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Mama—”
    “Enough. You will have ample opportunity to visit your sisters at Lindsey’s home. Meanwhile, you must concentrate on enticing the Duke of Savoy into making you an offer. Your future depends upon it.”
    Mrs. Crompton glided toward the desk and retrieved the note that Blythe had written. She handed it to James and made a dismissing motion with her fingers. “Deliver that to His Grace at once.”
    “Yes, Madam.”
    She had scarcely cast a glance at him. He might as well have been invisible.
    So much the better because it gave him the opportunity to take one final quick scrutiny of her. The hair color was similar, but there was no gray. If this woman really was his cousin’s wife, she must be nearing her fiftieth year. Yet the few fine wrinkles around her eyes and mouth seemed to suggest a somewhat younger age than that.
    Was there a portrait of her hanging in the Cromptons’ manor house in Lancashire? Damn it, he ought to have had the foresight to make the two-day journey there before taking this post as footman.
    But he had believed his memories of Edith and George Crompton to be clear and distinct. He hadn’t anticipated having trouble identifying them.
    Now James was trapped here. Even if he were to concoct a grievous tale about a dying relative, he surely would lose his position if he were to beg a few days’ leave. After all, it wasn’t as though he was a valued retainer who had worked for the family for a long time. He was new and thus expendable.
    A prickly sense of disquiet raised the hairs at the back of his neck. The Indian woman named Kasi stood silently to the side, her dark currant eyes fixed on him.
    Realizing he’d tarried too long, he gripped the note and started toward the door. He had one last glimpse of Miss Blythe Crompton in that form-fitting dressing gown. She was watching him, too; then she blushed and glanced away. A pity they hadn’t been alone so that he could have charmed her into revealing information about her parents.
    But there would be other opportunities. When the moment was ripe, he fully intended to exploit her interest in him.

Chapter 6
    That evening, Blythe had the opportunity to advance her hopes with the Duke of Savoy when she and her parents attended a musicale given by an acquaintance of her mother’s, the Marchioness of Wargrave.
    The Cromptons arrived to find the guests milling in the reception hall. From inside the drawing room came the sounds of a string orchestra tuning their instruments. Slowly wending their way through the crowd, Blythe and her parents chatted with several acquaintances. Whenever an unmarried gentleman approached, however, her mother deftly steered Blythe in another direction. All the while, Mrs. Crompton strained to see over the multitude of people.
    “You’re taller than I,” she said to Blythe’s father. “Do you see the duke?”
    “There,” Mr. Crompton murmured, nodding toward the doorway of the drawing room. “But he’s surrounded by ambitious mothers with marriageable daughters. I will not permit you to behave so badly as to push your way through that crush.”
    Blythe stood on tiptoe to see that her father was correct. The throng milling around the duke appeared to be comprised of ladies vying for his attention. “I quite agree, Papa. I don’t relish the notion of appearing overly eager.”
    Mrs. Crompton guided her family to an alcove filled with statuary and ferns. “Wait here,” she said. “I must have a word with Lady Wargrave. Perhaps she can secure a seat for Blythe beside His Grace.”
    With that, she vanished into the colorful swarm of ladies and gentlemen, leaving Blythe alone with her father.
    He looked at Blythe, and a wry grin deepened the lines on his weathered face. “Your mother is forever scheming,” he said, patting Blythe’s hand, which was tucked in the crook of his arm. “I don’t know what she’ll do once you’re married and there are no more daughters to manage.”
    “She’ll start