“Lucien, may I introduce you to my future sister-in-law? This is Miss Gabrielle Jerningham, the daughter of Lord Richard Jerningham. And Miss Phoebe Pensington, who is paying us a short visit.”

Lucien walked over and prepared to sweep into a graceful bow—when suddenly Miss Jerningham hopped up from the couch and stood before him. Lucien just caught himself as he stumbled back. If he bowed now, he would strike his head on her knee. He stepped back once more and produced a regrettably inelegant bow.

Gabby bobbed a curtsy.

“Miss Jerningham. I am enchanted to meet you. And you, Miss Phoebe.” Lucien turned to the little girl, who had risen with Gabby.

In response, she dropped an exquisite curtsy.

“My word!” Lucien said. And he swept her a court bow. “It is rare to meet a young lady of such refinement.”

Phoebe smiled gamely, but there was something wrong. Lucien could see that the little girl was exhausted and near tears. What an odd setup this was! This ungainly girl, Gabrielle, was to be the impeccable Peter’s wife? Where was Peter? And what was little Phoebe doing in the midst of it all?

He sat down and there was an awkward pause until Gabby realized that Quill apparently felt no responsibilities as a host to make conversation. “Are you French, Mr. Boch?” she asked, smiling at their guest.

Lucien nodded. “I lived in France for most of my life, although I have been in this country for some twelve, thirteen years.”

“I wonder if you might have known my mother when you lived in France? Her maiden name was du Lac, Marie du Lac.”

“I fear not,” Lucien said. “My wife and I lived a rather secluded life. We rarely went to Paris. Was your mother attached to the court?”

Gabby blushed. “I am afraid that I do not know. My father refuses to speak of her.”

Lucien gave a sympathetic nod. “It is the way sometimes, after a beloved person has died.”

Just then Codswallop bustled in, followed by three footmen bearing a huge silver teapot and various dainties. Tea was set up at a small table at the far end of the room, and it wasn’t until Gabby sat in the chair Codswallop pulled out for her that she realized the teapot was placed squarely in front of her.

“Shall I…?” she asked, looking at Quill.

“Please.”

“I’ve never had proper Chinese tea before,” Gabby confided to Lucien. “Those of us who grow up in India are taught that Chinese tea is akin to nectar.”

Lucien chuckled. “We in England think of it as liquid gold,” he observed. “It’s only people like Quill, who are hand and glove with the East India bravos, who can afford to drink tea at all hours.”

Gabby was carefully pouring pale golden tea into four delicate cups. “My goodness, what is an East India bravo? Am I such a person?”