The orchestra began again and several bold-looking men started toward the group. "Here they come," Caroline's father whispered with a soft chuckle.

So this was the adventure, Caroline thought as she was swamped with introductions. The more the eligibles advanced, the further Caroline retreated. She stood by her father's side, looking composed and radiant, but churned with jitters inside. She couldn't help but admire the way that Charity bantered coy remarks with the suitors surrounding her. She seemed to be in her element, blossoming like a spring flower in full splendor, and Caroline wondered what had happened to her own confidence. She felt shy and awkward and completely out of her element.

Charity's dance card was filled and she was led off to join a dance set in progress, but the Earl of Braxton declined a suitor attempting to take hold of his daughter, stating that she must first be introduced to his friends.

Her father's gaze was directed across the room, and Caroline turned her attention in that direction to see whom he was watching.

An elderly man had detached himself from a group of people and was slowly making his way around the edge of the dance floor. He was stoop-shouldered, somewhat bald, and used a cane to aid his progress.

"Who is he, Father?" Caroline asked.

"The Marquis of Aimsmond," her father answered. "Your mother's older brother."

"The man you went to see?" Caroline asked.

"Yes, Caroline. I had to explain," the earl stated. He smiled and patted Caroline's hand and then added, "He'll not deny you now. I've seen to it."

Caroline was puzzled by his remarks. What had he explained? And why would her uncle think to deny her? She knew she couldn't question her father now but determined to find out what he was talking about when they returned home.

She turned back to watch the marquis, thinking that he looked very frail.

"I believe I should meet him halfway," Caroline told her father.

She didn't wait for her father's reply but straightened her shoulders and began to walk toward the man who had not spoken to her father in fourteen years. The marquis was smiling at her, and she knew that the feud had ended. Her father's visit the week before had obviously mended the broken fences.

She met him in the center of the ballroom. Without a second's hesitation, she gave him her brightest smile and kissed his cheek.

Her uncle reacted with a heart-tugging smile. He took hold of both of her hands but had to let go of one of them to regain his balance with his cane's assistance.

The two continued to face each other, without saying a word. Caroline was at a loss as to how to open the conversation.

The marquis finally broke the silence. "I would be honored if you would call me Uncle," he said. His voice had a gruff edge to it, sounded almost raspy. It was filled with emotion. "I've only a younger brother, Franklin, and his wife, Loretta. Since your mother's death, they are my only family."

"No," Caroline returned in a soft voice. "You also have my father and me."

Her words pleased him. From behind, Caroline heard her father clear his throat.

The marquis looked at the Earl of Braxton with a clear frown. "You didn't tell me she looked just like her mother. Almost fell over when I spotted her."

"I did so," the earl returned. "You're just too feeble to remember it."

"Ha! My mind's as sharp as a new nail, Brax!"

Caroline's father smiled. "Are Franklin and Loretta here tonight? I haven't seen them and I want Caroline to meet her other uncle."

The marquis frowned. "They're here somewhere," he remarked with a shrug. He turned back to look at Caroline and added, "She has my eyes, Brax! Yes, sir, she's the spitting image of my side of the family."

Caroline had to admit that her eyes did resemble his, and wondered why her uncle was goading her father. His eyes were filled with mischief.

"But she has my hair, and that's a fact you can't deny, Aimsmond!"

Caroline started to laugh. She couldn't believe the two were actually fighting over her. "Then everyone will know that I'm related to both of you," she said. She took hold of her uncle's arm with one hand and her father's with the other, knowing that it wouldn't do to slight either man. "Shall we find a spot to sit and talk? Even though you visited only recently, you still must have quite a lot to say to each other."

The three of them strolled toward a nearby alcove. Charity joined them, and the talk quickly turned to the ball and the available men trying to gain attention.

"May I also call you Uncle?" Charity asked the marquis. "I would like to, if that is acceptable. We are distantly related someway, aren't we?"

The marquis was pleased with Charity's open affection and nodded his agreement. "We are related through marriage, I imagine. I would be pleased to have you call me Uncle. Uncle Milo is what Caroline called me when she was just a little girl."

"I wonder, Aimsmond, what's all the commotion?" Braxton suddenly asked. He was standing next to the cushioned window seat where the marquis sat. Caroline was standing on her uncle's other side. The marquis held Caroline's hand in a viselike grip, his way of making sure she didn't disappear, Caroline thought.

Her father was looking toward the entrance to the ballroom and Caroline turned. Her eyes widened a fraction when she saw who was standing there, causing such a commotion among the guests. It was the gentleman she had aided the day of the attempted robbery. Mr. Smith! Of course, it wasn't Mr. Smith at all, as that was only the name she had made up for the man to save him from embarrassment.

She stood there and watched him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and thought that he reminded her of a peacock, the way he stood there preening! From the way the crowd cast discreet glances his way, she assumed he was a popular dandy. His somber black dress was identical to all the other men's outfits in the room, but he wore another white neckcloth that came all the way up to his ears. She wondered if he had difficulty turning his head without wrinkling the cravat.

"So Brummell has at last arrived," her uncle noted with satisfaction. "The duke's ball has now been given the stamp of approval."

"Brummell?" Caroline felt a sinking feeling invade her limbs. "Did you say Brummell?" she asked, knowing full well that he had. What a mess, she thought to herself, remembering how she had talked about Brummell to the man she had named Mr. Smith! She frantically tried to recall the details of the conversation, hoping that she hadn't said something uncomplimentary about the man. Heavens, hadn't she called him Plummer?

Brummell stood by himself, looking around. He wore a bored expression, even when he nodded an acknowledgment to someone across the room. Brummell then made his way down the steps and continued, unhurried, through the crowd. He walked with an air of supreme importance, and as the crowd parted, Caroline realized he was indeed significant. He also walked without a limp. His injury must have healed properly, Caroline noted with satisfaction.

She kept her gaze directed on Brummell's back, curious to see whom he had acknowledged.

And then she saw him. Bradford! He was leaning nonchalantly against the far wall and was surrounded by three men. Charity was blocking Caroline's view somewhat, and she had to tilt her head to get a better look. The men talking to Bradford seemed intent on gaining his attention but Bradford was ignoring them. He was looking at her!

Her father was saying something to her, and Charity was also trying to get her attention. Uncle Milo was tugging on her arm, but Caroline ignored them all. She couldn't seem to take her gaze off the man who was staring at her so intently.

He was more handsome than she remembered, and a good head taller than his cohorts. His hair was combed but still looked slightly windblown, and that saved him from looking completely untouchable. It almost made him look vulnerable. His mouth didn't look vulnerable at all, though, it looked hard. She wondered if he smiled very often.