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infrequent attender of musicales .  His explanation for their common presence at two such events was as innocent as Cassandra had promised; they both liked music.
    The latest such, at the house of the Marquess of Landess, had featured—finally! thought Talfryn—a quartet, and he and Lady Regina had discussed the merits of the two violinists at some length during the first interval.  She was intelligent and thoughtful regarding music, without claiming to know more than she did.
    “I must confess,” Lady Regina said at one point, “that I cannot say who is the superior in technique, but Mr Tarisio seems to feel the melody, and to produce it with great sensitivity.” 
    They then entered into a spirited discussion of whether ’twas possible for music to be too emotional, and Lady Regina laughed several times during this, which sent unaccustomed shivers down the length of the viscount’s spine.  He was unaccountably reluctant to hear the notes signaling that the music would begin again, and to return to his own seat, which was on this occasion on the opposite side of the room from the young lady.
    Perhaps he could search out the next performance and discover if she would like to accompany him, at least if Miss Barre could make a third.  London was large, and its society provided so many different entertainments, that it would not be unusual for a gentleman to go without seeing any particular young lady for weeks at a time.  Talfryn felt disinclined to . . . not see Lady Regina.  His mother and sisters were intelligent, his friends good company, but his conversations with Lady Regina had been something apart.  As if they understood each other’s deepest thoughts without struggle.
    And all this after mere minutes in her company.  You are being a fool, Talfryn told himself.  She is one pretty girl among many, and you’ve not yet decided ’tis time to take a wife.  He had thought to spend a year or two at least in London, to reacquaint himself with town ways and the young ladies of society.  It seemed the careful path, and Lord Davies was determined to be careful.   You have spoken to only a few of the ton females after all, he told himself, forgetting that a day or two past he had declared himself tired of them.  He should search out as many as he could, and perhaps they would take his mind from its seeming obsession with Lady Regina. 
    So that was settled.  But ’twas only the next morning that he again heard the name of the Earl of Aveline’s daughter.
    * * * *
     
    “Talfryn,” said the dowager viscountess, at the breakfast table, “I wish to pay a call or two this morning.  Would you be so kind as to accompany me?”
    “Hmm?” said Lord Davies, stalling a moment.  His mother so rarely asked for his escort that he wondered what she was about.
    “I’d like to visit Lady Knowles, in particular.”
    The viscount, a veteran of many verbal fencing matches with his mother, parried.  “The Countess of Aveline do you mean?” he asked, his tone one of careful disinterest.  He rose from the table and moved to the sideboard, taking some time to choose a likely cutlet.
    Lady Davies looked up from her coffee, and her blue eyes—bright and shrewd—fixed on his face.  One corner of her mouth quirked.
    “Ah.  So you know the young woman?”
    Talfryn sighed inwardly.  The viscountess seemed to possess some uncanny ability in reading his mind.
    “Don’t bother to dissemble,” said Lady Davies.  “I heard all about the waltz.”
    “’Twas a waltz, nothing more.”  The viscount tried not to think of those wide, intelligent eyes, the feel of silk under his hands, but of course that effort was impossible, and the best he could hope was that no colour came to his cheeks.
    “And two musicales , I believe.”
    “A chance meeting.  There are any number this time of year.”
    “So you say.”
    “I do.” 
    “It’s settled then,” said Lady Davies.  “Excellent.  Shall we arrange the coach