His reaction more than anything had helped to settle her nerves, had assured her that her gown and elaborately coifed hair didn’t make her appear foolish, reaching for something beyond her grasp. The way he had looked at her had convinced her that if he were here, he would claim a dance.

If only some other gentleman would.

It was an odd thing indeed to find herself comparing each gentleman to whom she was introduced to Mr. Sommersby. His hair wasn’t dark enough, his eyes not green enough, his shoulders not broad enough. His voice not rich enough. None of the polite words spoken sent delicious shivers along her spine, conjuring up images of forbidden acts and sultry nights.

She’d thought—hoped—he might kiss her the night before after he walked her to her door. But he’d refrained and that was all for the good. She knew ladies of quality did not go about kissing men, and she was striving to be a lady of quality.

Although she was left with the impression that they weren’t all above reproach. It seemed not all ladies arrived with their husbands, not all husbands accompanied their wives. It made it a challenge to match up couples, to sort out who was paired with whom when they were introduced a number of people apart. On the other hand, surely, she wasn’t expected to remember the name of everyone to whom she was introduced—although most likely she was. She’d been taught little tricks for doing so. Lord Winters of the red-tipped nose, Lady Winters of the ruddy cheeks as though both had just arrived fresh out of a winter storm. She was determined to get all the names right when their paths again crossed, to impress them with her feat. She wanted to be remembered as more than the bastard, wanted something other than her birth to distinguish her from all the others here who were not raised by Ettie Trewlove.

“You’re late,” Gillie snapped.

Fancy glanced away from the man to whom she’d just been introduced, Lord Brockman of the shiny pate and broad smile—balding, broad, Brockman—and knew a surge of warmth at the sight of her brothers Finn and Aiden, with their lovely wives, Lavinia and Selena, on their arms.

“We purposely delayed our arrival to give you a respite from meeting strangers,” Aiden said. “We thought you’d welcome the familiar.”

Gillie narrowed her eyes. “You weren’t thinking it’d give you less time around the nobs?”

“Well, that, too,” Aiden said with a laugh.

“You’re here now. I suppose that’s all that matters.”

“Seriously, Gil,” Finn began, “we thought you’d appreciate a friendly face an hour in. Although to be honest, we did get held up with the crush of people arriving. Mum should see this. She’d be delighted.”

“Is it only an hour?”

“Afraid so.”