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“That must have been worrying,” Lady Andover said, her brow creasing in sympathy.

The elderly woman nodded. “It was indeed.”

Julian slowed near the hearth, one hand resting on the mantel. The fire's warmth at his back. Nothing was remarkable about the exchange. Except that Lady Andover seemed to mean what she said. Her concern had drawn the older woman out of a tiresome recitation and into something more personal. Within a moment, they spoke comfortably about the companion’s relief at reaching the house, and the old woman’s shoulders visibly eased.

“Lady Andover,” Lady Wetherby said beside him, following his glance. “She arrived this afternoon with Lady Sylvan.”

He turned toward their hostess, his curiosity stirring. Of course their hostess would have noticed his interest in her. Though he had already surmised her name from her conversation with the elderly woman…whose name he did not know. He was far less attentive than Lady Andover. “I do not believe we have met.”

“Then I must remedy that,” Lady Wetherby said. Before he could say anything further, Lady Wetherby led him across the room. He had come to the gathering expecting a few days away from London. He had hoped for pleasant company, and the chance to spend an afternoon on a horse rather than behind his desk. He had not expected to become interested in anyone before the first evening ended, and the realization sent a small, curious thrill through him.

Lady Andover looked up as they approached. She was lovely. That discovery hit him with an immediacy he’d not prepared for. It was a quiet shock beneath his ribs. Light brown hair framed a face whose gentleness had caught his attention before its beauty. Her gray eyes met his briefly, clear and a little wary, then moved toward their hostess. She wore pale blue silk, a simple gown with little ornament, the color soft as morning sky. One hand rested upon the back of the sofa, her fingers curved lightly over the upholstery as though she were holding herself steady.

“Lady Andover, may I present Lord Rosedale?”

Julian bowed. “A pleasure, my lady.”

She offered her hand, and he took it with the courtesy the occasion required, though he was conscious of how carefully he held it. Her fingers were small and warm, and they trembled very slightly before she steadied them. “How do you do?”

Her voice was quiet. He had heard it more clearly while she spoke to the older woman, though he stood nearer now. He was near enough to catch the faint scent of lavender. He released her hand before she noticed, not wanting to alarm her. “Lady Markham has been telling me about her journey,” she added, her gaze flicking toward the seated woman. Ah…that was the woman’s name…

“So I gathered,” he said, with a small smile. He turned toward the seated lady. “I hope the remainder of your visit will provide fewer difficulties.”

Lady Markham agreed with considerable feeling. Within a few moments, Lady Wetherby had found a chair, and Julian remained beside Lady Andover. The older woman explained exactly how their coachman had managed the final stage of the journey, her gestures making her bracelets jingle. Lady Andover listened without appearing eager to escape. She nodded at the proper moments and asked a question when the story faltered. When Lady Markham reached for her shawl. Lady Andover lifted it from the sofa arm and settled it within reach before anyone else noticed, her movements quick and unobtrusive.

Julian found himself watching her hands. They were graceful and capable, and there was something quietly tender in the way they moved, as though she were accustomed to easing other people’s discomfort without being asked. At last, someone at the pianoforte began a lively tune. Several guests moved toward the open space near the windows, where the carpet had been rolled back, their laughter rising above the music.

Lady Wetherby rose, brushing out her skirts. “We appear to have acquired a dance.”

Lady Andover’s fingers tightened upon the sofa. It was a slight movement, easily missed, but Julian noticed. She glanced toward the dancers, then toward the nearest empty chair, her shoulders drawing in a fraction. He had intended to ask her. He reconsidered the timing, aware of the faint, strained stillness in her posture. “Will you take this seat?” he said, indicating the chair their hostess had vacated.

She looked at him, surprised, and some of the tension left her face. “Thank you.”

He waited while she sat, her skirts settling around her with a soft sigh. Then took the chair beside hers, leaving a polite space between them. Lady Markham turned her attention toward the dancers with the enthusiasm of someone prepared to judge every step.

For a moment, Lady Andover remained quiet, her hands folded in her lap. She kept her gaze fixed on the whirl of color across the room. Julian could have asked about her journey, but he had heard enough accounts of roads and carriages for one evening. Instead, he looked toward the pianoforte, and a smile tugged at his mouth. “I suspect our hostess has underestimated the number of people wishing to improve the entertainment.”

Lady Andover followed his glance. Two gentlemen offered the pianist conflicting suggestions while a third hovered over the poor man’s shoulder, trying to turn a page. “The music might proceed more easily without so much assistance,” she said. She replied softly, but it held enough amusement to encourage him, and he felt a small, bright pleasure at the sound of it.

“I would not dare tell them. They seem very proud of being useful,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

A quick, lovely smile touched her mouth. It vanished almost immediately, as though she remembered to be cautious, and she lowered her eyes. Julian wanted to see it again. “Do you play?” he asked.

“A little,” she said quietly.

“Would the gentlemen improve matters if they stood elsewhere?” he asked.

“Considerably,” she said, her lips twitching.

He laughed quietly. This time, her smile stayed, soft and genuine, and its warmth reached her gray eyes. Before he could ask another question, Lady Sylvan approached. Her red hair and assured manner drew attention wherever she went, though she seemed entirely indifferent.

“Elizabeth, Lady Wetherby has promised to show me the gardens tomorrow morning. Shall I tell her you will join us?” she asked.

Lady Andover’s expression warmed, her whole face brightening. “Yes, please.”

Lady Sylvan greeted Julian, her eyes keen and friendly, then glanced toward the dancers. “You are both escaping the exercise?”

“I have been receiving instruction concerning the musicians,” he said gravely.