Renforth inclined his head. “Miss Vale.”
“Sir Percival has spoken of you,” she responded, “although I suspect not in terms that would interest me half so much as your own.”
A faint change of expression—approval, perhaps—touched Renforth’s expression.
“Then I should endeavour to be more interesting than your expectations,” he said.
“I should like that very much,” she replied.
Arch watched her carefully. There was no alarm in her manner, no outward sign of unease. If she suspected anything, she concealed it with a discipline that rivalled his own.
“Major Manners has been of some assistance to me of late,” she added, with a glance that held more meaning than her words conveyed. “I begin to understand that his… associations may be of equal use.”
Renforth’s gaze shifted briefly to Arch, then back to her. “Major Manners is a capable officer, miss.”
“I am discovering that, sir,” she said.
There was a pause—not awkward, but charged with assessment and understanding.
Renforth spoke first. “Miss Vale, you have made a most notable impression this evening.”
“I am relieved to hear it,” she replied lightly, “although I suspect the impression may yet be revised.”
“Impressions often are,” he said. “The question is, whether they deepen or diminish.”
Her eyes held his. “I have no intention of diminishing.”
“Nor, I think, will you,” Renforth said quietly.
Something in his tone shifted subtly.
Her gaze moved—just briefly—to Arch. “I wonder,” she said, “whether I might request a measure of clarity, when it becomes… necessary?”
Renforth held her gaze for a long moment. “When it becomes necessary,” he said, “you shall have it.”
It was not a promise, not precisely.
Francesca inclined her head. “Then I shall consider myself reassured, sir.”
Arch almost laughed mockingly at that.
Reassured. If she only knew?—
—but she did not; not yet. That, he realized, was both to their advantage and their greatest danger.
Lady Upton, clearly watching it all, allowed herself the smallest, most satisfied smile.
Miss Vale excused herself then and retraced her steps to the wider company, her composure seemingly intact and her presence now more firmly established than it had been upon her arrival. She proceeded to speak in depth with Countess Lieven; she answered more questions from Castlereagh with measured confidence; she listened—truly listened—to Lady Jersey, which Arch suspected was a rarer courtesy than most people understood.
Princess Esterházy spoke quietly to her husband, who nodded, and following their example, the guests began to take their leave.
Arch saw Sir Percival conversing with his father, and his mother chatting with his brother.
With his relatives thus occupied, he took the opportunity to pull Miss Vale aside. He led her along the passage to just beyond the small morning parlour, where the lamps were turned down low and it was unlikely they would be overheard.
“You look as though you do not wish to discuss the success of my introduction,” she remarked.
“I do not,” he said.
