Sophie frowned. “That doesn’t sound like sweet Peter.” Then she thought for a moment. “Well, of course, your appearance would be most important to him. You look splendid, by the way. I wear a good deal of Carême myself. Tomorrow I intend to demand a small train on the gowns she is making up for me. I fully expect that you will start a rage!”

“Perhaps,” Gabby said, and then chuckled. “I think it’s more likely that I shall start a scandal. I am not persuaded that this bodice will stay in place.”

“Oh, it will,” Sophie assured her. “We have approximately the same figure and I have never had a problem in that respect. Madame has a magical touch. Goodness, I’m tired!” she added, fanning herself idly. “I always find this point in the evening simply unbearable.”

Gabby looked at her curiously. “Why not go home, then?”

“Oh, it improves,” Sophie replied. “They’ll call for the supper dance soon. After eating, most people find a second wind. And, of course, by then the gentlemen in the card room have become quite inebriated. That always creates some interest,” she said with a mischievous twinkle.

“How are drunken men of interest?”

“They garner their courage.”

At Gabby’s questioning look, she continued. “They approach women who are not their wives, or they begin absurd arguments and get themselves into a primitive display of male temper.”

“That does sound more interesting,” Gabby observed.

“Ladies, too, throw caution to the wind and wander off into the garden unchaperoned. That wakes up my mother and the rest of the more severe dowagers.” She smiled impishly. “I used to count the evening quite wasted if I didn’t give my mother at least one reason to scold me on the way home.”

Gabby smiled back rather uncertainly. Then she asked, in a near whisper, “Were you ever kissed on a balcony? I mean, before you were married?”

Sophie grinned. “Yes, of course, I’ve been kissed on a balcony—many balconies, as a matter of fact.”

“Did it cause a scandal?”

“Oh, certainly,” Sophie said blithely. “Until I married Patrick, I was practically the most scandalous baggage in the ton. My mother used to lecture me all the way to a ball and then rant all the way home. I have some lovely memories.”

To Gabby’s mind, Sophie’s memories stood in direct opposition to Peter’s view of scandal.

“But Peter said—” Gabby stopped. She didn’t really want to confide the sneaking suspicion she had, that Peter didn’t want to kiss her anywhere, not on a balcony, nor in a carriage, nor anywhere else.

“Who tried to kiss you? Was it that dreadful Mr. Barlow? I saw you dancing with him.”

“Yes,” Gabby said gratefully. “He asked if I would like to see the balcony, and then …”

“He’s a loose fish. What did you do?”

“I elbowed him and walked out.”