“As it happens, Rothwell will be bringing a guest.” Papa cleared his throat. “Matthew Winslow, his nephew and private secretary, will be accompanying him this eve. I think you will like Winslow, poppet. He is a progressive thinker with a head for business; he has put together several successful investment schemes, and gentlemen are vying for shares. He’s a widower but not too old—in his forties. Quite popular with the ladies, I’m told.”
Glory frowned. She wanted to tell her father that it did not matter how charming or progressive Matthew Winslow was because her heart already belonged to Wei. But how would Papa react?
“Glory’s shifu is coming tonight,” Mama said.
“Chen?” Papa lowered his brows. “You invited him, Maggie mine?”
“Yes. Not only is he a respected master of his craft, but he is also a friend of the Hadleighs,” Mama replied. “More importantly, Glory likes him.”
Papa turned his gaze upon Glory. “Is that true, poppet?”
“I do, um, enjoy Master Chen’s company.” Glory prayed her blush wouldn’t give her away. “If you spent time with him, I think you would too. You know about Mr. Chen’s work, but did you know that his father also fought opium as a respected soldier in the Daoguang Emperor’s Imperial Army?”
“How interesting.” Papa’s expression was inscrutable. “Perhaps I shall make an effort to converse with Mr. Chen this eve.”
Glory could barely contain her joy. “That would be lovely.”
“As long as you promise a dance to Winslow,” Papa said.
It was a neat move, but Glory didn’t care. She would do a jig with the devil himself if it meant Papa would give Wei a chance.
“I shall reserve Mr. Winslow a place on my dance card,” she said.
“Isn’t Glory in exceptionally fine looks this eve?” the Duchess of Hadleigh asked.
“She is always in fine looks,” Wei said.
He was standing with the duchess and her husband, watching his beloved whirl across the dance floor. In his eyes, Glory was pretty no matter what her outer trappings were. Tonight, however, her rare beauty was showcased with an extravagance befitting a duke’s daughter.
Her embroidered ivory frock was a work of art. The fitted bodice bared her lovely shoulders—and, in Wei’s opinion, far too much in general. He felt a bite of possessiveness when he saw her current partner, a fair-haired gentleman, place his hand on the exposed skin between her shoulder blades as he deftly spun her into a turn.
Her fluffy skirts had an overlay of golden netting that was embroidered with peonies in shades of pink and peach surrounded by spring-green leaves. As she spun, the tiers unfurled like sparkling petals. Her partner said something, and the smile she gave him outshone the crystal chandeliers overhead. The fellow responded by subtly trailing his fingers across her back, and Wei experienced an urge to punch the cove in the face.
“Try to look like you are enjoying yourself,” Hadleigh murmured. “Or, at the very least, like you are not planning to beat Winslow to a fare-thee-well.”
Startled by his friend’s acumen, Wei realized that his hands were balled. He relaxed them and took a deep breath. He still wasn’t used to Glory’s effect on his self-control.
“Thank you,” he said in a low voice. “I do not know what came over me.”
“I do,” Hadleigh said wryly. “Punching Matthew Winslow, however, isn’t going to accomplish anything.”
It might make me feel better.
Wei knew the duke was right, of course. At this lavish event attended by the crème de la crème of English society, he was already a fish out of water. His goal of gaining the acceptance of Glory’s family was not going to be helped if he acted like a barbarian.
Nonetheless, he had to ask. “What do you know about Winslow?”
“He’s the nephew of philanthropist Emmett Rothwell. Son of a dead sister, I believe. Winslow acts as Rothwell’s private secretary and manages some of his business interests. Winslow’s a widower.” Hadleigh turned to his lady. “Anything to add, little queen?”
“Only the most important fact.” Her Grace gave Wei a knowing smile. “Glory has no interest in Winslow whatsoever. Her affections are entirely engaged elsewhere.”
Beneath his cravat, Wei’s neck burned with embarrassment. He wasn’t used to feeling unsure of himself…like a lovesick mooncalf. He suddenly flashed to the last time he’d felt this way, and an icy droplet rolled down his spine.
From afar, he’d watched Chun during the Mid-Autumn Festival celebration her husband hosted for the entire village. Sitting next to the governor, distributing moon cakes to the peasants with a benevolent smile, she, too, had been garbed in the finest robes. She, too, had been the object of admiration. She, too, had been beyond Wei’s reach. Only when the guests were gone and under the cover of shadows had she cavorted with Wei.
The poor soldier’s son who was good for only one thing.
Who was a dirty secret and nothing more.
