“We could always convert that empty room across from ours,” he said wistfully, putting his hands in his pockets and squinting up at the sky.
It made her stop walking, her fan quivering against the early humidity. “You mean my bedroom, Ambrose?”
He did not stop to answer her. When she finally gave up on awaiting acknowledgement, he could have sworn he heard something resembling amusement on her breath as she caught up to him.
“This is better anyhow,” she told him, catching him by the elbow as she resumed her place by his side. “The house is larger and built for this type of event.”
“You mean you don’t want strangers in ours, in fact?” he asked, tossing her a little half smile at the way she immediately colored. “It is perfectly well. I don’t either.”
She sniffed, waving the fan at both of them to dispel his observation. “Earl Bentley only just bought this house last year so his wife may be near her family when they are in London, and apparently the countess expressly requested one which couldserve as a venue for balls and concerts and so on. Rosalind is a relation by marriage, actually.”
“Is she?” said Ambrose, raising his brows. “I thought you knew them through Hannah.”
“So did I,” Vix replied with a smirk. “I suppose that’s how Hannah met Rosalind? London is a very small world at the end of the day, isn’t it?”
“I suppose it must be. If London is small, the peerage is absolutely miniscule, because I know the earl too,” Ambrose told her. “He was a few years ahead of me at school. He’s terribly charming. You will hate him.”
“Will I, indeed?” she said slyly as they turned the corner into Bloomsbury. “It should be just at the end of this street.”
The house was the width of two of the townhouses that lined the opposite street, and shone a lovely pale blue in the morning heat. The doors were already open, with several deliveries of vases and carpet runners and odd little baskets of tissue paper being carted in through the front entrance while Hannah and a pair of dark-haired women spoke on the approach.
Vix raised her arm and called out to them, trusting that Ambrose would follow along as required.
“Lady Aster,” Hannah said, grinning as they crossed into the drive, “and Sir Ambrose. Allow me to introduce you to the Yardley sisters. This is Claire, the Countess of Bentley, and this is Millie Murphy, who is married to Rosalind’s brother, Abe.”
“We have met, actually,” Millie, the elder, plumper sister said, with a raise of her brows. “On the sidewalk last winter. You were Miss Beck back then, I believe?”
“Oh, God,” said Vix, immediately flinching. “Let us pretend that did not happen and that we are meeting for the first time today instead, if you will be so kind.”
Ambrose silently resolved to ask about that later. To Hannah, he asked, “Is your husband about?”
“He should be here soon,” she said, an unmistakable glint of mischief in her big blue eyes. “He is avoiding Lord Bentley.”
“A common ailment, I’m afraid,” said the countess with a tiny smile. “I think Freddy is hiding too.”
“I am not hiding,” came a voice from behind a very large living arrangement of hydrangeas, which a man was absolutely hiding behind. “I was checking the quality of these blooms.”
“Freddy!” Hannah cried, stepping forward as the man emerged, grinning and golden, to receive her with a kiss to either cheek. “You’ve got flower petals in your hair.”
“Yes, I put them there,” he lied, reaching up to brush them away. He then glanced around at the assembled guests with polite curiosity until his surprised blue eyes fell on Ambrose and widened in immediate disbelief. “Aster?!”
“Bentley,” Ambrose returned, breaking into a grin. “Look at you, thoroughly domesticated.”
“Said the pot to the kettle,” Freddy Hightower replied, raising his brows and weaving around another flurry of maids transporting baskets of reliquary to approach Ambrose and Vix. “Did you marry? Did Ambrose Aster marry? My dear lady, what were you thinking?”
“A great many things,” Vix replied, tilting her head to the side. “Why is my brother avoiding you?”
“Your …” The earl paused, blinking twice, and glancing with urgent befuddlement over his shoulder at Hannah, who nodded and shrugged. He gave an incredulous laugh and looked back at her, shaking his head. “No. I refuse to believe it.”
Thaddeus Beck chose that moment to arrive, plodding up to the townhouse with the enthusiasm of a man walking to the gallows. Ambrose turned to watch the approach and saw, with some surprise, that Beck’s eyes did not find his wife or his sister first, but indeed landed immediately on Freddy Hightower. There was a marked layer of tension over Beck’s usually neutral face.
“Ah,” said Freddy politely.
Hannah gave a little sigh and stepped around everyone to greet her husband, ushering him into the melee with a gentle hand on his arm. “Thaddeus. You remember Lord Bentley,” she said, as though it pained her. “From Blackcove?”
“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Freddy announced with a sigh, drawing an immediate look and a frown from his wife. “Beck, old boy, I’m terribly sorry about the … well, you know,” he said, lifting his hands in front of himself like a boxer and miming a left hook.
Beck grimaced.
