Seeing Elizabeth as she was was something of a jolt. Quite aside from the white making her appear washed out, the combination of the virginal gown with the blatant fire of the diamonds struck a definitely wrong note.

He glanced again at Caro. Oyster silk, draped to perfection, outlined the seductive curves of her body; the color subtly complemented her fair but warm skin, while her gloriously untameable mass of fine hair shimmered under the candlelight in a medley of browns and golds. She wore silver and pearls, echoing her eyes and their curious silver-blue hue.

Looking at Elizabeth, he couldn’t imagine that Caro hadn’t advised against her present attire. He concluded that behind Elizabeth’s innocent air lay a will of some strength—one at least stubborn enough to ignore Caro’s injunctions.

His inward frown deepened. A stubborn and headstrong will—was that good? Or not so good? An inability to take advice from those patently well qualified to supply it… ?

A number of guests had arrived late; Caro brought them around, performing the introductions. While two newcomers were chatting with Geoffrey, Michael turned to Elizabeth. “As I recall, we met at Lady Hannaford’s ball in May—did you enjoy the rest of your first Season?”

“Oh, yes!” Elizabeth’s eyes lit; she turned a glowing face to him. “The balls were such fun—I do so adore dancing. And all the other entertainments, too—well, except for the dinners. They were often boring. But I made a large number of friends.” She smiled ingenuously up at him. “Do you know the Hartfords? Melissa Hartford and her brother, Derek?”

She paused, waited, clearly expecting an answer. He shifted. “Ah… no.” He had a suspicion Derek Hartford would prove to be twenty, and Melissa even younger.

“Oh. Well, they’ve become my best friends. We go all over town together, exploring and gallivanting. And Jennifer Rickards joins us, too, and her cousins Eustace and Brian Hollings.” Elizabeth paused in her bright prattle, then frowned across the room. “Those two girls look rather lost, don’t you think? I’d better go and speak with them.”

With that, she flashed him a brilliant smile and swanned off— without properly excusing herself.

Michael watched her go, feeling rather… disoriented. She’d been treating him like a family friend, one with whom she didn’t need to stand on ceremony, yet…

Silk sussurated beside him; the scent of honeysuckle, faint and elusive, teased his senses.

He looked down as Caro slid her hand onto his arm. She’d followed his gaze to Elizabeth; she glanced up and pulled a face at him. “I know, but you needn’t think it was my idea.”

He smiled down at her. “I didn’t.”

Looking again at Elizabeth, she sighed. “Unfortunately, she was adamant over the white and simultaneously desperate to wear the diamonds—for courage. They were Alice’s, you see.”

Alice was—had been—Elizabeth’s mother, Geoffrey’s wife. Michael blinked. “Courage?”

“She’s not used to evenings of this ilk, so I suppose she felt in need of bolstering.” Caro looked up at him, her expressive face and brilliant eyes both teasing and somehow communicating. “It’s just a passing phase—a part of learning to deal with this sort of gathering. She’ll soon find her feet.”

She looked away. He stared at her profile. Had she guessed his thoughts vis-a-vis Elizabeth?

Should he speak, enlist her aid—

She came up on her toes, stretching to see over the crowd. “Is that…?”

He followed her gaze and saw Catten standing in the doorway.

“At last!” Caro flashed him a brilliant smile, sliding her arm from his. “Do excuse me while I organize.”

He watched her glide away, smoothly performing the hostessly ritual of pairing her guests according to the recognized order of precedence. With the company boasting English, Irish, and foreign dignitaries, that was no mean feat, yet she organized them all without a hitch.

As he strolled to offer his arm to Mrs. Driscoll, he wondered how Elizabeth would have managed it.

Well, we’ll hope to see you in Edinburgh sometime in the next year.“ Mrs. Driscoll helped herself to green beans from the dish Michael held, then relieved him of the dish and passed it on.

“I’d enjoy visiting again, but I fear the Prime Minister may have other plans.” Picking up his knife and fork, he applied himself to the fifth-course meats. “When duty calls…”

“Aye, well, all of us here understand that.”

Mrs. Driscoll’s gaze briefly circled the table. Inclining his head in acknowledgment, he, too, glanced around. For all that she saw him as a potential opportunity for one of her daughters, Mrs. Driscoll had not been overly pushy; their conversation had not become awkward.

Her comment, indeed, was apt. All those about the table knew how things were done, how to behave in this select and somewhat esoteric circle so heavily influenced by the vicissitudes of politics, both local and international. He felt more at home, certainly more engaged than he did at similar purely tonnish gatherings.

Between Mrs. Driscoll on his right and the countess on his left, he didn’t lack for conversation. The whole table was engulfed in a pleasant hum. Glancing along the board covered with white damask, silver, and crystal, he noted the younger ladies, Elizabeth and the two Driscoll girls, together with two younger gentlemen and flanked by Edward Campbell, sitting in a group midway along.

Seated on the opposite side of the table, Elizabeth was engrossed in some discussion, animatedly describing something, hands flying.

Michael turned to reply to a question from the countess.

He was turning back to Mrs. Driscoll when a sudden peal of laughter drew all eyes—to Elizabeth.

The sound was abruptly cut off; fingers pressed to her lips, Elizabeth’s gaze darted up and down the table. A blush suffused her pale cheeks.

One of the Driscoll girls leaned forward and made some comment; Edward Campbell answered and the awkward moment passed. The other diners turned back to their conversations. One of the last to do so, Michael saw Elizabeth, head now bowed, reach for her wineglass.

She took a sip, choked—tried to replace the goblet and nearly tipped it over. The clatter and her coughing again drew all eyes. Goblet finally safe on the table, she grabbed her napkin from her lap and ducked her head.

Beside her, Campbell patted her on the back; her coughing eased. He asked her something—presumably if she was all right. Her fair head bobbed. Then she straightened, lifted her head, and drew in a deep breath. Smiling weakly around, she breathlessly said, “I’m so sorry—do excuse me. The wine went down the wrong way.”

Everyone smiled easily and returned to their discussions.

Talking to the countess, Michael found his mind wandering. The incident was a small thing, yet…

His gaze drifted up the table to Caro at its end, engaged in what appeared to be a scintillating discussion with the duke and the general. If she had choked… a big “if admittedly, but if she had, he was certain she’d have passed the moment off in a much more charming way.

Still, as Caro had said, Elizabeth was young.

He smiled at the countess. “I hope to visit your country again in the not-too-distant future.”

When the company reassembled in the drawing room, Michael continued to observe Elizabeth, but from a distance. She remained surrounded by the younger crew, leaving all hostly duties to her aunt and father, giving him no chance to evaluate her abilities in that sphere.

He felt oddly frustrated. Joining that younger group… he simply wasn’t one of them. It had been a very long time since events such as curricle races had dominated his mind. Yet he was determined to learn more about Elizabeth. He was standing by the side of the room, momentarily alone, wondering how best to further his aim, when Caro materialized at his side.

He knew she was near an instant before she stopped beside him and claimed his arm. She did it so naturally, as if they were old friends with no social barriers between them, he found himself responding to her in the same vein.

“Hmm.” Her gaze was fixed on Elizabeth. “I could use some fresh air and I daresay Elizabeth could, too.” Looking up, she smiled warmly, but there was a determined glint in her eye. “Besides, I want to separate her from that crowd. She really should do the rounds and widen her acquaintance.” Her hold on his arm firming, she arched a brow at him. “Would you care for a stroll on the terrace?”

He smiled, careful to hide the depth of his approval. “Lead on.”

She did, steering him across the room, with a few glib words extracting Elizabeth from her circle. Still on his arm, she swept them through the open French doors out onto the moon-drenched terrace.

“Now!” Walking briskly, whisking Elizabeth down the terrace, Caro studied her. “Are you all right—is your throat sore?”

“No. It’s truly quite—”

“Caro?”

The soft call had them all turning. Edward Campbell looked out from the French doors. “I think you’d better…” He gestured back into the drawing room.

“Peste!” Caro looked at Edward for a moment, then glanced at Michael, then Elizabeth. Releasing Michael’s arm, she caught Elizabeth’s hand and placed it on his sleeve. “Walk. To the end of the terrace at least. And then you can return and practice by charming the general for me.”

Elizabeth blinked. “Oh, but—”

“No buts.” Caro was already stalking back to the drawing room. She flicked a hand back at them, rings flashing. “Go—walk.”

She reached Edward; taking his arm, head rising, she swept back into the drawing room.