As they waited their turn to greet the patronesses, Juliette surveyed the quickly filling room. It had all the makings of a crush. Uncle Bertie had disappeared into the card rooms and soon would be donning his persona as a sot. Thankfully, while he was quite adept at pretending to be foxed, he never actually became drunk.

As she and the dowager neared the front of the presentation line, Juliette’s nerves did a reel. She hadn’t been this nervous since making her curtsey before the Queen.

“May I present Lady Juliette Thorndike, daughter of the Earl and Countess of Thorndike.” The dowager nudged Juliette. “Lady Juliette, Princess Esterhazy, Lady Jersey, and Lady Sefton.”

The three eyed her as she curtseyed, flicking their fans and communicating with one another through glances.

At last one of them spoke. “Welcome to Almack’s, Lady Juliette. I hope you have an enjoyable time.”

“Thank you.” She and the dowager turned away, and she caught a sigh coming from the dowager that matched her own. Had even she been nervous about braving the patronesses?

“Is there anyone in particular you would like as a partner this evening?”

Startled that the dowager would ask her preference—something she had never done before—Juliette hesitated. Should she ask to dance with Robert Sewell?

“Very well. If you’ve no objections, Duke Heinrich von Lowe has asked for the quadrille. That is second on the card.” The dowager led Juliette to a settee between two tall urns of flowers and settled herself. “Give me your reticule. I’ll look after it. Sit with me, and we’ll see what eventuates for the first.”

“Is the duke here? I didn’t see him.” She scanned the crowd before taking a seat.

“Everyone is here, my dear. It’s Wednesday night in London. Where else would anyone who is anyone be?” The dowager flicked open her fan and stirred a breeze that moved the gray curls clustered around her cheeks. “Even my son and daughter-in-law have come out of their library for the evening. It’s hard enough to get Charlotte’s nose out of a book, but Marcus encourages her in the pursuit. No good will come of it, though neither will heed my advice. It’s just not the done thing to be a bluestocking, and yet Charlotte persists.” She shrugged, as if she could not be held responsible for whatever dire events befell the duchess for being so reckless as to read books.

Her son approached, accompanied by a younger man. “Mother, Lady Juliette, may I present Mr. Adam Stevenson. He’s requested both an introduction and permission to ask Lady Juliette for the first dance.” Marcus Haverly was as suave and handsome as ever, his hair still unfashionably long, giving him a rakish, piratical air. “Stevenson, my mother, the dowager, and her charge for the evening, Lady Juliette Thorndike.”