It was Miss Chandler standing before her, looking Viola up and down with an unsubtle appraisal.

“Yes. Are you having a good time, Miss Chandler?”

“I do love balls.” She flicked her skirts away from silver slippers that sparkled with diamonds. “My, I’m fatigued from dancing so much.” She fanned herself, glancing over as Westbury brought Blanche a glass of punch. “Westbury’s monstrously handsome, isn’t he?”

“He’s pleasing enough,” Viola said cautiously.

“It’s convenient that the highest title in the room goes with the most handsome face in the room. And he’s all mine. See how Lady Dexter is glaring. She hates my triumph. He’s doing a wonderful job of pretending to be in love with me. I have to remember to reciprocate.” She caught Westbury’s eye and wriggled her fingers at him.

“You’re only pretending to be in love with him?”

“I’m not going to fall in love with my husband. Don’t be silly.” She laughed. “You’re so quaint. I heard that you’re living in the dower house.” All laughter left her eyes. “Should I be jealous?”

Viola nearly took a step back. The intensity of her stare caught her off guard.

“Er, of course not.”

Miss Chandler giggled. “Oh, I know, I know. I’m only joking.” She tapped Viola on the shoulder with her fan. “You’re penniless. Though you are pretty. Or you could be, if you had a new gown and tried a different way of dressing your hair.”

“There’s no need for that. I’m not here to find a match.”

“Oh, aren’t you? I could have sworn I saw you dancing. Well, never mind. I’m sure you’ll do your duty and restrict yourself to watching the girls from now on.”

Viola gave her a tight smile. “Of course.”

“Well, I’m off then. The next dance is the waltz and I’m promised to Westbury. I’m glad we had this little chat, my dear.” She floated away in a cloud of silver spangles and expensive floral perfume that lingered after she left.

Putting me in my place, thought Viola.

Probably only what she deserved. Her mind had run away from her again, imagining impossible and forbidden things.

Best to stay against the wall for the rest of the evening.

His fiancée danced well but with the same self-awareness she applied to every movement, doing it not for the pleasure of it, but to be admired. She posed and smiled up at him, and then darted glances around to see who was watching, who was envious. She couldn’t simply be there in his arms; she was too aware of how dancing with him made her the belle of the ball. He was a player in the pantomime she was performing for the benefit of her rival, Lady Dexter.

“Say something scandalous and improper loud enough for everyone to hear,” she whispered in his ear.