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Even yesterday after their kiss, he’d spoken no avowals of love, only made a silly remark about their spectacles. She cringed, remembering his tone of detachment. She could never marry a man so cold and scientific. She must be grateful he had never actually proposed.

And she wouldn’t marry an older man. She, who had always looked up to Rees, as someone so much older and wiser—she would not repeat that mistake! Mr. Marfleet must be almost thirty, too old for her almost one-and-twenty.

In short, she would not marry a man like Mr. Marfleet—a cross between her father and Rees. She shuddered at her near escape.

No, best not to think those things. She got up from her chair and paced the room. What was done was done. It didn’t matter what she’d experienced during his kiss. It was no different than Mr. St. Leger’s—or would be if he ever did kiss her. Mr. Marfleet had interrupted them before anything had happened.

How dare he think she went around kissing any gentleman who approached her! She would not be tied to a man who preached holiness and purity—and then little practiced them!

That evening she dressed for another ball. She no longer bothered to keep track of the names of the great lords and ladies. It seemed ever since Céline had taken Megan under her wing, life had become a round of parties and balls. The one thing Céline would probably not be able to secure for them were vouchers to Almack’s, the most prestigious assembly room, but Jessamine didn’t really care anymore.

Who would have thought these entertainments would pall so quickly? The only thing to look forward to was seeing Mr. St. Leger. Her conscience pricked her ever since Mr. Marfleet had challenged her about receiving a marriage proposal from him.

In truth, she still had no idea if Mr. St. Leger was pursuing her. He seemed so aloof at times. She reminded herself she didn’t care, for she did not intend to fall in love herself.

But she couldn’t help feeling a frisson of excitement every time Mr. St. Leger focused his dark blue, mocking eyes on her. He made her feel like a beautiful, desirable woman.

When Céline’s coach arrived to collect her, Megan greeted her with a squeeze of her hand. “How are you? I meant to call on you today, but I decided to stay at home with Céline. She received a letter from Rees.”

Jessamine’s glance went to Céline, who sat in the shadows across from them. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, all is well, thank God, but there is so much uncertainty. He can’t tell me much since he himself doesn’t know, but it seems to be a daily waiting game.”

“Does no one know what Napoleon intends?”

“He has issued a new constitution which France must vote on, and because Louis ran to Belgium, it is clear that Napoleon intends
to stay as leader of France.” Céline sighed. “Whether the allies allow that is dubious to say the least.”

“Does that mean war?”

Céline spread her hands. “I cannot see how they can avert it. I think they are only waiting for Wellington and the other allied commanders to decide
when
not
if
to invade France once again.”

Jessamine forgot her own personal affairs in the light of this sobering reality across the narrow English Channel. She prayed for Rees’s safety as the coach continued on its way.

When they arrived at the large, brightly-lit building on Cavendish Square, they followed the guests streaming into the imposing mansion which occupied all one side of the square.

By now she and Megan felt at ease entering into these grand ballrooms. They both had become acquainted with enough ladies and gentlemen of their own age that they no longer feared standing ignored.

She had only a moment’s trepidation wondering if she would see Mr. Marfleet, but she shook aside the worry. With so many people milling about, it would be easy to ignore each other if he were present.

As if reading her mind, Megan leaned toward her. “Have you seen Mr. Marfleet since our outing to Kew?”

“He stopped by briefly yesterday afternoon to . . . see if I had recovered from the excursion.”

“How nice of him. Have you recovered?”

“Of course. It was nothing, just a touch of heat.”

“I had such fun on that outing. It was so nice of him to arrange it for us. And such a delicious picnic luncheon!”

“Have you seen Captain Forrester?” Jessamine decided to turn the conversation to a topic Megan surely wouldn’t wish to avoid the way she did that of Mr. Marfleet.

Her friend blushed. “He did call on us yesterday.”

They smiled at each other. “The captain seems very nice,” Jessamine said.

“Mmmhmm.” Megan’s gaze was roving the ballroom, whether to avoid Jessamine’s gaze or to look for the gentleman in question.

“If he is wearing his uniform, he should not be too difficult to spot,” Jessamine murmured.

“What’s that?” As her meaning penetrated, Megan tapped Jessamine with her fan. “You mustn’t plague me about him. We have hardly known each other a week.”

“Perhaps sometimes it takes no longer.” Jessamine sounded wistful. “Love at first sight.”

“I always thought that was only in novels, but now I’m not so sure . . .” Megan’s voice trailed off as she continued to search the room. “Ah, there he is.”

Realizing her friend’s attention was captured now, Jessamine followed along as she made her way toward the captain.

After greeting them, Captain Forrester said to Jessamine with a smile, “I saw Mr. Marfleet earlier.”

She kept her smile in place. “Indeed.” Did he think Mr. Marfleet was her suitor?

“I told him how much I enjoyed our outing to Kew. He mentioned a couple of other noteworthy gardens in the area. Spring Grove is one. It belongs to Sir Joseph Banks.”

“How interesting.”

She was saved from saying anything more by the arrival of Mr. St. Leger. She turned to him in relief.

He bowed over her hand. “I was hoping you would be here.”

She smiled shyly. He was so handsome he took her breath away. “It is nice to see you again.”

He turned to greet Megan and Captain Forrester. After exchanging a few pleasantries, St. Leger turned to her. “I hope you have saved the first dance for me.”

She blushed. “If you care to dance, I am free.”

He held out his arm. “Come then.”

She danced the first set with him. As she walked off the dance floor, she saw Mr. Marfleet.

He nodded but made no move toward her. She acknowledged him but kept moving, her heart pounding as she waited to see if he would follow her. But when she finally stood facing the dance floor again, she no longer saw him.

Her heartbeat eased, but she didn’t know if she was relieved or sorry.

Why did he have to ruin the lovely time they had had at the gardens? She had felt in such sympathy with him and could believe that a friendship was forming before he went and kissed her!

She had only allowed it and kissed him back because she was feeling so in charity with him, she told herself for the hundredth time. He had misinterpreted what had only been feelings of friendship.

Mr. Allan stepped up to her with a smile. “I hope you are not too tired to dance this next one with me.”

“Of course not,” she answered immediately, though she was feeling a bit tired after the two long dances. But she’d rather be on the floor than standing where Mr. Marfleet could approach her.

By the time the next sets ended with Mr. Allan, Mr. St. Leger was awaiting her with a glass of champagne. “It is almost time for supper.”

“I could use a few moments to sit down.” She took the glass although she wished he had brought her a glass of lemonade. But she didn’t wish to disappoint him, so with a grateful smile she took a sip, fanning herself at the same time.

The champagne was not as refreshing as she liked, and she wished once more she had a glass of lemonade.

“Is something the matter with it?” he asked at her elbow.

She realized she’d been staring down at the rising bubbles. “Not at all.” She took another sip then smacked her lips a few times. “It seems just a little bitter, that is all.”

“Not all champagnes are the same. You probably had a sweeter one before. This one is ‘brut,’ a dry one. I thought it time to educate your palate,” he added with a lazy smile.

She returned his smile, not wishing to appear unsophisticated. “I see.” She took another sip. “That must be the reason.”

When she had finished the glass, he said, “Shall we go into the supper room?”

She looked around for Megan or Céline but didn’t see them immediately. As if guessing her thoughts, he said, “I saw your companions enter the supper room already.”

“Oh.” How strange they hadn’t waited for her, but perhaps Céline had needed to sit down and they hadn’t cared to wait for the set to end. “Very well, let us go. Perhaps there will be room to sit with them.”

“I wouldn’t be too optimistic. There is quite a crowd by the looks of it. But Cubby promised to save us some seats.”

She merely nodded. When she took a step, a wave of dizziness passed over her. She brought a hand to her forehead.

St. Leger’s hand was immediately at her elbow, his other taking the empty glass from her. “Steady there.”

“I . . . felt a trifle light-headed.”

“A bit of food and some more champagne should take care of that.”

She laughed. “Perhaps no more champagne. I must remember not to drink it as if it’s lemonade.”

He chuckled and led her to the supper room. When they entered it and stood a moment surveying the crowded tables, she felt relief at stopping. The room had begun to move in waves around her as they walked.

She leaned against her companion’s arm, feeling as if she were on a ship.

St. Leger touched her hand, which rested in the crook of his arm. “Is everything all right, my dear?”

She shook her head to clear it. “Yes, I think so.” She attempted to stand straighter but only felt the floor moving beneath her. “Goodness.” She giggled, finding it funny that she should be on a ship and no one else aware of it. She didn’t think she’d ever been on a ship before. Once on a small boat when her family had made a trip to the seaside.

This feeling reminded her of its pitching up and down as each wave hit the prow.

“Here, you’d best sit down.” St. Leger helped her into a seat at the table filled with his friends. A young lady sat across from her with Reggie Layton. Jessamine smiled at them.

St. Leger bent close to her. “I shall bring you back some refreshment and victuals.”

“Some lemonade,” she said.

“If you say so, my dear.”

Cubby, who sat beside her, smiled. “Can’t drag you from the dance floor, can we?”

“I do like to dance.” She opened her fan. “But it does get a little warm in there.”

“That’s why I believe in sitting back and partaking of the food and drink.”

The young lady said, “Of which you have partaken more than your fair share.” He laughed uproariously and turned back to his plate. Jessamine continued to fan herself, not feeling at all well. The room was taking on a strange aura as if the people looked wavy. She blinked to hold them in place.

St. Leger returned and set a plate and glass before her. “Eat something so you may get a second wind for dancing and I shall return in a thrice with my own.”

“Thank you.” She took the glass, thinking for a moment it would give way in her hand. What a funny thought. She took a sip, glad to find it was lemonade. Since she’d drunk that champagne, she was not feeling at all herself. Perhaps if she had this, it would counter the effects of the spirits.

“You must have been dashed thirsty,” Mr. Layton said across from her.

She looked at her glass and realized she’d downed half of it. “Yes, it was all the dancing.”

She took up her napkin and unfolded it and focused on her plate. It was filled with miniature tarts and custards, a few slices of ham, a roll, some pats of butter and dollops of mustard to the side. She squinted because everything seemed to be moving.

She reached out and tried to spear some of the ham, but she missed. The tines of the fork clacked against the china.

She smothered a laugh and quickly looked around to make sure no one had noticed. The lady was looking at her strangely, and she smiled before quickly looking down at her plate again.

This time she tried for a tartlet. Slowly, she reached out and aimed for it. She breathed a sigh of satisfaction when her fingers touched the fluted pastry.

She brought it to her mouth, afraid she would miss her mouth. A second later the tart hit her lips and she smothered another laugh, realizing she had miscalculated the distance between her hand and her mouth.

She nibbled on the crab-filled tart, savoring the flaky pastry and flavorful insides, hoping the food in her stomach would make everything right.

St. Leger returned and took the seat beside her. “How is everything?” He looked at her intently until she blushed, hoping she didn’t have crabmeat around her mouth. Where had she put the napkin?

“Delicious.” She looked around for her napkin. It was on her lap but appeared to be floating, a big white blob. Where was her quizzing glass? She couldn’t remember.

She managed to bring the napkin to her mouth.

St. Leger turned away from her, setting to his own food.

She reached for another tart, and with a bit of fumbling she grasped it.

She continued eating with difficulty, allowing the lively conversation to go on around her without trying to join in. Her vision seemed more fuzzy than usual. Generally she could see fine near at hand, but now even the things on her plate appeared blurry.

The meal seemed interminable, but finally it was over, and the others began to stand. She was gearing herself to stand, hoping her legs wouldn’t wobble beneath her, when St. Leger placed a hand under her elbow.

“Thank you,” she said breathlessly, holding onto the edge of the table and heaving herself up.

“Are you quite sure you are well?” he said in a low voice at her ear.

“I’m not sure,” she whispered. “I am feeling a . . . a bit strange,” she admitted with an embarrassed smile.

He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and she felt tethered. But as soon as she took her first step, a wave of dizziness washed over her so strongly she stopped and gripped his arm. “I don’t know what is wrong. I’ve never felt this way before.” Even her words sounded as if they were coming from far away. The floor looked far down below her feet.