LADY ISABEL FESTER was quite proud of the fact that her ball was always the very first event held after the opening of Parliament each year. In truth, she took great care to make sure that her ball marked the opening of the Little Season; when the Parliament inconsiderately delayed its opening in 1804, due to concern for the king’s health, Lady Fester boldly canceled her ball, citing the same reason, and resent her invitations only once the danger was past. She felt, with some truth, that her ball had gained a certain notoriety, and for those, like herself, who could not bear to wither in the country until March or April, it served as a signal that la haute société had returned to London. Let all the matchmaking mamas huddle in the damp country houses until after Easter. The true élégantes—Lady Fester had had a French nurse and liked to show off her claims to high education—the true élégantes would never molder outside London if they were not forced to do so.

Thus the polite smile on her face actually gained a glimmer of true welcome when she saw one of the most elegant men in all of London, Lucien Boch, walking behind her butler.

“My dear marquis,” Lady Fester cooed. She was well-aware that Boch had repudiated his title, but she believed in overlooking such foolish mistakes.

Lucien bowed extravagantly and kissed her fingers. “Dearest Lady Fester,” he said, “may I present Mrs. Ewing?”

Lady Fester’s eyes narrowed fractionally. Emily Thorpe—no matter what she chose to call herself—was not the sort of woman whom Lady Fester cared to welcome to her ball. But in the split second before she issued a glacial acknowledgment, her eye caught Mrs. Ewing’s gown. It was created of amber-colored Italian gauze, worn over crepe of a slightly darker shade. The gauze was caught up in amber ribbons, and beads ornamented the bodice and the sleeves. In all truth, Mrs. Ewing’s gown was easily the most original creation Lady Fester had seen all evening. And it would undoubtedly be detailed in the next issue of La Belle Assemblée, an honor that Lady Fester herself was longing to receive. She suffered a stab of envy that was almost blinding in its force.

“I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Ewing,” she said respectfully. The gown had won the day.

“Well,” Lucien breathed into Emily’s ear as they strolled into the ballroom, “in case you didn’t recognize it, my dear, there was a dragon guarding the entrance to this ball. And you just floated past her guard.”

Emily looked up at him, her eyes shining. “How could it be otherwise? I have a dragon slayer with me, do I not?”

He chuckled. “I cannot take credit for that particular victory. Would you like to dance?”