Being introduced into Society was a nerve-racking affair that slowly morphed into a tedious, boring one as Fancy stood beside Gillie, welcoming the guests who descended the wide sweeping staircase into the elaborately decorated grand salon—with its massive sparkling chandeliers, ornate molding, and painted ceiling—after being announced in a deep, booming voice by the majordomo outfitted in a red jacket, heavy with gold braiding, gray knee pants, and white stockings that showed off his lovely calves, which looked to be natural. She was well aware footmen took pride in their calves, some even going so far as to pad themselves with false ones.

Gillie’s lavender gown was not as revealing as some, but then her sister never had flaunted her femininity. Her duke was at her side, his eyes reflecting the sort of tenderness and fondness Fancy hoped to inspire in some young lord.

She dearly wished her mum was here to see it all, but she felt out of place around such extravagance. One wall was naught but mirrors, which made it seem that so many more people were here than there were. The room was two floors in height, a balcony circling three sides, cutting it in half. Potted plants, ferns, and fronds lined the walls. Flowers seemed to be everywhere. It was all so glamorous. It was the world her mother had wanted her to step into, and yet the dear woman didn’t believe herself deserving of walking into this room tonight.

Oh, she’d visited Gillie’s residence, but when only family was about. She shied away from meeting anyone she considered above her. Her mum’s refusal to recognize her own worth saddened Fancy.

She had traveled in the coach with Aslyn and Mick. As promised, they’d stopped at their mum’s so she could see Fancy decked out in her finery. Her mum had wept at the sight of her—tears of joy, she’d claimed. Fancy desperately wanted tonight to be a success, to bring her one step closer to helping her mum realize her dream of Fancy having a posh life.

On her journey here, Aslyn and Mick had run her through her paces to ensure she knew how to address everyone who was likely to be in attendance. Her family’s greatest fear had been that no one would show. It was a fear not realized. The room was practically wall-to-wall people. She wasn’t vain enough to think they were there on her account. No, she suspected the majority of them had come to gawk at the Duke of Thornley’s wife and measure her worth as she hosted her first ball. Although Gillie seemed far more relaxed than Fancy felt.

It hadn’t helped calm her nerves any that when they’d arrived, the Duke of Thornley had casually told her, “Bertie sends his regrets, but affairs of state will prevent him from attending.”

Bertie. Prince of Wales. Future king.