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but he gave them a perfunctory smile and bow. “Yes, how, um, nice. Lord Morecombe. My lady.” He turned toward Genevieve. “Lady Genevieve? Shall we return to the ballroom?”
    “Yes, of course.” Genevieve went to take her fiancé’s arm. She cast a polite smile at Thea. “Thank you, Lady Morecombe, for letting us see Matthew.”
    “My pleasure. You must visit us again.”
    Genevieve walked away with Dursbury. As they went down the stairs, she could hear the others begin to talk and laugh again.
    “Odd, gathering in the nursery,” Dursbury said mildly.
    “Yes, I suppose it is.”
    “Nothing against your brother, of course.”
    “Of course,” Genevieve agreed. “I believe they are all very fond of young Matthew.”
    “Rather peculiar behavior, though, for Lord and Lady Morecombe, given that they are hosting the party. Notquite the thing, I’d say.” He glanced down at Genevieve. “Are you tired, Lady Genevieve?”
    “What? No, I’m not at all tired.”
    “You sighed, that’s all. I thought you might be tired.”
    “Did I? I wasn’t aware.”
    “It was good of Morecombe to take in his sister’s boy, especially newly married as they were. Many would not have, given the, um, circumstances of his birth. Bound to be talk.”
    “One cannot stop people from talking.”
    “Naturally. Still, one has to wonder if Lady Rawdon and Lady Morecombe are exactly the proper friends for you.”
    “I beg your pardon?” Genevieve’s voice went icy, and she turned to him with a hauteur that would have made her grandmother proud.
    “I have heard—that is, there is some question—Lady Rawdon’s birth . . .”
    “Lady Rawdon is my brother’s wife,” Genevieve said flatly.
    “Of course. And they spend most of their time in Northumberland, so it’s of little consequence. However, Lady Morecombe is a bluestocking, and that is not the sort of reputation you would wish to have attached to you.”
    “You make it sound as if she were in trade. Or worse.”
    “No! Not at all!” He looked shocked. “We would not have attended tonight if people thought that.”
    Genevieve bridled at his casual assumption that he would have made the decision for her, but before she could speak, Dursbury patted her hand and smiled at her, saying, “I would not wish even the slightest hint of any impropriety to touch you.”
    She swallowed the hot retort that had risen to her lips. As her grandmother frequently reminded her, she must keep a rein on her temper. Nothing was odd or wrong about a man’s wanting to ensure that his betrothed’s reputation was not harmed.
    Dursbury apparently did not see the flash of fury in her eyes, for he was going on, quite unconcerned, “I am afraid you missed saying good-bye to the Sutterfields. That was why I went looking for you.”
    “That is too bad.” Genevieve tried to remember what Sutterfield looked like. Was he Dursbury’s third cousin or the man with the fish eyes?
    “They are starting a waltz,” Dursbury said as they entered the ballroom. He was fond, Genevieve had noticed, of stating the obvious. “Would you care to dance?” His expression suggested a man’s facing up to a painful duty.
    “No, I believe I’ll just sit. Perhaps I am a little tired, after all.” The thought of following Dursbury’s careful steps around the dance floor lacked appeal after having floated across it a few minutes ago with Myles.
    “Just as I thought.” He smiled smugly. “Ah, there is Lady Rawdon.”
    He led her across the floor to where her grandmother sat against the wall. The countess perched ramrod straight on the edge of her chair, her hands resting on the head of her cane. She had used the cane for years, though less as a walking aid, Genevieve had long suspected, than as a convenient item with which to poke and prod or to rap on the floor to provide emphasis for her words.
    Tonight, however, looking at her grandmother’s gnarled hands, it struck Genevieve that her grandmother looked