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Georgiana and Marianne exchanged an uncomfortable look, but before either of them could say anything more, the music stopped and a man’s voice rose above the rest.

“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, please take your places for the minuet.”

All around them, couples took to the floor. Phoebe turned, her heart sinking as she saw Mr. Webb striding across the room toward her.

“Good evening, Miss Hadford,” he said, greeting her with a bow. “I believe this dance is mine.”

“Of course.” Phoebe curtsied and then placed her gloved hand on his sleeve.

With a well-pleased smile, he led her away.

“I must say, you look quite ravishing tonight, Miss Hadford.”

Phoebe’s stomach roiled. She supposed there were young ladies who would be thrilled to hear such words from so eligible a gentleman, but Mr. Webb’s overly affected compliment made her acutely uncomfortable.

He grinned wolfishly. “You have nothing to say?”

The musicians played the opening bars of a familiar tune.

“Only that I look forward to the dance, sir.”

It did not seem to occur to him that her comment was anything more than an expression of her happiness at being singled out. He straightened his shoulders and guided her through the first few steps. Phoebe breathed a sigh of relief. The minuet was not a dance that invited discussion, which meant that instead of making small talk, she could watch for Emily as they worked their way around the room.

The ballroom was full, and it would have been almost impossible to spot her petite friend had it not been for Lord Dunsbourne’s commanding presence. The baron was standing beside a large Grecian urn with his back to the french windows. Emily was at his side, watching the dancers with undisguised fascination. Phoebe moved gradually closer, finally catching Emily’s eye. She smiled, and Emily smiled in return. Phoebe turned a full circle and glanced at the baron. He was watching Mr. Webb, his expression grim.

At last, the dance ended. Mr. Webb walked Phoebe back to Georgiana and Marianne. It was the opposite direction from where she wished to go, but she kept her silence until the gentleman released her hand and bowed.

“Thank you, Mr. Webb,” she said, itching to walk away.

“It was my pleasure,” he said.

“And now, I sincerely hope it shall be mine.” A corpulent gentleman wearing a white wig and a dark-green jacket barreled past Mr. Webb and bowed to Phoebe. “If you would do me the honor, Miss Hadford.”

If Phoebe could have refused without being irreparably rude to Mr. Gridley, she would have done so. As it was, she attempted to hide her dismay, curtsied, and accepted the local magistrate’s arm for the next dance.

The gigue was almost too much for the poor man. Mr. Gridley’s hops and leaps soon found him red in the face and unable to maintain a conversation. That suited Phoebe very well. She used the time to consider how best to help Emily. As far as she could tell, the young lady had little hope of social interaction unless she was separated from her brother. No one would dare approach Emily with Lord Dunsbourne looming over her. And if what Marianne and Georgiana said was true, even without the baron at her side, Emily would need a significant boost to bypass the prejudice of the Webbs and their guests.

If only her sister, Jane, and the Earl of Bloxley were here, she would have all the help she needed. The Bloxleys were the most respected family in the area. Their acceptance of Emily would mean everything. Phoebe missed a step as a fresh thought entered her mind. Yes, the earl and his new wife were out of the country, but the dowager Lady Bloxley was still in residence. Phoebe began scanning the crowd again, this time searching for an elderly, white-haired lady with ostentatious style.

Lady Bloxley was not hard to find. She sat in state not far from a large flower arrangement, her hair ratted to perfection and her pink gown covered in ribbon roses. Half a dozen matrons hovered nearby, each of them occasionally nodding to the whispered comments passing to and fro between them. Phoebe’s stomach clenched. It was a risk. Lady Bloxley was known for being a stickler for protocol, but she was also not afraid to take a stand. If she chose to acknowledge Emily, it would make all the difference.

The musicians played the final strains of the gigue, and the magistrate huffed and puffed his way through the last steps, ending with a breathless bow.

“Marvelous, Miss Hadford,” he said, pressing a handkerchief to his dripping forehead. “Absolutely marvelous.”

She curtsied. “Thank you, sir.”

He extended his arm to lead her back across the room, but several young gentlemen were now congregated there, and experience told her she would have no more than a minute to catch her breath before she would be requested for another dance. A glance over her shoulder toward the french windows revealed that nothing had changed during the course of the dance. Lord Dunsbourne and Emily remained in splendid isolation beside the urn.

“Would you be good enough to walk me to the windows, Mr. Gridley?” she said. “I find myself in need of some fresh air.”

“A capital suggestion, Miss Hadford. I could use some air myself.” He mopped his brow again, and the look of relief on his face would have been laughable if Phoebe had not been battling severe nervousness over what she was about to do.

He walked her to the glass doors, and she lifted her hand from his sleeve. “Thank you, Mr. Gridley. The air is cooler already. I see a friend with whom I must speak. I will leave you here so that you may step outside and enjoy the evening.”

Disappointment clouded his watery eyes, but he rallied quickly. “As you wish, Miss Hadford.”

She smiled politely and made her escape. Or rather, she took a dozen steps to escape one difficulty only to face a greater one.