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Then she shrugged it off. It must be her imagination, which had certainly played plenty of tricks on her lately. She turned back to watching the dancers, catching one more glimpse of old Lord Wroth several minutes later. He was standing in profile to her, speaking to someone she couldn’t see. Again her eyes lingered on the curious fellow.

Then he lifted his head and laughed.

Mariah looked, and looked again. It was impossible, and yet... She gasped out loud. She could swear she’d seen that profile before.

In moonlight.

Chapter Fifteen

The notion that Harry might be related to Lord Wroth bothered Mariah well into the next day. It was surely impossible, and yet there was just something, a nebulous, indefinable something, that refused to let the thought die.

It was absurd, of course. She already knew Harry was Lord Crane’s secretary. She was imagining things. Lord Wroth was just an old roué who delighted in shocking young ladies, just as Harry always managed to catch her off guard, and that similarity was putting ideas into her head.

Perhaps he was a distant relation. That thought was rather pleasing, to tell the truth. Lord Wroth wasn’t the most acceptable gentleman in town, but he was a... Mariah wasn’t certain. A baron, most likely. Perhaps a viscount. He might be Scottish, or Irish even, which didn’t help much but at least he was a titled Scot. Or Irishman. She would have to look up Lord Wroth in the peerage. Any sort of title in his family would help, even if Harry wouldn’t inherit it himself.

She made her way to the library the next morning. Excitement quickened her steps, not only at the idea that she might finally learn something about Harry, but at the hope that he might have a connection of consequence. She turned the corner, trying to think where she would find a copy of DeBrett’s, and almost bumped into her father.

“Good morning, Papa.”

“Good morning, Mariah.” He laid his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. Then he stepped back and studied her face. “You’re up and about early today.”

She was dying of curiosity and hadn’t been able to sleep another minute. “It’s such a lovely day, who could stay abed?”

He laughed. “Who? Why, you, miss, many days! I’ve had tea before I’ve seen you the day after a ball.”

“Papa,” she said severely. “Mama will not like you teasing me about that.”

“No doubt.” His eyes gleaming with mischief, Papa lowered his voice. “Would you care to accompany me, since you are awake so early?”

Having her father’s undivided attention was a rare treat, so great it diverted her from her quest. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve a petition to deliver to Iverley and thought to walk. It’s barely a mile.”

Mariah debated less than a moment. The peerage would still be in the library when she returned, and it had been a while since she walked with her father. He was so busy, especially since their return to London. “Of course I shall walk with you.”

They set off a short time later. Papa laid his hand over hers, nestled in the crook of his arm. “Are you still enjoying London?”

She thought of Harry, with his visits that made her blood run hot and fast, his infuriating lack of openness, and his professed unsuitability. She sighed, half in dismay, half in pleasure. “Yes, although I shall be glad for the quiet of Doncaster again. It seems an eternity since we’ve been home.”

Her father nodded, seemingly gratified by her words. “I miss it, too. I knew it would be a great imposition on you and your mother to go along on my travels⁠—”

“No,” Mariah protested.

“Nonsense,” he said firmly. “Of course it was. If you both hadn’t been such hardy creatures, it might have been disastrous. I would never have forgiven myself if either of you had come to harm on our journeys.”

“Neither of us would have willingly stayed behind.”

“No, but I’m glad to have you safely home all the same.” He patted her hand. “Although it seems I’ve only postponed the inevitable. I foresee that I shall lose you very soon.”

Mariah smiled nervously. “Oh, perhaps not...”

Papa snorted. “How many gentlemen have I refused, Mariah? Just because one hasn’t suited you yet does not mean one won’t, all too soon.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that. They walked in silence for a moment. “Papa,” she began, choosing each word with care, “whom do you think I should marry?”

His eyebrows went up. “Ah. You have never asked my opinion before.”

“Now I am.” And it wasn’t something she did lightly. Papa was likely to name some wealthy, respectable gentleman, perhaps even one of the ones she had rejected, and then she didn’t know what she would do. Her father was a very perceptive man, and he knew the gentlemen of London much better than she possibly could. Her father was, after all, a man, and who better to judge other men than the man who had loved her best all her life? If he named someone she had already met and dismissed, she would have to consider the chance that she’d made a mistake.