It was then that Harriet spotted Edlyn hurrying up the steps of the ivy-draped rotunda. Harriet glanced back wistfully at the duke. He had raised his bow to take aim at the target. She turned for a fraction of a second to witness Edlyn emerge from the other side of the edifice, appearing considerably brighter than she had been in days. She appeared to be by herself. A lady in a bonnet was walking in the other direction.

And there wasn’t a rake in view, disregarding the duke, whose arrow had struck the target dead center, to the delight of his female audience. The cheers and claps of his devoted supporters echoed in the park, a chorus that Harriet could not escape. She would have applauded him herself, had a companion been allowed to express her enthusiasm in public.

All in all, however, discounting her ladyship’s in digestion, Harriet decided it had been a pleasant day. An uncommon one, indeed, without a single drop of rain to ruin the party.

The same could not be said of the following night’s entertainment.

“Grayson has promised that this will be an intimate affair,” Lady Powlis reassured the duke, when he complained that he would rather not go. “I don’t see why you’re being so unsociable, Griff. The marquess is family, after all. One does not travel to London to sit brooding in a library.”

“But we just attended one of his balls.”

“This is meant to be a quiet party,” she insisted. “I don’t imagine there will be a crush.”

Yet even Harriet knew that what the Marquess of Sedgecroft considered to be a private supper could include a hundred or so guests. Most of them would be titled or well connected at court, although the marquess was probably best known in the ton for allowing love affairs to take place during his soirées. The mansion provided many private chambers suitable for this purpose and, for family only, an Italian gallery where acts of amour could unfold without a chance of interruption. If Miss Edlyn or any of the academy’s graduating ladies were invited, it would fall to Harriet or Charlotte Boscastle to make certain some scoundrel did not compromise their good names. Although Harriet was no longer employed at the elite school, she had formed a surprising bond with those girls who struggled alongside her for acceptance.

Chapter Eighteen

Griffin danced the first dance with his cousin Charlotte, whose gaze, he noted, moved about the ballroom as if she were a master spy intent on thwarting an act of sabotage that threatened the security of England. In a way he supposed that an impromptu tryst might indeed be interpreted as such. For example, a duke’s ward could be caught alone with a rogue. The rogue, finding three or four Boscastle men breathing down his neck, would have no choice but to offer marriage. The prospect of the sullied maiden making a stronger alliance would be dashed.

And it was in the course of coming to this conclusion that he realized it was not Edlyn’s virtue that appeared to be at risk.

It was Harriet’s.

His niece was sitting sullenly with Primrose and the elite circle of ladies who had been invited to the party. One or two respectable young lords stood flirting with… well, it was hard to identify their quarry at this distance. He hoped to heaven it was not his aunt.

But the dashing gentleman who was leading Harriet around the floor had an infatuated look if ever Griffin had seen one. To be frighteningly honest, it might be what Griffin looked like during the unguarded moments he had spent in her company.

“Do you think,” he asked Charlotte, “that it is proper for a companion to dance in front of girls who are meant to emulate her?”

Charlotte clearly perceived this to be an odd question by her startled look. “But I saw you dance with Harriet the other night.”

“That was different. I am not obligated to abide by any rules of etiquette. Am I?”

Charlotte lifted her brow. “I was led to believe that Primrose finds her to be the perfect companion.”

So did he.

“I shall tell you a secret,” he said. “Primrose is very possessive of that young woman.”

“Well, so was I,” Charlotte confessed. “And your aunt stole her away from me.”

His gaze cut straight again to Harriet. She was laughing, out of pace with the line of other dancers but determined in her unpretentious way to keep up. She drifted past him as the dance ended. Her face was upturned to her partner, until she noticed Griffin watching her. She gave him a distracted smile, which he did not return.

He shook his head.

“Griff?” Charlotte said softly.

He led her back to the circle of chairs where his aunt sat with the marchioness and several other close family friends. The flame-haired figure in silver silk was whirled back into another dance. By the same man.

His aunt glanced up at him. “If he asks her to dance one more time, it will be your duty to object.”

Lady Jane seemed to hesitate, then glanced up at Griffin, her green eyes sparkling. “It’s all right. If it makes you uncomfortable to spoil Miss Gardner’s romance, we shall have Grayson, or even Weed, solve the problem.”

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” he said in a dismissive voice. “I simply don’t think that it’s my place to enforce-does she know the gentleman?”

Lady Jane shrugged, darting him a shrewd glance. “She might. He’s the son of one of Grayson’s bankers, and he’s always invited. Strange. I never paid attention until now, but he doesn’t dance with anyone else.” She drew a breath, her gaze moving past Griffin. “Well, speaking of romance, yours appears to have just arrived. Aren’t we fashionably late and looking none the worse for our horrid experience in the park?”

“My romance?” Griffin said bleakly.

His aunt made a rude noise in her throat.

He glanced around and saw Constance standing in a gown of sea-foam satin, male admirers flocking her at either side. His heart sank. Was he meant to do something? Had this been staged? He glanced down accusingly at his aunt.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I hadn’t a clue that she was on the guest list.”

“What about that other list?” he asked in suspicion.

“The one Harriet was working on?”

He nodded tersely. “I hope you’re not going to tell me there were others.”

“I never even saw that one,” Primrose said with an indignant sniff. “In fact, I never saw any evidence of that demoniacal drawing you went on about at all.”

“Well, I didn’t make it up.”

“I hope you aren’t trying to get my companion in trouble again, Griff. It shows a really unsavory side of your character that I never dreamt existed.”

Jane studied him with a cautious smile. “Forgive me if it’s too soon to inquire, but are the nuptials to be held here in Grayson’s private chapel?”

“It’s too soon,” Griffin and Primrose said at the same instant.

“Oh.” Jane pursed her lips, allowing a moment to pass. “Then you probably won’t want a tour of the chapel tonight, after everyone but family goes home.”

“Probably not,” Primrose answered before Griff even opened his mouth again.

He looked up reluctantly.

Constance sent him a beseeching smile, as if to say, Save me from these scoundrels. My beauty is so overwhelming that I cannot defend myself for another moment.

His aunt touched his wrist. “Do what is polite. Nothing more.”

He bent over her. “Primrose?”

“Yes, Griffin?”

“Stop telling me what to do every five minutes.”

She cast her gaze down in apology. “I am an old bother,” she said ruefully. “But it’s only because I care so deeply about you.”