Lucien allowed himself to be walked to the door. He bowed and then gave Emily a wry smile. “I came to slay a dragon,” he murmured, for her ears alone. “Phoebe led me to believe that Mr. Hislop was a disagreeable companion.”

Emily smiled despite herself. “I am always grateful for the presence of dragon slayers,” she said, her gentle voice sounding like music to Lucien. “There are so few of them in London. But you need have no worries about Mr. Hislop, sir. He is a good friend to me.”

And she closed the study door to the sound of Bartholomew Hislop droning on about the precise weight of the Egyptian velvet that the Duchess of Gisle had worn.

Lucien let himself out of the house without troubling Sally, who was nowhere to be seen. He walked down the stairs, frowning. He did not like Emily’s dependence on Hislop. Unless Lucien was very much mistaken, Hislop wasn’t visiting every week only for the greater glory of La Belle Assemblée. No, Hislop was interested in the beautiful Mrs. Ewing. And Lucien doubted very much that Hislop was considering marriage to a penniless widow.

ON THE WHOLE, Peter was able to declare himself pleased by the transformed Gabby. They met at dinner the day after he returned to London, Peter having punctiliously sent Gabby a note asking her to accompany him to a ball being held by Lady Fester that very evening.

Gabby was wearing one of Madame’s gowns and shining with delight to see her betrothed. Margaret had had to use so many pearl-topped hairpins that her brown hair took on a pearly glow from afar. But her slippery locks were firmly poised in the air, and that was the important thing. And her dress, a bronze-colored ball gown with an extremely daring neckline and a slight train on the overdress, was certainly à la mode, Peter observed. He would have noted the gown immediately, even if it weren’t on his bride-to-be. Thank God, those big bosoms of Gabby’s suited the design.

“Is your drapery made of tiffany?” He leaned close to Gabby, who was toying with her consommé.

Gabby looked up quickly. Peter’s eyes were much more friendly than they had been the first time they met. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

Peter said, “May I?” and at her nod, he gently pressed the fabric between two fingers for a split second. “Gauze—spotted with gold embroidery,” he announced. “Most suitable.”

Gabby had been unhappy with the said drapery. “If this is supposed to be a shawl, it doesn’t cover anything!” she had wailed to Margaret.

“You simply drape it,” Margaret had explained.

Thank goodness Margaret had talked her out of carrying a cashmere shawl, given Peter’s interest in her drapery, Gabby thought fervently.