After two seasons of fortune hunters and aging widowers, Callie had welcomed the companionship of the spinsters.

And then, she’d turned into one of them.

She wasn’t even really sure when or how it had happened, but it had. And now, she had very little choice in the matter.

But tonight was Mariana’s betrothal ball. Tonight was Calpurnia’s first ball since she had begun crossing items off her list. And tonight she had honestly thought that things might be different. After all, as the bride’s obvious choice for maid of honor, did she not earn special recognition at an event wholly designed to celebrate the pending nuptials?

Watching the dancers, she let out a little sigh. Evidently not.

“Oh, Calpurnia.” Miss Genevieve Hetherington, a middle-aged spinster with kind eyes and a complete lack of sensitivity, patted Callie’s knee gently with one lace-gloved hand. “You must move beyond that, my dear. Some of us are not made for dancing.”

“Indeed not.” The words were wrung from Callie, who took the opportunity to stand and excuse herself. Certainly that would be a more preferable course of action than strangling one of the ton’s most beloved spinsters.

Keeping her head down to limit the number of people she might be required to acknowledge, Callie made her way to the refreshment room.

She was waylaid by Baron Oxford mere feet from her destination. “My lady!”

Callie pasted a too-bright smile on her face and turned toward the baron, who flashed her the toothiest grin she had ever seen. Unable to keep herself from doing so, she took a small step back from the beaming man. “Baron Oxford. What a surprise.”

“Yes, I rather suppose it is.” His smile did not waver.

She paused, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, she said, “I am happy to see that you could join us tonight.”

“Not so happy as I am to have been able to join you, my lady.”

The emphasis on the honorific sent a wave of confusion through Callie. Did the baron mean for his words to sound so suggestive? Surely not, considering that Callie couldn’t recall the last time she’d spoken with the incurable dandy. She cleared her throat delicately. “Well. Thank you.”

“You look quite lovely tonight.” Oxford leaned in, and his smile broadened. Was it possible that the man had more than the usual number of teeth?

“Oh.” Belatedly, Callie remembered to dip her head and appear flattered instead of thoroughly bewildered. “Thank you, my lord.”

Oxford looked entirely proud of himself. “Perhaps you would do me the honor of a dance?” When she did not immediately respond, he lifted her hand to his lips and lowered his voice, adding, “I’ve been meaning to ask you all evening.”

The unexpected interaction set Callie back on her heels. Is he soused?

As she considered the eager invitation, Callie heard the orchestra tuning to the first tentative notes of a waltz and was immediately resistant to the idea of dancing with Oxford. The waltz had not come to England until after Callie had been labeled a spinster, and she had never had a chance to dance it—at least, not with anyone other than Benedick in the privacy of their home. She certainly did not want her first waltz in public to be with Oxford, grinning like a fool. With a quick look into the refreshment room, she considered her best avenue for escape.

“Oh. Well. I—” she hedged.

“Calpurnia! There you are!” Miss Heloise Parkthwaite, in her fifties and quite nearsighted, came from nowhere to clutch Callie’s arm. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you! Do be a dear and escort me to have my hem repaired, would you?”

A wave of relief coursed through Callie; she was saved. “Of course, Heloise, dear,” she said. Tugging her hand from Oxford’s grasp, she offered a regretful smile in his direction. “Perhaps another time, my lord?”

“Indeed! I shan’t allow you to escape me next time!” Oxford punctuated his sentence with a booming laugh, and she responded with a tiny, stilted chuckle before turning away to lead Heloise in the direction of the ladies’ salon.

Callie took Heloise’s arm, and the older woman began chattering about the daring bodices that were clearly in fashion that year. Between nodding and murmuring in a manner she hoped appeared both intrigued and entertained, Callie allowed her mind to wander—turning from the odd interaction with Oxford to thoughts of her list.

She promptly decided that if she was to suffer through an entire evening of bizarre conversation and Spinster Seating, she well deserved another attempt at adventure. In fact, she was sorely tempted to do drop Heloise safely in the ladies’ salon and take the opportunity to escape immediately to her list.

If, of course, they ever arrived at the ladies’ salon. The older woman had stopped midstride and was squinting into the crowd. “Is that Ralston I see there? How odd!”

Callie’s heart skipped a beat at the words, and she turned to follow the direction of Heloise’s attention but, because of her lack of height, could see nothing through the mass of people surrounding them. Reminding herself of Heloise’s terrible eyesight, Callie shook her head, returning herself to the task of navigating through the crowds. It couldn’t be Ralston.

Heloise evidently agreed. “No, it cannot be Ralston. He rarely attends balls. It must be St. John.”

Callie let out a breath that she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Of course. It could be Lord Nicholas. Please, let it be Lord Nicholas.

“How curious that he be approaching us, though.”

Unable to keep herself from doing so, Callie snapped her head back to the crowd just in time to see the tall, magnificent gentleman moving gracefully toward them, determination in his blue eyes.