“I wish you luck with your endeavors.” He caught sight of his two younger sisters heading straight for them. Blast, what were they about?
Rachel smiled wide in greeting. “Harry, are these the ladies you invited this evening?”
“Allow me to present Lady Gresham and Miss Whitford.” He looked to their guests. “These are my sisters, Lady Fitzwilliam and Mrs. Hayes.” He gestured to Imogen first because her rank was higher and then to Rachel, who’d married the second son of a viscount. That made Harry wonder what Lady Gresham’s rank was. He ought to look her deceased husband up in Debrett’s, but probably wouldn’t bother.
Everyone exchanged curtsies, and when both of his sisters rose with broad, sparkling smiles, he grew suspicious.
“Did I hear you mention Almack’s?” Rachel asked Miss Whitford.
“Yes. I was just telling Mr. Sheffield that I hope to be fortunate enough to receive a voucher.”
“That can be difficult,” Imogen said. “But not impossible. We shall endeavor to assist you.”
“Do you go to Almack’s?” Lady Gresham asked Harry.
“No.”
“Not even once,” Rachel clarified, as if it mattered. “Our other brother at least did that.”
“Neither one of them is on the Marriage Mart, much to our parents’ chagrin,” Imogen said sweetly.
“I hardly think Lady Gresham and Miss Whitford care to hear about our family, er, matters.” He darted a look at Lady Gresham and saw that she was watching him with a bit of…humor?
Rachel and Imogen exchanged a look, and then Rachel spoke. “Lady Gresham, might we borrow Miss Whitford for a bit? It would be our pleasure to introduce her to some of the guests.”
“We are excellent chaperones,” Imogen assured her.
Harry coughed. Once, long before any of his sisters had wed, Delia had led all three of them on an excursion to Hyde Park alone. They’d made paper boats and had wanted to set them afloat on the Serpentine. Then they’d been seen by the bloody Duke of Holborn, of all people. A stickler for propriety, he’d marched them back home and given their father an earful. And that had been just the first of their unsupervised outings. Harry couldn’t imagine them as chaperones, excellent or not.
Even so, he said nothing because he found he was quite content to have Lady Gresham to himself.
Hell, was he?
“That would be wonderful, thank you.” Lady Gresham gave them an appreciative smile.
Imogen looped her arm through Miss Whitford’s, and they pivoted. Rachel looked from Harry to Lady Gresham and back again. “You should take a stroll in the garden. It’s a lovely evening.” She narrowed her eyes almost imperceptibly and gave Harry a fleeting smirk before turning and following the others.
Bollocks. They were playing matchmaker, the shrews. They’d—rightly—assessed the situation and determined Lady Gresham would be of more interest to Harry. Because she was of interest to him.
“Why are you frowning?”
Harry blinked and turned his head toward Lady Gresham once more. “I didn’t mean to. My sisters can be vexing.”
“I thought they were quite pleasant. Should I worry about Beatrix going off with them?”
“Not at all. Your sister will be fine. Tell me, does she have any tendencies toward independence or provocation?”
“Many.” Her eyes glinted with amusement.
“Then they’ll all get along quite famously.”
Lady Gresham laughed softly. “I won’t worry, then, while we’re in the garden.” Her gaze shot to his, and she seemed suddenly hesitant. “That is, if you wish to go.”
“I would be honored to escort you.” He presented his arm and was surprised to find he wasn’t lying, which he would almost assuredly have been with anyone else.
She put her hand on his sleeve, and he escorted her through the growing throng in the drawing room to the doors that led to the terrace. From there, they descended to the garden, which was larger than one might have expected, owing to the larger width of the house.
“What a splendid garden,” she said as they walked toward the path that snaked between the beds of flowers and shrubbery as well as his father’s odd collection of statuary. “Is that a giant rabbit?”
“Yes. My father likes animals, and he commissioned a sculptor to design statues for the garden. Some of them are much larger than he anticipated—all of them, actually—but he ended up liking them. In addition, he didn’t want to hurt the sculptor’s feelings.”
Lady Gresham lifted her hand to her mouth, but a giggle escaped nonetheless.
“You find that amusing?”
“And endearing. Your father sounds rather wonderful.”
“He is likely better than most. What is your father like?”
Her expression, alight with humor a moment before, closed up like a flower retreating for the night. “He died so long ago that I don’t remember him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He was eager to learn more but wouldn’t ask. What the devil was going on with him? He’d never taken an interest in a woman like this before. And she was a lady, definitely not the sort of woman he wanted to attach himself to.
Now he was thinking about attachment? Get a grip, Harry.
Yet, perhaps because she was a widow, she had no apparent interest in attachment. Maybe that was why he was intrigued. Yes, that was it. He’d simply never met anyone like her.
She cast him an uncertain glance. “I hope you don’t think I’m too forward, but I wanted to ask you about your investigations.”
He was grateful for the change in topic to distract his ridiculous thoughts. “Not at all. I’m happy to discuss my work, provided it doesn’t interfere with an investigation. What do you want to know?”
“I couldn’t help thinking about this Vicar you mentioned the other day. He sounds perfectly horrid. Do you think you’ll ever find and arrest him?”
They rounded a corner, and Harry paused. A hedge partially obscured them from the house, and they stood in the shadows with just a hint of light finding its way to her eyes, firing them a brilliant blue.
“I hope so. In addition to arson, he’s likely guilty of usury at least, given his practice of lending money at exorbitant rates. I suspect he also probably owns receiver shops and maybe even flash houses. We’ll find him—and evidence of his crimes.”
“I wonder if he would lend to a woman,” she asked, cocking her head to the side. “Then I could help you catch him.”
Harry stared at her. “You would do that?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Why not?”
“Because he’s dangerous.”
“Would it surprise you to know that I carry a pistol, Mr. Sheffield?” The corner of her mouth ticked up.
He laughed. “No, actually.” Yes, he quite liked Lady Gresham. Why couldn’t she just be plain old Mrs. Gresham? And without a sister she was trying to launch into Society? “I assume you know how to shoot it?”
“Quite well, in fact. My brother taught me years ago.”
“Remarkable. I’d like to see that some time. Mayhap you’re better than me.”
She flashed a smile that lit her face to glorious effect. “Given your profession, I would doubt that.”