Almost too late she found her tongue. “Thank you, your grace, it is I who shall be honoured.” He nodded and was gone. Someone touched her hand and she looked down to see her cousin staring at her round eyed.

“Do you realize who that was?”

Isobel smiled. “He was announced, he’s The Duke of Rochester.”

“No, silly, he’s the most eligible parti in the world and he has singled you out. Whatever happens next, your season will be successful.”

Now was not the time to tell Pet she had already made his acquaintance. She shivered. Was he planning some sort of revenge for her mistreatment? Would he lead her out and then abandon her on the dance floor and make her a laughing stock? Did one man have the power to do that? Her cousin was prone to exaggerate, no doubt this was another of those instances.

“I think he was an objectionable man, so top lofty I cannot imagine how he does not fall over his own feet. He did not stay to greet any of you; even a duke should have good manners.”

Aunt Laura looked scandalized and Petunia giggled. Her uncle winked and the moment of excitement was over. Having jumped the queue in his superior fashion, Rochester strolled off into the ballroom. As the remainder of the guests was introduced Isobel curtsied and smiled until her face ached.

An hour later she was finally free to join the throng milling about the place. Whoever arrived at her side first, if she liked them, then she would dance. Then, when she became bored with the evening, she could absent herself without giving offence to anyone.

Petunia was to lead the first set. No doubt some gentleman would invite her also. To her astonishment Rochester appeared neatly cutting out a small queue of hopefuls.

“I believe this is my dance, Lady Isobel.”

She was tempted to refuse, to say she was promised to another, but something in his eyes made her accept and she curtsied and stepped forward. Just the touch of his hand sent tremors rushing round her body.