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Anna tended to agree. But then she said, “He’s a fortune hunter. He was in debtors’ prison, didn’t you hear?”

“Yes, but how romantic!” Hetty placed a hand over her heart and sighed.

“Romantic? You consider this romantic? He is a good-for-nothing who has nothing to his name but looks, and maybe an old, faded name. What good does it do to him?” Anna could only shake her head over so much folly.

“Still, my sympathies lie entirely with him. Of all the suitors who came tonight, he is the most likeable. Have you seen the duke?” She placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. “He is old and vain. I wouldn’t wish him on anyone. And the Marquess of Lindsey is a widower with five children, that is well known. And the earl, didn’t you hear?” She lowered her voice. “They say he is mad.”

“Nonsense.” Anna’s voice was sharp. “That is vile gossip. You ought not repeat it.”

“Hetty. Anna,” the head footman hissed, his voice low and stern. “Enough with the gossip. Hetty, after supper, you’re to attend to the ladies in the retiring room and stay there the entire evening. Anna, you’ll serve drinks in the card room.”

“Can’t we switch?” Anna’s voice trembled with a hint of desperation. She far preferred the safety of the ladies’ retiring room, assisting with small tasks, to being exposed in the card room with the gentlemen, where both her brother and the earl were. St John had already recognised her. He had not revealed her. What would he do when he saw her again? And Jules. Jules… He was a different matter entirely. He was hot-headed and to see her in a position of servitude would cut his pride to the quick. He would not baulk at causing a public scene, either. Not when it concerned her. It was best that he did not see her here. Maybe she ought to run and hide.

Anna chewed on her lower lip in worry.

“No dawdling,” the head footman reprimanded them.

Too late.

With a deep sigh, she picked up a tray with little plates of pastel-coloured petit fours, which she would have to offer the guests as she circulated the room.

Chapter 22

The Marchmonts’ card room was, in many respects, like any other, with several tables draped in the familiar green baize, awaiting eager players. Guests engaged in games of whist, faro, piquet, and vingt-et-un, their laughter and murmured wagers filling the air. Gambling was in full swing.

Only Anna and another footman were assigned to the room, circulating with trays of drinks to refresh the players. The alcohol flowed freely, and the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. Despite the busy evening, Anna couldn’t help but cast anxious glances towards the entrance. Her brother had yet to appear, but had he truly kept his promise and abandoned gambling for good? And St John, he wouldn’t gamble; he wasn’t that sort of man. She was sure of it. Surely, he would remain in the salon, engaging in conversation with the other gentlemen.

Anna breathed a quiet sigh of relief. As the evening wore on and the clock ticked forward, she dared to hope she might make it through the night without being discovered by either of them.

* * *

Disaster struck at the faro table.

It was well past midnight, and more than one guest had indulged too deeply in the wine, leaving many quite drunk. The music from the ballroom still played faintly, and though some guests lingered for a final dance, the crowd had thinned, with many having already departed.

Anna was utterly exhausted. She’d spent the entire evening carrying trays, clearing away empty glasses, fetching fresh ones brimming with wine, brandy, and champagne, and serving plates of petit fours, ices, and macaroons. She’d mopped up spills, wiped away crumbs, and dashed off on errands to the cloakroom more times than she could count.

How much longer would this night stretch on? Her feet ached, her limbs felt leaden, and her throat was parched. The growling in her stomach reminded her that, despite serving food and drink all night, she hadn’t had so much as a sip or bite herself. She wondered how Hetty was faring in the ladies’ room. Surely, assisting with cosmetics and gowns was easier than this relentless cycle of service. Anna envied her.

Just as a group of gentlemen finally left the card room, Anna took a deep breath, rubbing a tired hand across her eyes. When she dropped her hand, her gaze flicked towards the door and froze.

There he stood, lounging in the doorway, his dark-blue coat sharp against the light, a quizzing glass dangling lazily from his fingers as he surveyed the room. Jules. Her brother. Handsome as ever, effortlessly charming.

No wonder the ladies adored him.

With a swift movement, Anna ducked behind the tall palm in the corner, watching through the leaves as Jules smiled, a touch ruefully, and turned as if to leave.

“Good lad,” she whispered, scarcely believing her eyes. Could he really be taking her warnings to heart? It seemed impossible, but there he was, walking away from temptation, resisting the allure of the card room. Perhaps, just perhaps, he was serious about changing his ways.

She looked at him with a mix of pride and sorrow. Jules had many faults, but deep down, she knew he was a good man, one who had simply been dealt a poor hand in life, just as she had.

Anna sighed, her heart heavy with hope and worry.

“Vallière! Join us!” A voice rang out, breaking the stillness. In the centre of the room, a trio of gentlemen still sat at the faro table, and one had spotted him. They already appeared to be a trifle disguised as they lounged in their chairs, tossing out cards.

“Run, Jules, run,” Anna muttered under her breath.

But of course, Jules being Jules, he didn’t. He hesitated, a flicker of temptation crossing his face.