“Careful, Gar,” Rojer warned. “I know she was a sight, but you don’t want to marry one of Jessa’s girls.”

“Why not?” Gared asked.

“Because the duke and his brothers will be laughing the whole time.” Rojer made a face. “Besides, you want to kiss a mouth that’s been on Rhinebeck’s pecker?”

Gared balled a meaty fist, putting it right up to Rojer’s face. “True or not, don’t want to hear that kind of talk about her, Rojer. Not if ya want to keep your teeth.”

Rojer let out a low whistle. “You really fell for it, didn’t you?”

“Fell for what?” Gared asked.

“Jessa paraded that girl in front of you on purpose,” Rojer said. “I’ll bet she’s the mistress’ star pupil. Everything that girl did was meant to catch your attention.”

Gared shrugged. “How’s that make her different from the others? Only with her, it worked.”

“I’m just saying, be careful,” Rojer said. “Jessa’s girls can be … jaded. They get what they want from a man and make it think it’s his idea.”

“My da said that’s what all marriage is like,” Gared said. “Sayin’ it’s different for you?”

Rojer stuck his pipe in his mouth, neglecting to answer.

Rojer and his quartet stood in a sound shell behind Gared, who stood center stage with Duchess Araine. The young baron looked very much the bridegroom waiting at the altar.

The ballroom was already filled with the cream of society, Royals, wealthy tradesmen and their wives, all in their finest dress. But outside the great double doors on the far end of the room stood a long line of hopeful young debutantes, waiting to be announced.

The duchess gave a few tugs to Gared’s collar. “You ready, boy?”

“Think I might be sick,” Gared said.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” Araine said, brushing a fleck of dust from his jacket. “But I doubt it would thin your dance card. Not every bachelor has a barony in his pocket. That’s worth ignoring a shirtfront of sick for.”

Gared paled, and Araine laughed. “A young bride to make children with is hardly a death sentence, boy. Glory in it while it lasts.”

She gave him a swat to the bottom with her walking stick, and Gared jumped. “All you have to do now is stand here while Jasin introduces the debutantes. Once that’s done, you can go backstage and empty your stomach before the dancing.”

She shuffled off, signaling Jasin to open the doors. Immediately Rojer put his fiddle to his chin, mirrored by Kendall as they played the first entrance. Each woman had chosen her own entrance music, the song they requested on the dance card. Rojer’s quartet had been practicing for days to learn them all.

“Miss Kareen Easterly,” Jasin called, “daughter of Count Alen of Riverbridge.” Rojer changed tune. Kareen had chosen a slow song, both for the intimacy and the chance to saunter down the walkway at a crawl, maximizing her time as the center of attention.

A poor choice, as it would have Gared’s nose buried in the young woman’s perfume cloud for the entire dance, at which point he wouldn’t be able to get away from her fast enough.

Kareen ascended the steps stage left, then moved to the center, enjoying the spotlight as Gared bowed to her. She might have stayed there all night, basking in the cheers and applause, had Jasin not opened the door to admit the next woman. Kareen winked at him as she moved slowly to descend stage left.

“Miss Dinese Wardgood, daughter of Lord Wardgood of South Klat.”

Dinny had chosen a waltz that was sure to have Gared tripping over everyone in the room. Odds were she’d compound the punishment by reciting poetry the whole time.

Araine had arranged for many young hopefuls to occupy the seats beside Gared at dinner each night, but none more often than these two. Their powerful fathers were able to buy access the others could not afford. They were the clear political favorites, but unless the rest of the debutantes were farm animals, they had little chance of making Ball Queen.

Dinny gave Gared a hidden wave as she left center stage, but as with Kareen’s wink, the young baron gave no sign he noticed. He kept his eyes on the doors, waiting for something to give him hope.

Rojer played in woman after woman, but Gared remained unmoved.

“Miss Emelia Lacquer, daughter of Alber Lacquer of Merchant Hill.” For a moment Gared remained still, but then he stiffened and leaned forward.

Rojer looked to door. He should have known. All Jessa’s girls chose “downstairs names” while they were working, cast aside on graduation as they reentered society by their given names.

It was Rosal.

Gared watched intently as she glided down the walkway, though if it was the look of hunter or prey, Rojer could not guess.

From that moment on, Gared only had eyes for her, to the point of ignoring the last few women to enter, save when they passed into his line of sight crossing the stage. Thankfully there were only a few, but much of the crowd had already picked up on Gared’s distraction, pointing at Emelia and whispering to one another.

Rojer sighed. Everyone who was anyone was in attendance, including more than a few who had likely been to the royal brothel in the last eighteen months. Emelia had changed her hair and chosen a modest gown, looking quite different than she had at Jessa’s, but sooner or later someone was bound to recognize her.

Leesha stood alone at the ball. She had done everything she could to get Wonda into a gown for the event, but finally the girl shrieked, tearing the last dress from her body. Leesha thought the seamstress was going to have a heart attack.

“This ent me,” Wonda said. “Love you, mistress. Take a hundred crank bow bolts for you. But you and all the demons in the Core can’t get me to wear another rippin’ dress so long as I live.”

What could Leesha do, but apologize? Wonda now stood by the wall with the other guards. She had cut her hair and oiled it back, proudly showing the jagged lines the demon’s claws had left across her face.

Leesha smiled. It was a start. She would have to thank Jessa. Her words had reached the girl where Leesha’s could not.

There was a gasp, and she looked up to see Gared ignore the steps, hopping off the stage as easily as other men might from a foot stool. Guests, taken by surprise at the informality, hesitated, then moved to greet him.

But the hesitation was all the time Gared needed to sweep past, his long legs carrying swiftly across the ballroom to where Emelia stood with her parents. Royals and highborn stood openmouthed at the snub, and Alber Lacquer noticed, even if Gared was oblivious. He twitched nervously as Gared pumped his hand, but Emelia’s mother, no small beauty herself, beamed with pride.

Gared had always been a simple man. Direct. It was good sometimes, to remind the Royals that not everything was a secret game of hidden cards.

Leesha had been promised to Gared once, but he was a better man by far now, even if he had been sleeping with her mother. Part of her wanted to advise against the match. Emelia was devious and controlling. But Elona was that as well. And Leesha, if she was honest with herself. Perhaps that was what Gared needed in a woman.

Emelia carried the risk of scandal, but no more than Gared himself, even if he did not know it. If Elona gave birth to a giant, it wouldn’t be long before someone figured things out. Even Gared couldn’t be thick enough to miss that.