As the dancers returned to their original positions, Eleanor could see why the Regent would like the dance. She could just imagine him ogling the pretty girls parading in front of him.

“And salute your partner,” Mr. Foucalt said. “Très bien.” He rapped his stick on the floor twice and the music stopped. “Then the gentlemen will have their turn, which we will, of course, skip over.”

“Perhaps you should have a gentleman demonstrate,” said a deep voice. Shermont entered the ballroom from the open French doors that led to the terrace. He took the spot next to Eleanor, usurping poor imaginary Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Foucalt bowed low. “Milord. Thank you for the offer—”

“But we do not condone mixed lessons,” Mrs. Maxwell said, stepping forward.

Eleanor could see her point. Who would want her daughter called a prancing horse in front of a potential husband?

“Are you French?” Shermont confronted Mr. Foucalt directly.

“I am from Belgium,” the dancing master said, raising his chin. He clicked his heels together and bowed.

“Same difference, isn’t it?”

“Just because that odious little Corsican annexed my country does not make me French. I have been in this country for twenty years, a political émigré.”

“Now, if you will excuse us,” Mrs. Maxwell said, a not-so-subtle hint for Shermont to skedaddle.

“There you are,” Teddy called to Shermont from the door. He was backed by the entire military contingent. “We wondered where you’d got to. Are we interrupting?” He looked around as if the gathering was a total surprise. His voice seemed hopeful rather than expressing regret.

Mrs. Holcum practically ran across the room as he spoke. She took his arm. “You are just in time,” she said, towing him toward her daughter. “I think having the gentlemen participate in the dancing lesson is a marvelous idea.”

The other men scrambled to take a place in the lines of dancers. Alanbrooke bowed and asked Deirdre for the honor of the dance. Parker and Whitby jockeyed for position next to Fiona, Whitby winning when she took his arm. Parker rushed down the line to partner Hazel. The countess snagged Rockingham’s arm as he made his way to the heiress Cecily’s side.

There was a moment of awkwardness when everyone realized Mina and Cecily stood alone.

“I think my imaginary partner Raoul is the best dancer here,” Mina said. She motioned Mr. Foucalt toward Cecily. He bowed and took her hand, and she sent Mina a grateful look. Seeing she was defeated, Mrs. Maxwell retreated to the sideline.

Mr. Foucalt explained the dance, starting from the beginning, not forgetting to mention it was the Regent’s current favorite, and again plugging his upcoming book. He rapped his stick on the floor, and Patience played with more enthusiasm than talent. After the gentlemen did their promenade, each couple, alternating sides, made the circuit in the same step-close-step manner. “While you are waiting your turn,” he said loudly as he danced down the line with Cecily, “it is appropriate to chat with your partner.”

“I missed you this morning,” Shermont said to Eleanor.

“Perhaps it was for the best,” she replied. “I can’t shoot a bow and arrow, and I might have injured an innocent bystander.”

“I missed you at archery, too,” he whispered.

Eleanor hoped her blush wasn’t obvious to all as she and Shermont took their turn and promenaded between the other couples. They resumed their places.

“May I have the first dance at the ball tonight?” he asked.

She shook her head. “If I count this, I know the steps to a grand total of one dance. There’s no guarantee “On a Midsummer Night” will be the first dance of the evening.”

“I remember another dance among the butterflies,” he reminded her. The spark in his eyes said he remembered other activities as well.

“The waltz is considered too risqué and not—”

“Ah, you are wrong,” he said with a smile. “I did some checking, and it seems the rules at country parties are much more lax than at Almack’s.”

“Even so, I truly doubt the first dance will be a waltz.”

“That depends on who calls the first set. Who do you suppose will be the ranking female at the ball?”

“I have no idea,” she replied. She had assumed Deirdre would be the one to open the ball and call the dances.

Shermont looked thoughtful as the steps of the dance caused them to separate and link up with the person across the line.

She raised her left hand as Teddy lifted his right, and they walked in a circle, fingertips touching.

“Unfortunately, I must open the ball, but I would dance the second set with you,” Teddy said when his back was to Beatrix, a statement rather than a request.

“I must decline the honor due to lack of dancing knowledge,” Eleanor replied with an insincere frown. “So sorry.”

“What did he say?” Shermont asked when she returned to her starting point.

She was taken aback by the fierceness of his expression. Regency men were so possessive and presumptuous. “None of your business.”

“My apologies. I phrased that wrongly. You seemed upset.”

“I am quite capable of taking care of myself,” she assured him as they clasped hands across, left hand to left and right hand to right.

“I’m sure you are.” He twirled her under his arm, so their opposite hands were now on top. “That doesn’t mean I can’t be concerned.”

They sashayed … slide, slide, slide … up the line, twirled, and then came back. While the others took turns with the same moves, they stood quietly in place.

As a grand finale, the dancers made a large circle. Each gentleman swung his partner around before twirling her under his arm and passing her to the man on his left. Another reason for Prinny to love the dance.

Eleanor went from Shermont to Teddy to Whitby, who held her too tight and stared down at her décolletage while asking her for a dance later that evening. She declined without remorse. Rockingham acted as if she were a mere imposition, his attention glued on the heiress Cecily. Foucalt swung her expertly and handed her off to Alanbrooke.

“You could smile when you step toward me,” he said with a teasing sparkle in his eye.

She did just that. “Sorry. My mind was a million miles away.”

“How flattering,” he said in a dry tone. But he returned her smile before passing her to Parker, who stammered out his invitation to a dance that evening. She regretted she could not accept and explained her ignorance of the popular dances.

Then she had a moment to breathe with Mina’s imaginary partner Raoul. Eleanor reminded herself that if she wanted to keep an eye on Shermont, she would have to mend a few fences. She approached him with a smile.

“Am I forgiven?” he asked.

“My apologies. I’ve gotten so used to being on my own. I forget life is different here.”

“No need to apologize. I should remember you aren’t like other females. I’m just glad we’re back on good terms.” The music ended and he bowed. “I look forward to the evening ahead.” His wicked smile promised more than his polite words.

The music stopped, and everyone applauded. “That is all we have time for today,” Patience said with a bow.

Deirdre closed her mouth.

Eleanor wanted to help Deirdre regain the status that Patience seemed determined to usurp. “What does our hostess have to say?” Eleanor asked in a loud voice, pointedly looking in Deirdre’s direction. “Do we learn another dance?”

Deirdre sent her a grateful look. “Regretfully, Aunt Patience is right.”

Eleanor hid a smile at the double meaning. Did Deirdre regret that time was up or that Patience was right?

The gentlemen gave their polite adieus and left. Then the women meandered back to the entrance hall and up the stairs in twos and threes, chatting about everything that must be done to get ready for the ball.

“Shall we bathe before our naps or afterward?” Mina asked as they entered their sitting room.

“Bathe?” After washing in a basin, Eleanor was all for a bath. “Let’s do that first.”

“Good idea. There might be a rush on hot water later,” Deirdre said as she rang for Twilla to ready the bathing chamber.

“Rochambeau for who goes first?” Mina asked.

Deirdre agreed, so Eleanor nodded without knowing what she was agreeing to do. Deirdre gathered them into a circle of sorts and held out her fist toward the center. Mina followed suit, so Eleanor did too.

“On three,” Deirdre said.

She raised and lowered her hand on each slow count, so Eleanor copied her. On the count of three her hand was still fisted like Deirdre’s, but Mina had made the two-fingered sign for scissors. Eleanor immediately understood the game played by a different name.

“I hate bathing in used water. Why do I always have to lose?” Mina stuck out her lip and marched off to the bedroom.

“Because she always does scissors,” Deirdre whispered.

“Now what?” Eleanor asked.

“Loser goes second in the tub?” Deirdre asked as she sized up her new opponent.

Eleanor reasoned out her next move. Since Mina always took scissors that meant Deirdre always took rock. But since Deirdre had just told her that, then she wouldn’t take rock next. But if she took scissors, then she would be mimicking her sister, something Eleanor didn’t think she would do. But Deirdre wouldn’t expect her to use rock twice, so …

Omigod. She was turning into Vizzini from The Princess Bride with his convoluted logic. Eleanor decided to wing it.

“Ready?” Deirdre asked, staring at Eleanor as if her choice would be flashed on her forehead a second before her hand dropped.

“Go for it.”

After the count, Eleanor ended with a fist. And her rock beat scissors.

“Congratulations,” Deirdre said in a tight little voice, unaccustomed to losing, but keeping the traditional stiff upper lip. She spun on her heel and went into the bedroom, head held high, passing her sister without a word.

In the process of donning her robe, Mina came into the room wearing her chemise and slippers. She stared after her sister as she tied her belt. Turning to Eleanor, she asked, “What’s wrong with Deirdre?” A slow smile of comprehension lit her face. “You won!” She clapped her hands. “I love it. Well, what are you waiting for? Go on. Get ready. I’m going to enjoy this.”

“I don’t know what—”

“Go on.” Mina shooed her into her bedroom.

Eleanor still didn’t know what to expect, but she did what she’d been doing since she arrived and mimicked one of the girls. She disrobed down to her chemise, took off her shoes and stockings, and donned her robe and slippers. She was ready to go to the bathing chamber, an unfortunate name. The only other ones she could think of were a judge’s chamber, a decompression chamber, and a torture chamber, none of which sounded like a pleasant experience.

* * *

Shermont propped his feet up and accepted the drink his valet handed him. “I can’t be one hundred percent certain without a letter by letter comparison, but I’d bet my new Hessians the handwriting on Digby’s note was the same as the one from the tree.”

Carl shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would a peer risk everything? Could someone else have written the note for him? His steward? His valet? I’ve written notes for you.”

“To complete a mundane task such as ordering stationery or to decline an invitation from a stranger, but not a personal note. And never a missive to a lady.”

“I agree. He probably wrote the note himself, but that still leaves the question of why,” Carl said.

Shermont shrugged. “I don’t really care why. If he’s guilty, we arrest him.”

“If we know why, it may help us identify the other foreign agent or agents.”

Shermont was fairly certain he knew who the other was, but he held his tongue. Since omission was a form of lying, his silence counted as the first time he’d lied to his partner. He took a swig of his tea. “Probably one of the big three motivators—money, love, or revenge.”

“My research on Digby didn’t turn up any incidents that could even remotely incite a need for revenge. Just a normal, aristocratic childhood.”

“His mother was French,” Shermont reminded his friend.

“And she brought him to England in order to escape Dr. Guillotine’s diabolical invention. Well, not exactly his mother. She died on the journey, but his aunt brought him.”

“So that leaves money. We know Napoleon pays well for information.”