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But a sickening thought followed: if he had made a prior commitment to this young lady, it wouldn’t matter if he was in love. Perhaps he had promised her that opal ring, which explained why she, Cleo, had received a bear’s tooth—but not a betrothal ring.

Thank goodness her grandfather had declined his invitation to dinner.

Cleo felt as if cotton wool were blocking her throat, making it hard to breathe, as if she were suffocating. The world narrowed as the dinner party stepped forward in pairs to be ceremoniously introduced to the duke’s new guests.

Some of the attention diverted from Cleo after the revelation that Jake had a name different from his mother’s; Cleo could hear guests speculating about Mrs. Astor’s remarriage as they returned to their seats. “But no,” someone hissed, “he was introduced as Mr. Astor Addison!”

They fell completely silent, watching with curiosity as Cleo, Yasmin, and the earl moved forward to be introduced, following Madame Dubois and Lady Lydia. Cleo found herself clinging to Lilford’s arm.

Mrs. Astor and Jake were speaking to Madame Dubois, so Merry introduced them to “Mrs. Astor’s traveling companion, Miss Frederica Cabot, my cousin, and a close family friend.”

Miss Cabot smiled prettily, and her eyes rested for just a second on Cleo’s bosom. She blinked when Yasmin stepped forward.

“Are you a family friend of long standing?” Yasmin asked, once curtsies had been exchanged.

“Yes, I am,” Miss Cabot said serenely. She didn’t look the slightest bit disconcerted to be coming straight from a boat to a ducal dinner party. In fact, Cleo had the idea that very little would upset the young lady. “We’ve known each other for many years.” She smiled. “Since I attended one of Mr. Astor’s birthday parties in a cow’s costume.”

“How charming,” Yasmin drawled. “But I understood his name is Mr. Addison.”

Miss Cabot giggled. “I always forget that! I’ve known him by his father’s name for my entire life.”

“My cousin showed an extraordinary gift for mooing at the age of ten,” Merry put in.

Cleo shot a glance at Jake, standing beside his mother. His face was tight, closed, eyelids low over eyes that gleamed with what looked like cold anger.

“A cow costume is certainly original,” Lilford said. The earl’s voice and face were so controlled that Cleo never knew quite what he was thinking, but she had the general idea that he disapproved of this entire situation.

Miss Cabot gave him a tranquil smile. “The English are far more formal than we Americans. Your evening garments are all so beautiful.” She glanced down at her pink stripes. “I’m travel-worn after weeks at sea. American modistes are better at cow costumes than evening gowns.”

Her little nose wrinkled as she laughed. She wasn’t only pretty. She was nice.

Cleo was swept by a feeling of utter weariness.

Suddenly, she remembered sitting by the fire with Jake, when he first walked into her dining room wearing livery. He had told her that he meant to marry someone serene and domestic, in the near future.

Here she was.

Ready to slip on the opal ring.

Mrs. Astor turned away from Madame Dubois.

Cleo straightened her back, reminding herself that she was a veteran of mortifying situations. She offered Mrs. Astor a reserved smile and a deep curtsy. The lady was broad-shouldered and tall, with a distinctly American air of competence about her.

“Amazing ships they have these days!” Mrs. Astor cried, once introductions had concluded. “Can you believe that we embarked from New York harbor less than a month ago?”

Lilford instantly picked up this conversational gambit, though he didn’t move from his close stance beside Cleo. He was one of the most prudish men in all London, according to Yasmin’s scornful reckoning, and yet he showed no reluctance to stand next to a woman whom most of the party had surely labeled a strumpet, if not worse.

Cleo could feel Jake’s eyes on her. Was she being a coward by not meeting his eyes? Perhaps she was. In the core of her heart, she didn’t believe that he had consciously betrayed her.

Everything in her fought that idea.

He wouldn’t. He was honorable. He had planned to marry her . . .

Except it seemed he had also planned to marry Miss Cabot, and the lady clearly knew his intentions, because here she was, having crossed the entire ocean the better to accept the opal ring that everyone, including his mother, knew about. No wonder he hadn’t given it to Cleo; he’d bought it for another woman.

There was nothing he could say or do that could make this better. With that thought, she raised her head and met his eyes. She had nothing to be embarrassed about.

She could read any number of emotions in his eyes: rage, irritation . . . a touch of panic? No shame. Cleo let her smile—her friendly, polite smile—tell him what she couldn’t put in words.