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that he held a filigreed gold locket. Tucked into either side was a tiny photograph; both images appeared to be of women, though Juliet could not discern their features. Then her petticoats rustled and Emmett pivoted toward her.
    In the same swift motion, he snapped the locket shut and tucked it into a pocket of his waistcoat. She had the oddest impression that he looked guilty before his face settled into a familiar jovial expression.
    “Ah, Princess,” he said, his green eyes crinkling. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”
    “Whose locket is that, Papa?”
    His smile seemed a trifle forced. “It belongs to a business associate. He left it by mistake in my office and I thought to return it to him tonight.”
    “He’s one of our guests? Who?”
    “No one important. Now, allow me to say, you look radiant tonight.”
    The matter of the locket was closed, Juliet knew by the firmness of his voice. And when Emmett Carleton made a decision, no amount of persistence could turn him onto another course.
    She reluctantly stifled her questions and twirled, her snowy skirts swaying. “Do I pass muster, then?”
    “The noble swells will be smitten,” he declared, fists planted at his waist. “No doubt your mother and I shall soon be entertaining an endless stream of titled suitors.”
    She laughed. “Poor Papa. If the prospect disturbs you, perhaps we should cancel the ball and avoid the headache of launching me into society.” Sobering, she added, “I could always study botany at Trinity College.”
    “No daughter of mine is going to turn herself into a bluestocking. I prefer blue blooded grandsons to carry on the family tradition.”
    The reference to their long standing debate stung.
    With a cool stare, she said, “And what of what I want?”
    His bushy gray brows lowered. But he merely said, “No arguments, Princess... not tonight.” Reaching into a pocket of his frock coat, he withdrew a strand of pearls. “Your mother asked me to present you with this. Your grandmother—the Lady Beckburgh—wore these pearls on the occasion of her debut.” Stepping behind her, he fastened the cool silver clasp at her nape.
    Her annoyance sank beneath a rush of warm emotion. The sentimental gift meant more than a maharaja’s treasure trove. She brushed her fingertips over the glossy pearls. “Oh, Papa, I never expected—”
    Bursting with affection, she swung around to embrace him, pressing her cheek to the fine fabric of his lapel. His scent of cigars enveloped her, bringing back fond memories of childhood, when her favorite time of day had been the brief moments each evening in which she visited her parents to bid them good night.
    For an instant, he held her tight; then he drew stiffly back. Clearing his throat, Emmett Carleton adjusted his impeccable cravat. “A simple ‘thank you’ will suffice. One never knows when a servant might walk in.”
    Vaguely disappointed, she nodded. Couldn’t he for once forget the rigid rules of propriety? “Of course, Papa.”
    “Shall we proceed to the foyer? I can’t wait to show you off, Princess... the jewel in my crown of achievements.”
    Her vision of the future failed to match that of her parents, Juliet reflected uneasily. She suddenly recalled Kent Deverell, but decided against mentioning his strange appearance. No need to ignite the short fuse of her father’s temper, especially not now, and spoil his pleasure in the ball.
    As she took his arm, she felt a fluttery mix of excitement and disquiet. Half of her looked forward to the magic of the evening. The other half felt like a choice plum being placed on display at the greengrocer’s.
     

     
    “Who has your first waltz?” Lady Maud Peabody squinted at the dance programme Juliet held in her white gloved hands. “Egad, the inimitable Lord Breeton. Or shall I say, Lord Brayton?”
    Juliet grinned, then glanced around the crowded ballroom to see if anyone had overheard the impudent pun. No one paid attention to the two