I heard Rosanna hold her breath as Prince Andrew inclined his head towards Ella, whose downturned eyes were the picture of demureness. Rosanna let out a disappointed sigh as Andrew finally stopped in front of Ashley Mayfair, bowing before her and offering his hand to lift her from her curtsey. They exchanged a few familiar words, clearly past acquaintances thanks to Ashley's family's wealth and influence. The musicians started once again and the other ladies were paired off. Ashley's smug smile as she fell into step across from Andrew was unmistakable. I could hardly fault him for she was easily the most stunningly decked out of the seven debutantes and given her family's connections, an easy first choice for Andrew. Ella was paired with a nervous looking man of about the prince's age. He bed rapidly, clearly flustered to be dancing with a lady as fine as my cousin. "William Weatherington," Rosanna leaned over to whisper when she followed my eyes, "His father is Lord Admiral of the Royal Navy," "He hardly looks the son of an admiral," I whispered back. Rosanna's lips twitched before she could arrange them into a thin line once again, but the smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. "Easily the most timid of the bunch," she said, before straightening to watch the dance. Ashley spent the bulk of the dance twirling in the prince's arms, elated, before they switched off. Ella danced with him for a few mere seconds, barely able to lift her long-lashed eyes to look at him. I could hear Emily's frustrated grunt from across Rosanna. "Patience," Rosanna hissed when Emily crossed her arms, scowling. "Look at the competition," Emily hissed back, nodding her head as Andrew caught Ashley again, her blond head thrown back in laughter, the light glinting off the jewels in her hair, "She has to be aggressive, not demure!" "Tis but the first dance," Rosanna chided gently, to which Emily clucked impatiently. I turned my attention to the royal family up on the dais. The king had leaned over to say something to the queen, a polite smile on her face as she nodded, watching her son twirl around the dance floor. Next to her, Thomas' face was screwed up in concentration as he stared up at the chandelier. I had to clap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing aloud. He was counting the candles in the chandelier, a technique my older brother Xavier had taught me as a way to spend the time when bored at a ball or dinner function. Next to him, Princess Anne sat quietly with her hands folded in her lap, her razor sharp eyes still running over the dancing debutantes. My gaze must have drawn hers for our eyes met for a few seconds before she returned to the perusal of the candidates, apparently satisfied that I was of little importance. When the dance still hadn't ended, I sighed, discreetly looking up and sideways in an attempt to count the candles in the nearest chandelier. Next to me, Rosanna seemed perfectly comfortable to stand by and watch the ball unfold, whereas my heeled slippers were setting my feet to ache and I longed to wrap my fingers around a glass of champagne or a plate of roasted quail. I hadn't realized the music had ended until Emily had crossed onto the dance floor, heedless of Rosanna's hissed warning. Other ladies in waiting had made their way onto the floor as well, casting looks around for a partner, eager to participate. A surge of well dressed noblemen of varying ages and stations met them as the band drew up for the next song. "A dance, my lady?" My eyes had been seeking out the nearest servant with a tray of glasses and I had to whip my head around to see a man bowing before me. Rosanna cleared her throat as if to say something, but I spoke first. "Of course," I smiled, placing my gloved hand into his outstretched one. He was fair haired and a few inches taller than me, but when he smiled his two front teeth protruded to give him the semblance of a braying horse. Rosanna made a displeased noise beside me, but I ignored her as my partner maneuvered me onto the dance floor, the band tuning up for a cotillion. I arranged my skirts as the rest of the dancers took their places, praying that I would remember all those dance lessons I'd giggled my way through in finishing school. I could feel Rosanna's watchful eyes boring a hole in my back. Three couples down from us, the prince had partnered with Mary Marquette for his second dance, the two exchanging easy smiles, apparently also not newly acquainted. The dance started up and I stepped towards my partner, turning around him and resuming my place, only to come face to face with the prince as we switched partners. He offered me a polite smile as our hands met, only to have his brow crease into a frown. "You're not a maid," he said, a statement instead of a question. I felt my cheeks flame as I completed my circle around him. "No, your Highness," I replied, before we separated. He threw a quizzical look at me over his shoulder before turning to meet his new partner. I swallowed, pasting a smile into place as I spun around my next partner, the darkly handsome man who'd asked Ella to dance. He glanced down at me but briefly before looking away, no doubt searching for a more attractive partner to look at. I twirled around one more partner until I returned to the horse-faced man who had asked me to dance. He introduced himself as Oliver Pendleton as we moved through the steps of the dance. I had just enough time to introduce myself before we broke away again. This time, the prince's look was determined as his hand clasped mine again. "And you're not a debutante," he said, once again a statement rather than a question. I fought a smile. Was our prince this dim-witted? "No, your Highness," I repeated. "Then who are you?" he asked, thoroughly confused. I didn't have the time to answer him before we turned away from each other. This time, the dark-haired man paid me little heed as his eyes followed Penelope Roxton over my shoulder. We ran through the steps until I joined up with Oliver once again, finishing the dance with a curtsey and a bow. As I rose, I caught the prince's eyes on me, but a circle of women had arranged themselves around him, cocking their heads prettily in an attempt to entice him into an invitation to dance. The band started into a sarabande when I felt a slender hand close roughly around my elbow. "You'd do well to remember your place," Emily hissed in my ear, leading me from the dance floor to where Rosanna was wringing her hands, watching us.