Dearwood was an unattractive fellow when his jaw was hanging down. “But do close your mouth before taking her upon the dance floor.”

His lips snapped together as he gave a brisk nod before turning on his heel.

“Dearwood?”

The man came to an abrupt halt and glanced back, his stricken expression indicating he feared the club owner was on the verge of rescinding the offer. “Discreetly let it be known that this offer is open to any man who owes me blunt.”

Strolling as unobtrusively as possible among the layers of people away from the dance floor, Fancy refused to go anywhere near the section of chairs, take a seat, and delegate herself a wallflower so early into the process. She hadn’t expected immediate acceptance, had known she’d be an object of curiosity. Still, she’d anticipated a few of the gents unknown to her before tonight would at least be interested in satisfying their inquisitiveness by taking her on a turn about the dance floor.

She passed small clusters of two or three people, chatting away, averting their gazes or stepping in to make the circle smaller when they caught sight of her approaching. Not a cut direct precisely, but certainly not an invitation to join them. She wasn’t rude enough to intrude. As she walked on by, she would catch snippets of conversation.

Pretty enough. That didn’t mean they were discussing her.

Five thousand a year. Probably a reference to her. Each of her siblings were contributing a thousand pounds a year to her dowry.

Scandalous . . .

Seemed pleasant enough . . .

Where’s the card room? At that one, she leaned in, smiled, and said, “Up the stairs, to your right, third door down.” The gents had stared at her for several seconds as though they’d never before had a question answered by a woman and then scrambled away so fast one might have thought she’d whispered, “I have leprosy.”

Ancestry is so important . . .

Rather like her smile . . .

Purchased a new curricle . . .

Fine selection of liquors in the refreshment room.

Well, the duchess is a tavern owner.

Having finished her third trip around the room, she stopped a passing footman and picked up a coupe of the very excellent champagne from the tray he was balancing on his splayed fingers. She rewarded herself with a glass after each turn in order to shore up her resolve for another sweep by the guests. Her sisters-by-marriage had hovered around her at first until she’d convinced them to dance with their husbands, that she was fine on her own. Besides, she didn’t want to give any lords the notion she needed to be mollycoddled. They’d want a wife who could look after herself, surely.