Morgan nodded. “Of course, it would be our honor.” Morgan waited till the footman turned to lead the way back to his mistress, then gave Joan an encouraging nod.
She took a slow and deep breath, as deep as her corset would allow, and followed her brother’s lead along the dance floor toward the Almack’s royalty.
The Countess Lieven, who was married to the Russian ambassador, watched their approach with interest. Princess Esterhazy, who was married to the Austrian ambassador, leaned over to whisper a soft word to her companion, Lady Castlereagh.
Morgan bowed, low and proper. “Lady Jersey, allow me to introduce my sister, Lady Joan Morgan.”
Joan executed her most perfect curtsy. She waited an extra moment, then rose, meeting the formidable woman’s eyes.
Lady Jersey inclined her head, a sign of approval. “And how are you finding this season, Lady Joan?”
Joan bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling too widely as she considered how much of a burden she had been to her brother this season, rather than her own pleasure at the social events. “It’s been an enchanting experience, my lady.”
“Did you wish to add something else?” Lady Jersey’s keen eye hadn’t missed her slight hesitation.
Joan debated but refused to be anything less than honest. “I was considering my brother’s enjoyment of the season. I’m aware it’s been an experience for him as well, shepherding me through it.”
At her honest words, Lady Jersey gave a delicate chuckle. “Indeed, it is a testament to your brother’s character.”
Morgan bowed again, accepting the compliment with a twitch to his lips.
“See that you make it worth his efforts,” Lady Jersey commanded.
Joan sobered and nodded in assent. “Yes, my lady.”
Lady Jersey lifted her glass of lemonade to take a sip, signaling their dismissal.
Morgan bowed in understanding, and Joan curtsied as well. Then they took their leave, winding back around the edge of the ballroom.
“Well done,” Morgan murmured. “Everyone will be talking about how you made Lady Jersey smile. She showed you great favor.”
Joan’s heart pounded with excitement; she hadn’t made a cake of herself. Relief soared through her. “I’m so thankful that’s finished.”
“Now you can enjoy the evening while everyone talks about your introduction.” Morgan replied. “The gossip mill will be working hard, I’m sure.”
“How delightful,” Joan replied in mock enthusiasm.
“Careful,” Morgan chided gently. “This is not the place to practice too much honesty. Some candor will single you out, but too much will earn you a cut.”
“Yes, you’re right, of course.” Joan gathered her wits and scanned the room as her brother led them to stand along a row of empty chairs.
Just as her heart calmed, it stumbled, then raced as she picked out a familiar face directly beyond the entrance to the ballroom. Either her eyes deceived her, or the Duke of Westmore had graced Almack’s with his presence.
She blinked, her greedy stare drinking in the sight of him. She couldn’t see his blue eyes from across the room, but she imagined their color from memory. His knee breeches and white cravat were dignified, less dandy and more masculine. The air whooshed from her lungs when he turned, as if feeling her attention from across the room.
He paused, his head tipped ever so slightly before he took a step in their direction.
“Did you know?” Joan asked, then turned to her brother.
Morgan frowned, then as her eyes shifted from the duke, then back to her brother, he followed and then nodded. “Yes.”
He wasn’t lying. She could see that, but there was still something deeper he wasn’t disclosing. She could feel it like an itchy undergarment, driving her mad.
The duke skirted the dance floor and paused before them, bowing in greeting.
“Penderdale, Lady Joan.”
The sound of his voice melted though her, and it was embarrassingly painful to realize how much she’d missed the sound of it. His eyes met hers, and whatever truth lay there flashed and changed so quickly she couldn’t capture its meaning before he turned to Morgan.