.”

The doctor turned to James. “Does Miss Lockhart have an ailment that would bring on such a sudden faint?”

“Not that I am aware,” James replied. “Unless you consider Richard Foyle a physical disease rather than merely a blight on society.”

Dr. Westbridge pressed his lips together. His stony countenance suggested he was all too familiar with the “gentleman” in question. “Did he…? Are you…safe?” the doctor asked Verity.

“He did not touch her,” William said firmly. “He wouldn’t dare. Not while we are here to protect her.”

“He was most uncouth in his speech,” Charlotte said softly, her eyes gentle upon Miss Lockhart. “I am surprised someone with his indecorous manner was allowed to attend. The Macraes are good people. They would be heartbroken that a young lady was harassed by one of their guests.”

“I believe his father accompanied him to the event in previous years,” Mr. Sinclair explained. “No doubt his presence had maintained some form of restraint upon young Foyle. It is a pity he was not in attendance tonight.”

“I shall report the incident to my superiors,” said Captain Larson. “Though what good it will do, I cannot say.”

Miss Lockhart stood up quite suddenly. “Please, everyone, don’t fuss on my account. I’d rather just forget everything that happened, if you don’t mind.” She gave a residual shiver.

“You need a distraction,” advised Dr. Westbridge. “I would ask you to dance.” He pulled his lips into a lopsided smile. “The comic effect of my steps should lighten your mood in a trice. However, it would be unseemly of me to request more than my allotted pair of dances with you.”

“Alas, Cole,” said Captain Larson, “you have also had your turn dancing with Miss Lockhart. Perhaps, then, my lady, if I may be so bold, could I offer you that very distraction Dr. Westbridge recommends?

“I am not a very good dancer,” said Miss Lockhart, repeating her former claim.

“But we dance to amuse ourselves with happier thoughts,” answered Captain Larson. “There is no need for fine steps or perfect coordination.”

“I suppose, if you’re sure.”

“I am. As soon as this line is done, I shall join you in a new one.”

“Ah,” said Dr. Westbridge, lifting his finger as if the thought had sprung up through it, “I may have another suggestion to cheer you up further. The Entomological Society is hosting a talk this week on the coleoptera of Egypt. Do you have a chaperone, Miss Lockhart? If so, I would consider it an honor for you to attend. If you are interested, that is. Or perhaps I have overestimated your fascination with the subject.”

William watched Miss Lockhart’s face light up.

Confound the doctor! He was thoughtful, intelligent, and he shared her love of creeping, flying things.

William was going to witness Miss Lockhart losing her heart to Dr. Westbridge right in front of his eyes.

He was helpless to prevent it. And why should he?

Did she not deserve someone exactly like the good doctor?

Miss Lockhart turned with eagerness toward her sister. “May I go? Please say yes . Mama would not mind me going if it was an invitation. Dr. Westbridge is not offended by my passion for insects.”

“Goodness, no!” cried the gentleman. “Quite the opposite. I have only ever bored young ladies with my talk of habitats and species, not to mention the displeasure I evoke if I should speak of—heaven forfend—larvae!”

Miss Lockhart laughed. It was a beautiful sight. Her pale-blue eyes glistened like melting ice in the spring. Her nose wrinkled as she abandoned decorum for pure joy. In that moment, William knew…

He loved her.

It was a terrible, crushing sensation, wholly unlike the expectations he had fostered for years. Love was meant to be a soaring flight of the heart. A realization that this person, and this person only, would fulfill his waking dreams. It should bring peace and exhilaration, all at once.

It did none of that.

For this love, his love, was not to be.

Miss Lockhart would laugh with Arthur Westbridge. Pore over scientific studies with him. Dance upon his arm. Sleep within his embrace.

He really was the perfect man for her. And now she waited, with the innocent zeal of a child, for her sister to allow them that one critical step closer.

“On what day is this talk to be given?” Mrs. Sinclair asked.

“It is on Wednesday. Four days hence,” the doctor replied.

“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Sinclair seemed genuinely regretful. Her brows tugged downward. The edges of her mouth did likewise. “We promised the children a picnic on Wednesday. We have already given their tutor the day off.”

“I could accompany her,” Charlotte offered. “As long as we sit near the back, far from any”—she shivered—“specimens.”

Confound his thoughtful sister! If not for her, the doctor’s offer to Miss Lockhart would come to nothing. Did she not see the danger of bringing them together?

“Oh, would you?” Miss Lockhart seemed ready to throw her arms around Charlotte.

She lifted folded hands to her sister, as if pleading, which was exactly what she did.

“There can be no faulting Mrs. Trenton as my chaperone, surely? She is as sensible as she is kind. And I shall be on my very best behavior, I promise. Oh, do say yes , Hope. Please?”

Mrs. Sinclair looked at her sister, then considered Dr. Westbridge.

No doubt she saw what William had seen. That this was a man who would make a fine husband for her little sister.

He was a true gentleman. He earned a good living and would not discourage his wife in her most earnest pastime.

It was, therefore, no surprise at all when she nodded.

“I can see no reason why Mrs. Trenton should not accompany you, if she is willing. That she is willing is proof yet again of her goodness. It is well we have a picnic planned. At worst, we may come across some ants, perhaps some bees, or, if we are very unlucky, a wasp. All of these are still better than a room full of beetles. I admire your fortitude, Mrs. Trenton, for even the farthest seat at the back of the room would not entice me.”

“Oh, do not describe it so!” Charlotte cried, screwing her face up as if she had bit into a lemon.

“I am not as brave as you think. But, having offered, I do not wish to disappoint Miss Lockhart. Let us turn to other subjects. It is best I do not dwell on the topic of insects until I am standing in the rooms of the Entomological Society.”

“Why do you not join us for the next dance?” suggested Captain Larson.

“The new line is forming, and I see Nathaniel Macrae heads the top this time. He always calls the most elaborate figures. Miss Lockhart could use your support, as she appears to doubt herself in this. And it is a matter utterly devoid of beetles.” Despite his usually formal manner, Captain Larson let the smallest of smiles slip across his lips.

It contrasted so starkly with his dignified bearing that it made him look almost playful, which had likely been his intention.

“Do take me dancing, James,” Charlotte said, hugging her husband’s arm. “We have spent near half the night in chatter. While I do enjoy the company of our friends and relations, they can always come to tea. We cannot always dance. It won’t be many years before we are considered too old to join in.”

“With pleasure, my dear.” James strode at once toward the center of the room, his wife waving her fingers over her shoulder as she departed their company.

“Miss Lockhart.” Captain Larson bowed, then offered his arm.

William watched as she placed her gloved hand upon his, watched Larson grasp the tips of her fingers and lead her toward the line. He watched with envy and regret. If he had taken his chance with her, they would be married now, or at least engaged. And every dance with her would be his to claim.

He saw her stand shyly opposite the captain. Larson did not make easy conversation. She did not laugh but cast nervous glances at Charlotte.

Nathaniel Macrae—blond, athletic, undeniably charming, and mercifully too much of a Don Juan to appeal to Miss Lockhart—waited until the last straggling pairs had joined, then began to explain and demonstrate the figures he had in mind.

They were complex, sophisticated, and he performed them with grace and ease.

But Miss Lockhart gripped her fan and chewed her lip. Larson did not seem to notice.