The Duke sighed and looked again. Miss Fadden was surrounded on either side by a long row of chaperones, each with a workbasket. There was knitting and tatting and knotting and sewing and embroidery and tapestry and macrame. Voices were raised in gossip and hands were busy. Meanwhile on the floor and around the perimeter of the ballroom, their charges flirted outrageously, free from antique supervision.

Sir Peregrine was holding Alice in his arms as he led her through the steps of the waltz. He had fallen in love, he told himself. The fact that his tailor’s bills and gambling debts could be settled by an advantageous marriage was pushed firmly to the back of his brain. He prided himself on being a romantic; he prided himself on being unmercenary. Now, when a young Englishman plagued by duns sets himself to falling in love with an heiress, he makes a very good job of it and nearly achieves the real thing.

By the end of the waltz, Sir Peregrine’s fine eyes were ablaze with love and Alice found her pulses beginning to beat a little harder.

The ghost watched them with an indulgent smile. He had removed himself from the supper room when young Peregrine’s back was turned, as he did not want the present Duke to recognize his ancestor. He was conscious of someone staring at him. He turned around quickly but could see no one in particular. Then he looked up. Bessant, the Groom of the Chambers, was staring down at him from the musician’s gallery. The Duke raised his quizzing glass and his eyebrows and fixed the Groom of the Chambers with an awful stare. Mr. Bessant flushed and retreated.

It was a mistake to come, thought the Duke. But the oaf, Bessant, cannot possibly recognize Alice as the missing scullery maid.

He watched Alice’s happy smile and felt a faint twinge of pain somewhere in his chest. It was good that she could be happy with someone of her own age.

The Duke had investigated young Peregrine’s background by talking to several of the guests. He came of good stock, was accounted wild and believed to be in debt. But the Duke had been all those things in his youth, and was, therefore, inclined to forgive wildness in one so young.

But so long as he stood and watched them—there!—Peregrine had definitely pressed Alice’s hand—he experienced that strange pain. He decided to remove himself. Then he espied the glamorous blonde he had flirted with some months ago and headed happily in her direction.

Alice watched him over Peregrine’s shoulder. For a moment, her wide eyes held a startled look of hurt, and then she firmly turned her attention back to Sir Peregrine and began to flirt for all she was worth.