Over the years, Eleanor and her sisters had met all of the Lady Patronesses and had renewed their acquaintances during the soirée. Once again greetings were made, but Lord St. Albans and Harry had apparently informed Lady Jersey and Mrs. Drummond-Burrell that they had already met the sisters. Lady Jersey recommended Lord St. Albans to Alice for the waltz, and Mrs. Drummond-Burrell recommended Harry to Madeline for the same purpose.

Before the three Patronesses left, Lady Sefton, another of the Patronesses, approached accompanied by a gentleman who reminded Eleanor of a blond Byron, he was so magnificently handsome.

“Oh dear,” Lady Sefton said with a small pout. “I fear you are out of luck, my lord.” She smiled at them. “Lord Lancelot wished to be recommended for the waltz, but unless I am vastly mistaken, the other ladies have already recommended these gentlemen to you.”

Eleanor’s opinion of the man sank. Handsome was as handsome did. And she and her sisters had already heard of Lord Lancelot. Augusta’s husband, Phinn, had been the cause of the gentleman leaving Town three years before because he had practically run her down being stupid on his horse. Eleanor hoped he had grown up since then.

Lord Lancelot bowed gracefully. “Ah, my dear Lady Sefton, that only means that they may now waltz.” The music for the first set started, and he bowed to Alice. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

Probably remembering what she had heard, Alice stiffened slightly. Nevertheless, she knew she could not deny him the set. But Harry, who was closest to her, said, “I am sorry, my lord, but Lady Alice has done me the honor of promising her first set to me.”

Before his lordship could ask either Eleanor or Madeline, Lord St. Albans had made the same claim about dancing with Eleanor and Lord Montagu said that Madeline was dancing with him.

“Their first three sets are taken,” Matt said, looking none too kindly at the gentleman. “We will leave after supper.”

Well, that was the end of that. Eleanor wondered if her brother knew something the rest of them did not.

Lord Lancelot bowed and sauntered away. By then, the rest of their sisters and their husbands had joined them.

“Good Lord,” Phinn said. “Not him again.”

Augusta frowned at the man. “He looks to be improved. At least he is not wearing a spotted kerchief as a neckcloth.”

“But is he?” Matt raised his quizzing glass at his lordship’s retreating form. “I will make inquiries.”

“It would be a shame not to be able to stand up with someone that gorgeous,” Alice mused.

“If you like peacocks,” Lord St. Albans drawled scornfully. “He reminds me of a Gainsborough painting I once saw of a young boy in a light blue suit.”

Eleanor wondered what caused that reaction. “Do you know him?”