Already his cravat felt tight, but he quelled the urge to adjust it and moved forward, avoiding the observation of several young debutantes hiding behind their equally attentive mothers. The black eye wasn’t much of a deterrent, apparently. He dared not show any interest, or he’d be preyed upon like a rabbit in the hunt.

As he turned to the left, he caught sight of a familiar face and smiled in response. His Grace, the Duke of Wesley, or Quin, as he was known to his close friends, was standing scandalously close to his wife, Catherine. Rowles started toward them, his smile growing wider when he noted that Morgan, with his own colorful eye, and Joan were also in their conversational circle. Perhaps luck was indeed on his side this night. The gossiping set would certainly notice the facers both he and Morgan sported and would no doubt concoct a story. But since the altercation had started at White’s in front of God and everyone, it was better to display a mending of the friendship rather than let the gossipers spread rumors of a rift between the families.

“Ah, well, I didn’t expect to see you here.” Rowles extended his hand to Quin as he approached. His friend took his offered greeting. “I figured it was time to come out of hiding.”

“Hiding. Is that what we call it?” Morgan chimed in. “I thought it was called being newly married.”

Rowles snickered a little. “I think that ends a few weeks after the wedding. It’s been more than six months. And I must say, I don’t believe I’ve seen you in as much time.”

Quin shrugged, utterly unrepentant. “I have no defense and do not care to have one. You’re lucky I’m blessing you with my presence. Rather, the presence of my lovely wife.” He beamed down at his equally enamored partner.

“I might have said something about being social, but I must admit I didn’t miss this all that terribly.” Catherine gave an apologetic shrug to Joan. “But we were out of the country for your come-out, and for that I’m sorry. It was quite the smashing success, if any gossip is to be believed.” She reached out to squeeze Joan’s hand.

“It was a lovely party, and I do believe it was a success. But being out of the country, your excuse is more than reasonable,” Joan said cheekily. “I suppose I forgive you.”

“You’re all grace and charm,” Catherine replied, a playful tone to her voice. “It’s been an age, I’ll call upon you soon. We need to talk, and I want to hear all about”—she paused, as if halting herself from revealing some secret—“the party.”