“I told you I would reform only enough to see my sisters settled. I’ll never be domesticated or conventional. And I maintain they’re staring at you.” His gaze swept her face and moved down her body. “And I don’t blame them one bit. I’ve never seen you in anything but gray serviceable gowns with your hair scraped back and hidden under those damnable caps. You should always have soft curls framing your face and a gown that shows your figure to advantage.”

And there he went again, making her heartstrings quiver and ping. “What advantage, Your Grace?” she asked shakily. “I’m far too short and too round for current fashion.”

“One of these days you’re going to accept a compliment, Viola. You don’t like to be the center of attention. Whereas my fiancée thrives upon it.”

Miss Chandler glanced their way, narrowing her eyes and making a beckoning gesture with her chin.

“It appears I’m being summoned.”

“Then off you go, Your Grace.”

The duke left and the ginger-haired gentleman approached. He made a bow. “Are you, by chance, Miss Viola Beaton?”

“I am.”

“Pardon my rudeness in introducing myself, but I’m Miss Ardella Finchley’s brother and she’s described you to me so many times that I feel as though I know you. I’m John. John Finchley.”

“How lovely to meet you. Della speaks of you often. You were studying abroad?”

“Indeed. I’ve only recently returned. I was studying painting. I’m a great disappointment to my father, having no aptitude for chemistry whatsoever. Would you care to dance with me, Miss Beaton?”

Even though she’d said she wouldn’t dance, her encounter with the duke had melted her resolve to remain hidden this evening, watching the revelry instead of joining in. Perhaps she could permit herself one dance with a friend’s brother.

And then what . . . a waltz with Westbury? Oh no you don’t!

“I’d be delighted,” she said with a smile. “You can tell me about your travels. Della is always so proud of your accomplishments. She says you’ll be a famous painter.”

They lined up with the other couples for the quadrille. They would only meet at intervals, skipping around one another, joining hands for a moment, or briefly promenading.

Viola would be able to observe the young ladies as she danced.

She and the duke met for a promenade. He took her left hand and clasped his right around her waist.

“You see?” he whispered with a grin. “You’re in demand.”

“Mr. Finchley is the brother of a dear friend of mine. He only asked me out of courtesy.”

“Then why is he blushing the same color as his hair whenever you speak to him?”

“You like to think that you’re right about everything but you’re not. He’s only being kind.”