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understand. I merely meant to say that the Earl of Westbrook is no more handsome than any other man, here, or anywhere, for that matter.”
    A deep voice chuckled. “How very disappointing. I thought I’d at least best Lord Strathmere. The man is ancient and a veritable hunchback.”
    “Lord Westbrook,” Henrietta gasped.
    Aunt Susan’s face paled. “My lord, we didn’t see you there.”
    Daphne saw herself executing a graceful dive from the Mary Frances’s decks into a school of hungry sharks, all of them wearing top hats and bonnets.
    Doing her best to appear demure, she turned around to face the man. “Forgive me, my lord,” she began, but the earl silenced her with an outstretched hand, a look of amusement on his roguish face.
    “No, please forgive me. Had I worn the dark jacket my sister had insisted upon, then perhaps I would have bested Lord Strathmere and captured your admiration.”
    Henrietta giggled into her gloves. Aunt Susan stepped forward, edging her daughter behind her. “Lord Westbrook, please allow me to offer my most sincere apologies.”
    “They are most graciously received, Lady Amhurst.” The earl bowed to her aunt, but his gaze remained on Daphne.
    Daphne looked away, hoping to discourage the earl from requesting an introduction, but it seemed that once again, misfortune was on her side. Her aunt grabbed Daphne’s hand and placed her directly in front of the earl.
    “Please allow me to introduce my niece, Miss Farrington of Boston.”
    The earl’s face brightened. “Boston? Are you visiting from Lincolnshire?”
    “Oh no,” Henrietta corrected. “Daphne is from Boston, Massachusetts. She is American, my lord.”
    The earl’s dark brows rose. “American? How very intriguing, Miss Farrington.”
    The earl seemed poised to take a step in her direction, but suddenly the air grew thin as the space between them became occupied by a tall, well-dressed form. “Yes, Westbrook. Miss Farrington is in London reconnecting with family. But I daresay you already knew that. Were you not inquiring after her, badgering Lady Isabella with your questions of Miss Farrington’s identity?”
    The earl flushed. “You cannot fault me for being curious, Waverly. Not when your mother has invited such an enchanting creature to her luncheon. I merely wished to make her acquaintance.”
    “Ah, but it was I, and not my mother, who invited Miss Farrington,” the duke corrected. “She is my guest.”
    His guest? Daphne stared at the duke, the warm breeze tousling his sand-colored hair, curling it over the brim of his top hat. Was there a difference between those guests who had been invited by the duchess and those by the duke? Just what differentiated the two? And why was she suddenly interested to know?
    The earl snapped off a nearby sprig of honeysuckle and smashed it between his fingers. “And how is it that you know Miss Farrington, Waverly? Is this not her first event this Season? I can only believe the truth, as I would most certainly have remembered those eyes had I come across them before this afternoon.”
    The duke straightened his shoulders and snatched a flute of champagne from a passing tray. He gave the mangled honeysuckle bits on the ground a sympathetic look, and aimed his so-charming smile at Aunt Susan. “I have an acquaintance with her brother, Mr. Thomas Farrington. He was kind enough to introduce us.” While the duke’s face did not give any indication of his feelings toward the earl, his voice was filled with pity.
    The duke turned, cutting off her view of the earl. “Where is your brother, Miss Farrington?”
    If Thomas knew what was good for him, he was booking Daphne’s passage home. “He had some business that required his attention, Your Grace. He asked me to give his apologies.”
    Thomas had indeed gone to attend business earlier this morning. With merchants withdrawing daily, he had hastened to the pier to save what investments remained—and had left her with a stern