For one second he could have sworn that Alice, that scullery maid, had come back to haunt him. But then the young woman had turned to the first of her partners. She was laughing and flirting with her fan, the very picture of a fashionable young miss. He slowly relaxed his hold and shaking his head went off about his duties.

Alice promenaded after the first dance with Sir Peregrine Dunster, a merry young man with a mop of artistically windswept fair curls and laughing eyes. Alice listened to his chatter with only half an ear, her eyes scanning the moving throng for her Duke.

“I say,” said Sir Peregrine plaintively, coming to a sudden halt and looking down at her, “you ain’t listened to one word I’ve said. Now, I ask you. Am I such a bore?”

“N-no,” said Alice, all pretty confusion. “I was looking for my uncle.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” he said cheerfully. “I thought you was lovelorn. You know, sighing after some chap who ain’t turned up.”

“La! How could I search for another when I am with you, monsieur?” laughed Alice, waving her fan.

“’Fore George, if your eyes ain’t like pools of violets. I used to write poetry, y’know. Wouldn’t think it to look at me now.”

He gave a mock grimace and Alice, who found herself liking him immensely, was about to make another flirtatious retort, when her face suddenly froze in dismay.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, following her startled gaze.

Miss Fadden was sitting with the chaperones. Alice had been too preoccupied with her thoughts during the journey to the ball to notice that the companion had taken a small workbasket with her. Unconcerned at the haughty, startled gazes of the dowagers beside her, she had taken out a lumpy pair of half-finished gray socks and was proceeding to knit busily, a pair of very utilitarian steel needles flashing in the candlelight.

“Who’s that tremendous little quiz?” asked Sir Peregrine.

“My companion,” said Alice faintly. “I must speak to her. She should not…”

“Too late,” grinned Sir Peregrine. “Here is your next partner.”

Alice was swept off into a hectic English country dance and, for at least the next three quarters of an hour, had no time to worry about Miss Fadden.

Sir Peregrine turned to seek some refreshment since he was not engaged for the next dance and nearly bumped into a tall gentleman whom he recognized as Alice’s uncle.

“I was watching you dance with my niece,” said the Duke. “You make a pretty couple.”

“Thank you, sir,” mumbled Sir Peregrine, although his mind raced. Was this French uncle trying to marry him off? And after one dance?

“Come! Let us find some refreshment,” said the Duke imperiously and, without waiting to see whether Sir Peregrine was following him, he marched off to the supper room.