"I don't know about you," Algernon said as the carriage slowed to join the back of the line of conveyances approaching the entrance to the Simpson residence, "but I plan to disappear into the card room as soon as I may."

"But you have promised two dances," David reminded him.

"True," Algernon sighed. "And the Simpsons are usually niggardly with the waltzes. Bet there will be no more than three or four altogether. We can play cards between times, David, and still fulfill our obligations. Rache is a marvel. She can dance the night away and still look as fresh as a daisy on Bond Street the next morning." He chuckled. "She likes being twirled in the waltz, just as if one were turning corners every moment. You were best to remember that, m'boy."

David laughed and peered out through the window at the impressive sight of liveried footmen helping ball guests from their carriages onto the red carpet that had been laid out for the occasion.

Rachel was trying to stand very still. Why did it happen to her far more than to any other young girl that her gown needed repair during balls? This ball had not even started yet and she had caught the hem of her pink underdress on the edge of a chair and torn such a gash in it that she had had to retire to the withdrawing room for repairs to be made. A maid was busy with needle and thread while Rachel stood patiently talking to Celia.

"It really will not show," Celia told her. "Be thankful that it was not the lace that tore. The gown really does look glorious."

"Well, so does yours," Rachel assured her magnanimously. "I told you, did I not, that that dark blue shade would be fare more becoming than the light color you picked out?"