“Are you going to try again? Let me. It’s my turn.”

“If I can’t do it, you can’t do it either,” Deirdre said without relinquishing her seat.

Before they escalated into a full-blown argument, Eleanor noticed Mina’s paint case and had a brainstorm. “Wait a minute.”

She rummaged around until she found the largest brush in the case. Thankfully, Mina kept her watercolor brushes scrupulously clean.

Eleanor laid the rouge paper on the table, rubbed the brush over it in a circle, and then swirled it lightly over the girls’ cheeks. She wasn’t a makeup expert, but everyone agreed the effect was quite attractive and natural looking.

As Twilla helped the girls gather their accessories, Mina suddenly stopped. She turned from Twilla to Eleanor with a sharp look. “Are those your—”

“I think they look very nice on her,” Eleanor said.

Mina shrugged as if the gift was of no consequence, exactly as Eleanor had hoped.

She followed the girls down the hall, butterflies of anticipation tickling her stomach. Shermont waited below, and the look on his face told her all her trouble had been worthwhile. He made her feel beautiful and desirable with nothing more than his smile. She nearly had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Ordinary Eleanor Pottinger was going to the ball. She hoped she would have another chance to talk with Jane Austen and might even risk a dance with a handsome lord. She touched her necklace for luck and descended the stairs.

Even though the ball was scheduled to begin at eight o’clock, a number of guests had already arrived and more poured in as fast as the full carriages could unload them. Since country affairs were less formal and almost everyone already knew everyone else, the butler did not announce each arrival. Deirdre and Mina joined Teddy and Aunt Patience in the entrance hall to greet the guests. Shermont offered his arm and escorted Eleanor into the ballroom.

Armless gilt chairs had been placed around the perimeter of the room, and several chaperones had staked out their positions. Mrs. Holcum and Beatrix sat near the door, all the better to snag Teddy on his entrance. Mrs. Maxwell had chosen a spot halfway down the length of the room and sat with Fiona and Hazel on each elbow. Gentle music wafted through the air and Eleanor located the musicians in a loft at the far end.

“Shall we walk the circuit?” Shermont asked.

Those not seated promenaded around the room in couples or small groups of three or four. The glittering society was everything she could have imagined. The clothes. The jewels. Hard to credit the idea that this wasn’t everyone’s best and that a ball in London would have more of … everything. “Why aren’t they dancing?” she asked.

“The host will open the dancing shortly. Until then, we walk, perhaps stop to chat. See and be seen. Take those young bucks, for instance,” he said, indicating with a nod the group of four gentlemen sauntering along a dozen feet ahead. “They’re sizing up the new crop that will go on the marriage mart next season.”

“That’s a bit predatory.”

“Not the half of it. There’s not a full pocket among the lot. If they want to continue the life they’ve been accustomed to, they must marry well, an heiress preferably.”

“What about love?”

“Ah, a love match does seem to be the current ideal according to the doctrine of sensibility, but when a man must choose between a ladylove and his tailor …” He shrugged.

“Sounds as though you think of marriage as a business deal.”

“I don’t think of marriage at all,” Shermont lied. How could he ask someone to share his future when he didn’t remember his past? He rubbed the scar on his forehead with his free hand. “I take it your marriage was a love match.”

Eleanor hesitated. “I believed I was in love with the man I got engaged to. Unfortunately, I later found out he wasn’t the man I thought he was.”

“A testimonial for long engagements?”

“Not necessarily. It wasn’t his fault I bestowed qualities on him he didn’t possess.” And as she said it, she realized it was true. He couldn’t live up to her expectations because she had tried to make a Darcy out of a Wickham, which made her think of Jane Austen. She looked around the now crowded ballroom, but didn’t see her favorite author.

There were so many people in the room the temperature had risen several degrees, undoubtedly helped by hundreds of candles on two chandeliers. Eleanor opened her fan and plied it for a bit of breeze. One detail the glittering illustrations of the time period had not been able to show was the air tainted by so many perfumes. Even though liberally used, the fragrances did not conceal the underlying odor of unwashed bodies.

Teddy led a bejeweled Countess Lazislov to the front of the dance floor. As the highest-ranking female present, she had the honor of calling the first set. The Countess indicated her choice to Mr. Foucalt.

“May I have this dance?” Shermont asked.

Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t know the steps to most—”

The dancing master rapped his walking stick on the floor three times. “Gentlemen, choose your partners for the first dance, ‘On a Midsummer Night,’ ” he said in a booming voice, quite unexpected from such a skinny frame.

The announcement caused whispering among the crowd, but the men who had been in attendance at the earlier class and those who had been to recent town parties took positions on the floor.

Shermont held out his arm with a smug smile.

“How did you know?”

“Know what?” he asked with an innocent air as they took their places in the line of dancers.

“That the first dance would be the only one I know the steps to,” she said as the music started.

“Ah, yes. I don’t suppose you’d believe it was a grand coincidence,” he said as he bowed in the salute.

“No.” She curtseyed. He didn’t have time to explain. The dance required her to follow the other women and promenade the length of the ballroom in the step-close-step movement she’d learned earlier. The countess gave her a broad wink as they passed each other going in opposite directions. What was that about?

Eleanor returned to her starting place. “You were saying?” she said as she curtsied again, returning to their earlier conversation as if it hadn’t been interrupted.

He bowed. “The countess owed me a favor,” he said with a mischievous grin. Then he stepped out for the gentlemen’s promenade.

Leaving Eleanor to wonder exactly what he’d done for the countess. She watched Shermont as he danced the steps with masculine grace, and she noticed a number of other women ogled him as he passed by. A surge of jealousy took her by surprise.

She had no claim to him. The respite from his presence gave her the opportunity to pull herself together and rein in her wayward feelings.

When he returned, they had a few minutes to chat as they waited for their turn for the couples’ promenade.

“The music is lovely,” she said.

She felt the muscles of his forearm tighten under her hand as he shot her a quizzical glance. The amusement in his eyes said he recognized her attempt to depersonalize the conversation.

“I hardly noticed,” he said. “The dance is only an excuse to be by your side.”

He wasn’t making it easy. “From what I hear, the weather is particularly balmy for this time of year,” she said, trying again to move to a safe subject.

“Is it? I feel only the heat of your touch. Do you deny you feel the same?” he asked as he led her out for their turn at the couples’ promenade.

She did not respond to his taunt.

“I do not need to hear you say in words what I can read in your eyes,” he said. “After what we have shared—”

“No strings,” she reminded him as well as herself. “We have only the moment—no past, no future.”

After thoughtful hesitation, he replied, “As you say. Then we should enjoy these moments to the fullest.”

The finale of the dance called for him to twirl her around, which he did doubly fast, making two full turns before spinning her toward the gentleman on her left.

By the time she returned from making the round and being twirled by all the gentlemen, she was dizzy and more than grateful for his steady presence as the music ended.

“Just stand there for a minute,” she said, politely applauding the musicians. “I need to catch my breath before walking off the dance floor.”

“We can’t leave yet,” he said. “There is another dance in the set.”

She shook her head and started to remind him she didn’t know any other dances when Mr. Foucalt rapped his stick on the floor.

“The second dance of the opening set will be the waltz,” he called in his loud voice.

The first dance had caused whispers, but the announcement of the waltz caused a minor tumult. A number of couples committed a breach of decorum and left the dance floor. Some were forced to do so at the insistence of overzealous chaperones, including Fiona and Hazel and their partners. A few couples eagerly took their places.

Mr. Foucalt rapped his stick. “We will have order.”

As the orchestra played the opening bars, Eleanor stepped into Shermont’s arms. “I fear the countess has created quite a commotion by her choice of dances,” she said.

He laughed. “From what I know of her, Countess Lazislov enjoys making a spectacle and being the center of attention.” They moved to the music, making small circles as he led her around the dance floor.

“I don’t,” Eleanor said, ducking her head, her body stiffened by awareness of the censorious stares she received. The magic of the butterfly field was missing.