“Well, Peter must approve of that,” Sophie observed. “I expect he was jealous. It’s my impression that Patrick takes great pleasure in interpreting my behavior as scandalous, and likely Peter is the same. But there’s no way you could have known that Barlow is such a turnip.” Sophie rose. “We should reappear in the ballroom, or my husband will search me out. He’s still absurdly besotted.”

And when Gabby smiled, the duchess added, “We haven’t been married long. I daresay we will grow tired of each other any moment.”

“I doubt it,” Gabby said, looking at the exquisite woman before her. “Your husband is a very lucky man, Your Grace.”

“You promised,” Sophie complained. “My name is Sophie.” She took Gabby’s hand. “Patrick would fuss if I left the room with Barlow. The man is a gross lecher. I’ll find you a perfectly unexceptionable escort so that Peter can’t complain.”

To Gabby’s pleasure, she and Sophie were met at the bottom of the stairs by Peter and Lucien Boch, who was, rather unexpectedly, escorting Phoebe’s mother, Mrs. Ewing.

“How lovely to see you!” Gabby said warmly to Emily Ewing.

“You missed the supper dance, Duchess,” came a deep voice to her right. Gabby turned to find Sophie laughingly tapping a very handsome man with her fan. Gabby rather thought he must be the duke, and when he cupped a hand around her new friend’s waist and dropped a kiss on her eyebrow, she was quite sure he was.

Five minutes later, there was a little flurry as the three men made certain that their respective escorts were comfortably seated in the supper room, after which they began to fight their way through the crowd toward the tables.

“This is splendid,” Sophie declared. “It will take them at least a half hour to snatch even the barest chicken wing, so we can become better acquainted in the interim. I must tell you, Mrs. Ewing, that although I have been positively thirsting to own Gabby’s gown all evening, I now find myself quite moonstruck over yours as well. It’s lowering to be so riveted by jealousy.”

Emily smiled, her blue-gray eyes uncertain. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Just then Lucien reappeared and touched Emily’s shoulder. She turned to look up at him, and her rather solemn face broke into a dimpled smile. “Mr. Boch?”

Lucien appeared to have momentarily forgotten what he meant to ask. “I…I merely wondered if you would prefer fowl or fish, Mrs. Ewing.”

“Fowl, please,” she replied. Lucien paused, and then caught sight of Sophie’s and Gabby’s interested eyes. He turned rather blindly into the crowd and disappeared.

“Goodness me,” Sophie said with a gurgle of laughter in her voice. “I have known Lucien Boch some five seasons, and I have never seen him struck dumb before this evening.”