He looked to the clock and noted the time. He’d said he would attend the Moorson rout tonight, and it was time to begin preparations. He swallowed hard, as if already feeling the excessively tight cravat he’d wear with his evening kit. Perhaps he’d wear something purple to match the color of his eye. Damn, it was going to be hell. All the questioning expressions with the infernal whispering the moment they saw his back.

How he missed Cambridge’s social events and their casual requirements. He’d found his home among the Fellows and faculty, men more interested in ideas than in a person’s pedigree. Renowned Fellows could be seen deep in thought as they crossed the lawn of Trinity College that only they were allowed to walk on, and, a few minutes later, shared their wealth of knowledge with their students. And the conversation focused on new ideas, shared experiences with a student, or something equally diverting and engaging. But the social events of London were created to display power and wealth and to fortify or create social alliances, he thought, shaking his head. Events there were painfully dull and equally disconcerting since those attempts at social alliances tended to be aimed at his bachelor self.

He rose and left his study, making his way to his room where his valet would be waiting to assist him. Lowson welcomed him with a bow. “Ah, I selected your ruby pin for this evening. Do you approve, Your Grace?”

“Indeed.” Rowles nodded.

“Then, after you, Your Grace.” Lowson gestured to the closet, and Rowles led the way.

Rowles was soon finished with his preparations and headed down to his carriage. His family crest decorated the side in a flash of gold. The ram with its head lowered appeared prepared to fight, its powerful hindquarters at the ready for battle. Rowles stepped into the well-sprung carriage and adjusted his coat.

Would Joan and Morgan have arrived already? More so, would Joan’s dance card already be filled? He tapped his knee as he wondered if Morgan would be suspicious if he asked for another one of Joan’s waltzes. The carriage rumbled along till it pulled into the queue behind the other party attendees. The footmen were quick in assisting each guest, and soon it was his turn to alight from his carriage. Torches lit the drive all the way up to the open door as ladies in feathered turbans and men in evening dress filtered into the grand house. Music welcomed each guest as they approached the house. Rowles took the steps and followed the music and the crowd down the hall toward the ballroom. The brightly lit room was buzzing with conversation as the string quartet finished the song. He scanned the room for Joan and, consequently, Morgan.