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by the constant admiration of the soldiers, whom one cannot avoid meeting everywhere."
    "Indeed, one must actually take care not to trip over them,'’ Madame du Bois said, her blue eyes twinkling. “Our quiet city has become very gay since the allied armies have been stationed in the Low Countries. We have spent the winter very merrily, and in particular with the arrival of the London Guards, the cavalry, and the other English troops that have been quartered up and down the country. There is not a young lady in all of Brussels who lacks for admirers."
    "It seems so very odd to me. I cannot help thinking of why all those young gentlemen are in uniform, but it seems not to be of the least importance when placed against the next ball or soiree,” Lady Mary said.
    Madame du Bois shook her head in agreement. “Indeed, it is odd. Brussels is an open city, quite undefended by battlements or the like. However, my husband says the prevailing attitude of gaiety does not surprise him in the least. It is Francois's opinion that people are so positive that they may rely upon the Duke of Wellington to protect us that they cannot entertain a thought to the contrary. For myself, though, I cannot but wonder how his grace is to accomplish the thing when he is still in Vienna. I quite fail to understand it.” Her frown was dispelled when she laughed suddenly. “Francois tells me that I am not pragmatic enough, that one has only to realize that the duke is a god and a hero all rolled into one and then it becomes perfectly understandable."
    Lady Mary shared her amusement. “Why, then, certainly we may all feel perfectly comfortable."
    She was recalling this conversation as she watched the whirling couples on the floor. The majority of the gentlemen were resplendent in uniform, splashes of brilliant scarlet and green and gold and black that quite overshadowed the ladies’ paler gowns. Not one countenance displayed the least shade of anxiety, and on everyone's lips was the Duke of Wellington's name, evoked like a talisman against the news of Bonaparte's steady advance across France and the gathering strength of his armies.
    "You do not dance, Lady Mary?"
    Startled, she turned her head to find the Earl of Kenmare standing beside her chair. He was smiling, and the effect on her was as devastating as it had been the first time they had met, as she was too well aware. She could not recall ever having met a more attractive gentleman, she thought, and she immediately felt a stab of guilt toward her late husband's memory. She set aside the odd feelings to be contemplated later, and responded to the earl's quizzical greeting with a friendly smile that lent warmth to her wide gray eyes. “No, I do not, my lord. I am become too staid for such frivolity,” she said with a light laugh as she gave him her hand in greeting.
    "Nonsense, my lady. I shall not allow you to pronounce such a sad judgment upon yourself,'’ Lord Kenmare said. He bowed to her. “Pray do me the honor in the next set, ma'am,'’ he said.
    With some surprise he regarded the attractive color that rose in Lady Mary's face. She spoke in some confusion. “Really, really, I should not. I do thank you, my lord, but I—"
    Recognizing how idiotic she sounded. Lady Mary broke off, laughing at herself. “I have not behaved in such a shatterbrained fashion for years. Do forgive me, my lord! I am not used to such flattering attention. When one joins the dowagers, one does not waltz, you see."
    The earl's interest in Lady Mary was sharpened by a notch or two. He had not met many self-effacing ladies, and certainly none who met his eyes with such frankness of gaze. “I believe it is I who must beg forgiveness for placing you in an awkward position. It was certainly never my intention to embarrass you or to press you against your wishes. May I sit with you a few moments and perhaps redeem myself in your eyes?” He gestured at the empty chair beside her.
    "Of course, my lord,” Lady Mary