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Jasper set down his fork and knife; he’d made an effort with his joint of beef but was restless to leave.

“I received the invitation this morning. It appears Lord Hayes arranged for it.”

“Ah yes, I heard you were connected to the viscount. A beneficial association to have.”

“He’s a friend, sir,” Jasper said, another burr lodging under his skin. The implication that he associated with Oliver for his connections was an insult.

“Yes, good, good,” the superintendent said. “We will be in attendance as well.”

“There seems to have been no dinner parties all autumn, and I’ve been starved for some dancing,” Rose said. “Do you dance, Inspector?”

Christopher snorted softly, as if he already knew the disappointing answer.

“No.” Jasper recalled how Constance had often lamented that fact while he’d been courting her. “We had a lesson or two at Cheltenham, but they didn’t take.”

For the first time during luncheon, Christopher straightened with interest. “You were at Cheltenham?”

Sending Jasper to the boys’ school in Gloucestershire had been an extravagant choice for Gregory, but he’d claimed to have enough money put aside to afford it. He’d planned to send his late son, Gregory Junior, to the private boys’ school and had seen no reason not to send Jasper instead.

“That’s right,” Jasper answered.

“What about university?” Christopher asked.

Jasper knew why he asked; all the boys in his year at Cheltenham had gone on to attend Oxford, Cambridge, or King’s College, or into the Queen’s army. He would have wagered none had gone on to work in the police force.

“It wasn’t for me,” Jasper said simply. The only thing he’d wanted to do was join the force and, as Monroe had said, follow in his father’s footsteps.

“Admirable,” Monroe said, his loud voice close to a bellow. “The man knows his vocation, Christopher.”

It was praise for Jasper as much as it was criticism for Christopher’s choice to attend university. The young man squirmed with a desire to shout at his father, and likely seeing it, Rose changed the subject.

“I will save you a dance, Inspector.” She reached the short distance between them and rested her palm on his hand, which had been lying flat on the table, his fingers drumming impatiently. They now went still, her touch surprising.

“As I said, I’m not much of a dancer,” he reiterated as she slowly removed her hand, allowing her fingertips to brush his skin as they lifted away.

“You will just have to relearn your steps,” Rose said in a light, teasing tone. Once more, he recognized it as a tactic Constance had employed when flirting.

Expecting a scowl or reprimand from the superintendent, Jasper drew his hand from the table and looked to him. But he only saw a gleam of approval in Monroe’s smothered grin.

Christ.

So, that was what this lunch had been about? Introducing him to Rose, setting them up to dance at the Home Secretary’s dinner this Saturday. Monroe aimed to align him with his daughter. And Jasper was a complete dolt for only realizing it now.

The servers cleared their plates, and at last, it was time to leave. Jasper stood from his chair, uncertainty weighing him down. He had no intention of being rude or of embarrassing the young woman by insisting they would not be dancing at the dinner party, but he also could not allow any misconceptions that Monroe or Rose might have in mind to flourish.

Rose and her brother fell back in some whispered discussion as the four of them left the restaurant. Jasper was grateful for the moment alone with the superintendent.

“Thank you for inviting me, sir.”

“Glad to have gotten some time with you, son,” he said, the endearment causing Jasper to grit his teeth again.

“Superintendent Monroe, I feel it is only right that I make something clear before there can be any misunderstanding,” Jasper said. “I am courting someone, sir.”

They stepped outside Verrey’s into a light, cold rain that had started to fall while they’d been dining. Monroe breathed in deeply, and when he exhaled, it was accompanied by a grumble of impatience.

“Yes, I have heard.” His good humor, which had been firmly fixed throughout lunch, ebbed.

“You’ve been doing well, Reid,” the superintendent went on, his eyes peeled on a carriage rolling forward along the curb. It wasn’t a hired cab, but a polished, dark red landau. Monroe’s private carriage. “You could make a name for yourself, in your own right, at the Yard. In the Home Office even, if you wanted.”