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long-suffering sigh of a Gordon by marriage. Anna clapped her hands, and James grinned. “As long as you refrain from drinking a toast to the king over the water,” he said. “Her ladyship would find a way to have you arrested for treason, and I’m afraid that would rather spoil my position in the Lords, not to mention Anna’s matrimonial prospects.”
    “I’ll behave for Anna’s sake, then. I’m not sure why I should concern myself over the political future of a damned Whig.” His tone belied the barb in his words, and he and James clapped one another on the shoulder, all masculine affection.
    “The carriage is ready,” James said, “so let the invasion commence.” He offered Anna his arm, and they trailed their aunt and uncle to the waiting coach.
     
     
    Sebastian could tell that Lucy, standing beside him in the receiving line, was at her most bashful. He supposed it must be a trial for someone such as her, who had never gone about in society nor been expected to do so, to meet so many new people all at once. He smiled down at her in encouragement as she stammered slightly in response to a friendly question from Mrs. Cathcart, a local squire’s wife. Lucy must lose some of her fear of people now that she was to become an officer’s wife.
    Not that her shyness was unbecoming, he reflected charitably. No one could ever accuse her of being brash or forward, and he need never worry that she would make a public spectacle of herself or him. Her blushes only made her prettier, adding roses to her cheeks to match the demure pink dress she wore. It was new, one of the gifts his mother had given her in token of their betrothal.
    He surveyed Lucy with contentment. They would be married within a month, and Clarissa Pickett’s brother would be forced to cease from his blustering threats.
    A bustle at the drawing room door signaled another party of guests. “The Earl and Countess of Dunmalcolm, Viscount Selsley and Miss Wright-Gordon,” the footman intoned.
    “The ones I met today,” Lucy murmured.
    “Yes,” he replied, turning toward the door. “Alistair Gordon’s family.” He was more interested in this party than in any of the other guests, for it never harmed a junior officer’s interests to charm the family of one of his superiors. Major Gordon was Colonel Kent’s right-hand man, so Sebastian had always sought his friendship and tried to hide his dislike of the major’s bold, outspoken wife.
    Lucy gave a little gasp. “Is that a kilt?”
    “It is.” He frowned. “Major Gordon never said his father was eccentric, but to wear Highland dress in Gloucestershire…”
    “I don’t think Lady Marpool likes the Scots,” Lucy said, her voice dropping to a whisper. They watched as Lord Dunmalcolm bowed to their hostess with a flourish that served only to draw further attention to his conspicuous attire.
    Lady Marpool turned crimson, her lips drawn tight and nearly immobile as she greeted the earl. “Oh,” Lucy said. “That’s why he did it.” She hid a smile verging upon a laugh behind her hand, and Sebastian reflected that she might be right. He could picture Major Gordon doing much the same thing. While the fighting prowess of the Scots could not be denied, some of them, Highlanders in particular, had rather too much national pride.
    Sebastian looked beyond the kilted earl to the rest of his family. Lady Dunmalcolm was a grave, dignified matron with graying dark hair who smiled tolerantly at her husband’s antics. After her came Lord Selsley, clad in impeccably tailored conventional evening attire and so like his uncle and his officer cousin that Sebastian would have known him without any introduction.
    At first he couldn’t see Miss Wright-Gordon clearly, only gathering a vague impression of a small figure dressed in white and green. But then Lord Selsley leaned forward to speak to Lord Almont, and Miss Wright-Gordon turned in Sebastian’s direction.
    Their eyes met, and his breath quickened.