Harry’s sisters began to file past him. First was Delia, who paused briefly as she walked by. “I’m going to hear this story if I have to hunt you down later.”
“I’m sure you will.” Harry could only hope he was gone by then. If he told them the truth—that he’d nearly run the woman down while in pursuit of a child thief—they’d say it was a sign that he should marry her immediately. Trying to find wives for him and Jeremy was their chief objective.
After Delia came Imogen. “Shall we arrange for you to be alone with her?”
Rachel joined her. “But which one? Lady Gresham or Miss Whitford?” She scrutinized Harry as if she could divine the answer from his unamused face.
Harry lifted his glass and sipped his brandy without a word.
Imogen looped her arm through Rachel’s. “This soiree has suddenly become very interesting.”
Hell. Harry wished he’d never said anything. Or invited Lady Gresham and her sister.
No, he wouldn’t regret that. He was only trying to help. And Lady Gresham was…intriguing.
After the ladies had gone, Jeremy moved closer. “There isn’t any truth to any of that, is there?”
“Of course not,” Harry said. “I really was just trying to help Lady Gresham. Her sister is having her first Season. You may wish to steer clear of her.”
As heir to an earldom, Jeremy was a sought-after match. But, regardless of what their mother thought about him doing his duty, he had no desire to wed at present, especially to a young lady on the Marriage Mart. He’d been to Almack’s once and swore he’d never return. Which was once more than Harry had gone.
“I appreciate the warning.” Jeremy took a drink of brandy, and they went to join the other gentleman.
Their father broke away and came to Harry. He was a few inches shorter than Harry, and his dark hair, liberally streaked with gray, was beginning to thin. He possessed a warm smile and demeanor, both of which were on full display as he spoke. “I’m pleased you came. It makes your mother happy.”
“I know it does.” Harry should probably do it more often.
Father lowered his voice and leaned close. “Do you have any news about the fortune-teller? Your mother didn’t see her this week, as far as I know, but I don’t think she’s given her up, despite my insistence.”
Harry almost smiled. “The more you insist, the more she will cling to the woman. Perhaps if you leave the subject alone, Mother will simply lose interest.”
“Not bloody likely.” Father snorted softly before sipping his brandy.
“Well, I have nothing to report, unfortunately. Madame Sybila refuses to read the fortune of a gentleman, so I’m developing another plan. And no, don’t ask for details, because I won’t give them. Please let me do my job.”
Father held up his hand, his dark brown eyes flashing with irritation and then determination. “I do have information to share, however. Would you like to hear it?”
Harry kept the exasperation out of his voice. “Of course. Information is always helpful.”
“Lord Balcombe told me his wife donated a considerable sum to that charity suggested by the charlatan. He’s livid.”
“Do you know if Lady Balcombe gave the money to Madame Sybila or to the charity directly?”
“I don’t.” Father blinked, his gaze intent. “Does that matter?”
“Yes.” If Lady Balcombe had given the money to Madame Sybila, it could be theft—if the fortune-teller hadn’t given it to the charity as intended. “May I speak with Lord Balcombe, or are you still demanding I keep this investigation a secret for now?” Not that Harry hadn’t shared it with some of his fellow constables, such as Remy.
Father winced. “I don’t want your mother finding out I asked you to investigate.”
“She won’t know it was you. This is what I do, after all.”
“Then yes, you may speak with him. He should be here later.”
Harry groaned inwardly. He didn’t want to be here later. If he didn’t see the earl tonight, he’d pay him a visit tomorrow or the next day. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise this woman will not swindle Mother.”
“Thank you. I trust you to take care of this matter.” He lifted his glass in a silent toast before taking another drink.
A short time later, Harry and the others left the library to join the soiree as the first guests were arriving. Their father took his place beside their mother to greet people, while Harry and Jeremy went directly to the card room.
“You playing?” Jeremy asked.
“Perhaps. I should probably look for Lady Gresham and Miss Whitford first.”
“Careful, Harry, or I’ll think our sisters are right about your potential interest in one of them.”
Harry gave his brother a light shove that did nothing to move him, nor was it meant to. Then he turned and left the card room without a word, intent on going up to the drawing room, where he’d find a cozy corner to inhabit until Lady Gresham arrived. Hopefully, that would be very soon.
Luck was smiling upon him, for just after he’d taken up his position, Lady Gresham appeared in the doorway. Dressed in a stunning dark pink gown that seemed to shimmer in the candlelight, she was impossible to miss. Also because she was taller than most women, and tonight, with her golden-brown hair styled with a pair of white ostrich feathers, she seemed even more so. A single pearl rested against the hollow of her neck, and he found himself staring at the spot.
Forcing himself to look up, his gaze followed the graceful slope of her neck and the pert jut of her chin. He paused briefly on her mouth, a captivating bow, before moving even higher. She surveyed the room, and he imagined he could see the bright blue of her eyes—nearly the color of a robin’s egg—from where he stood. He couldn’t really, of course, so he pushed himself away from the corner and went to greet her.
“Good evening, Lady Gresham. I’m pleased to see you were able to attend.” He forced his attention away from her, which he found strangely difficult, and smiled in greeting to the petite young woman at her side. “You must be Miss Whitford.”
The younger lady curtsied, dropping her hazel gaze briefly before lifting it to meet his once more. Golden-blonde curls grazed her temples and cheeks. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Sheffield. I just met Lord and Lady Aylesbury downstairs and thanked them for the invitation, but I understand I really have you to thank.” Deep dimples formed when she smiled, giving her an aura of youthful exuberance.
“I’m happy to have helped. How are you enjoying London?” he asked politely. This sort of usually mundane social discourse was a primary reason he avoided these events. It was one thing to talk with people he knew or with just one other person away from a crush—such as he’d done with Lady Gresham on two occasions now, and another to make idle conversation with someone with whom he wasn’t already acquainted. He glanced toward her and wondered at her almost surreal calmness. She wasn’t like everyone else who attended these sorts of activities. They were typically humming with enthusiasm and glee.
“It’s a lovely city,” Miss Whitford said, her eyes sparking with enthusiasm. “We’ve been to Hyde Park, to Astley’s, and of course shopping on Bond Street. I am hoping to visit Vauxhall and that I might be fortunate enough to obtain a voucher to Almack’s.”