“Not so obscure anymore,” the duchess said teasingly. “I am told by friends that it flourishes, and many in society have become subscribers.”
“I cannot imagine why.”
“Can you not?” She led the way out of the box, making room for others entering.
They walked through the salon until they reached Lady Farnsworth’s box. She was not alone. Lady Grace was visiting, and another woman sat in a chair beside the box’s owner.
“Ah, Miss Waverly is here. How nice,” the duchess murmured. She turned to Gabriel and Brentworth. “She is Lady Farnsworth’s secretary. Quite a novelty.”
Gabriel followed her inside. “Like I said, eccentric,” he muttered to Brentworth.
Stratton overheard. “A female secretary is unusual, but there is no reason why employing one is eccentric. I expect a woman can do the duty as well as a man.”
“Perhaps better,” Brentworth said. “I would consider one except that tongues would wag.”
“Tongues wagging about the most ducal duke? Shocking.”
“You, on the other hand, do not care about that, Langford,” Stratton said. “You could employ one.”
“I expect it would make the political correspondence less of a chore if a pretty woman sat in that other chair, and not—whatever his name is.”
“You might even remember her name,” Brentworth said. “Unless you have developed a taste for women whose names you never know.”
Gabriel would have jabbed Brentworth hard with his elbow, except just then the party in the box arrested his attention.
Or rather, one member of the party did.
Lady Farnsworth’s guest, Miss Waverly, had risen to greet the duchess. Which meant she now faced Gabriel. As soon as he saw her face, a chord of recognition plucked his awareness.
Surely not. And yet—he moved to the side of the box, where he might see her better.
She wore a rather boring, sedate dress of expensive fabric that glistened just enough to make the simple style appear out of tune with it. Her dark hair, dressed simply, contrasted with very pale skin. Her eyes looked like dark pools in which water sparkled. Her lips looked dark against her pale skin.
The light was dim, but not in the same way as in Harry’s apartment. Still, this secretary appeared damned similar to Alice.
He peered hard while she spoke with the duchess. Lady Farnsworth, swathed in her bizarrely unfashionable dress and wrapped like a Roman senator in a garish shawl, beamed like a proud mother.
“I trust it is the secretary and not Lady Farnsworth whom you examine with those wolf eyes,” Brentworth said after sidling over.
“I think I may know her.”
“The secretary? Unlikely, don’t you think? She is hardly attending parties and balls—” He caught himself. “Oh. You mean the shepherdess.” He sharpened his own gaze on her. “Damn, so little of her was visible. At least of her face. I suppose it would be rude to ask her to bare her bosom so we might see if that part is recognizable.”
“I may not be sure about her, but she should be sure about me. I think that I will attend on Lady Farnsworth for a few minutes.”
“Brave man,” Brentworth said as Gabriel walked away.
He advanced on Lady Farnsworth and waited to be acknowledged. All the time, he kept his gaze on Miss Waverly. He wanted to see her reaction when she saw him.
The duchess moved. Lady Farnsworth settled her attention on him. She smiled conspiratorially, as if they shared a secret. “Langford. As handsome as ever, I see. It has been too long since we talked.”
He made his bow, never taking his gaze off the secretary, whose attention had been momentarily distracted by Lady Grace leaning in to say something.
“I hear you gave a fine speech in the House of Lords,” Lady Farnsworth said.
“It was a small thing. A passing whimsy.”
“That whimsy moved you to great eloquence, I am told. I am so pleased to see you taking up your rightful place in the national discussions. I trust we will hear more from you.”
