She enjoyed dancing the second set with Cousin Alexander too. He was a complete contrast to the duke—tall and well built, darkly handsome, immaculately and fashionably elegant, and kindly.

“I hope you do not think, Anastasia,” he said before the music began, “that Lizzie forced me into complimenting you on your appearance before dinner. I spoke the truth. Simplicity suits you. It speaks of your upbringing and yet is suited to the change in your station.”

“Thank you, Alexander.” She smiled at him.

“My family and close friends call me Alex,” he told her.

“And I am family,” she said. “Oh, how I dreamed for years and years of being able to say that to someone, Alex. And now I can say it to several people.”

He danced the steps of the country dance with careful precision when it would have suited her better to dance with more exuberance. She followed his lead.

If she had half expected that after the first two sets she would have time to relax and enjoy watching for a while, she was soon to be disabused. She found herself and Aunt Louise surrounded by gentlemen, all eager to solicit her hand for the next set. And so it continued all evening. She had partners for every set but still was not able to dance with half of those who asked. It all would have been quite dizzying had she not understood that none of them had any real interest in the Anna Snow who was herself, but only in Lady Anastasia Westcott, who was newly unleashed upon the ton as an unknown curiosity.

She danced the supper dance with Lord Egglington, a tall, gangly young man with buck teeth and eyeglasses, who seemed terrified of her until she discovered that he was mad for horses and asked a few questions that got him talking with boyish enthusiasm. He led her into supper afterward and continued talking while Anna relaxed and listened with interest. He must be several years younger than she, she guessed. He had been at school with Harry, he explained, but he flushed rosily after saying so and quickly got back to the topic of horses as though he expected she would not appreciate any mention of her brother.

She excused herself when guests were beginning to return to the ballroom and hurried off to the ladies’ withdrawing room. She was on the broad landing outside the ballroom a few minutes later, making her way back, when a gentleman stepped into her path and bowed to her.

“We have not been formally introduced, alas, Lady Anastasia,” he said. “I was late arriving this evening. Though I did once ask to be presented to you before you were ready to be exposed to the ton. I apologize for my forwardness on that occasion and beg to introduce myself now.”

“Oh,” she said, recognizing him as the gentleman the duke had snubbed so rudely at the theater. “Yes, I remember, and I would quite happily have made your acquaintance, sir. I made my displeasure known to the Duke of Netherby.”

“But I do not blame your family for being protective of you, Lady Anastasia,” he said. “They must fear that such a rare and innocent bloom will take a misstep and be scorned by the very people with whom her birth intended her to mingle.”

Perhaps, Anna thought, the duke had had some reason—though no excuse—for avoiding introducing her to this man.

“Viscount Uxbury, at your service, Lady Anastasia,” he said with another deferential bow.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Uxbury,” she said, extending her right hand. He took it and raised it to his lips.

He was a tall, good-looking man, but also, she suspected, a bit pompous. And even she knew—it was one of the points of etiquette Mrs. Gray had mentioned—that if he wished for an introduction to her he ought to have asked someone close to her, Aunt Louise, perhaps, to present him.

“Dare I hope, Lady Anastasia,” he said, “that you are free to dance the next set with me?”

She opened her mouth to reply.

“Lady Anastasia Westcott is engaged to dance the next set with someone else,” a languid voice said from behind her left shoulder, “as soon as that someone else has had an opportunity to ask. And the same applies to every other set this evening, Uxbury.”

Anna turned toward the Duke of Netherby, her eyes widening with incredulity. Inevitably, he had his gold quizzing glass raised almost to his eye.

“Someone has already asked,” she said icily, ignoring the fact that she did not really want to dance with Viscount Uxbury. “And I was about to say yes, Your Grace.”

He ignored her. “Pardon me if my memory has failed me,” he said, addressing himself to the viscount, “but were you invited, Uxbury?”

“I was,” the viscount said stiffly. “I would not have come uninvited. And pardon me, Netherby, but are you Lady Anastasia’s guardian? I was under the impression that she is not related to you and that she is anyway of age.”

Oh dear. The landing on which they stood was a very public place. It was rather crowded with guests moving in and out of the ballroom or gathered in conversational groups until the dancing resumed. The atmosphere in this little group was growing hostile. They were going to be attracting attention in a moment.

“Ah,” the duke said, “then let that be a lesson to me to scrutinize guest lists with greater care in the future and trust less to the good taste of Her Grace and my secretary. I would be obliged, Uxbury, if you would remove your person from my home.”

“I see that you are offended,” Lord Uxbury said. “Yet in my place, Netherby, you cannot deny that you would have done exactly the same thing. No one wishes to find himself married to a bas— Ah, pardon me, there is a lady present. Lady Anastasia, will you bow to a ducal whim at your own come-out ball without protest, or will you rather honor me by partnering me in the coming set?”