The ballroom was not as large as Juliette had imagined, but it was beautifully appointed and well lit. Large windows, delicate trim work, and a smooth, shining dance floor that must take ages to wax and polish. Beneath a small balcony where musicians set up their instruments sat a trio of women on a small dais—a selection of the famous patronesses of Almack’s. Dragons every one.

Juliette laced her fingers at her waist, her garnet ring pinching beneath her white gloves. What if they didn’t think her up to the mark?

She was properly dressed in a white gown, no jewelry bar the small ring she never took off, and her hair pinned and curled in the latest fashion for a debutante. They couldn’t cavil at her appearance.

Nor her pedigree. She was the daughter of an earl of long-standing ancestry and land ownership. Parliamentarians, benefactors, friends of kings and princes.

So why was she so nervous?

Because they had given the squint to attendees of equal and better measure. Even the Duke of Wellington, hero of Waterloo and savior of Britain, had been turned away from Almack’s doors because he was not dressed in accordance with their rules.

The dowager duchess accepted a kiss on the hand from Uncle Bertie and a kiss on the cheek from Juliette.

“Thank you for stepping in for my sister-in-law once again. Juliette and I are most grateful.”

“Of course, though I am surprised. Tristan and Melisande gone off again? And this time to France? How can they hope to successfully launch a daughter into society from the Continent? All this gadding about cannot be good for a person’s constitution. One should remain settled in the civilized and structured culture of England.” The dowager spoke as the voice of authority on every subject.

“When one is asked by the Regent, one cannot say no. I wish they were here, but I understand why they had to go.” Juliette tucked her ticket into her reticule. And she did understand. She just didn’t like it.

“Let us get your introduction over with, then see about finding you a partner. The first set will begin soon, and you cannot find a husband sitting on the sidelines.”

Juliette stifled the desire to set the dowager straight on her misapprehension that the sole aim of every debutante was to snare a husband as quickly as possible. Her Grace would never believe it. And in most cases, she was correct. Girls rushed to the altar with the first man of suitable pedigree and fortune who showed a glimmer of interest. Juliette had other plans. She would take her time. Finding someone suitable took on grave new depths considering her family heritage and secret life.