Harry pulled out Elise’s chair before the footman could do so. Her eyes flicked to his, and he noted the surprise in their depths. His forehead creased. Had so few men honored or respected her in the past by such a simple action?

Without a doubt, Elise had no need for his assistance. Even injured, she could take down most men in the room without breaking a sweat. But that wasn’t the point.

“Thank you,” she said a little breathily.

Harry took note of the special cushion placed in advance on her seat. Someone had seen to Elise’s comfort. That thoughtful touch warmed him to her family.

“You do that a lot, you know. Open doors. Help people with their bags. Was that part of being in the Household Cavalry and Royal Armoured Corps?” Elise asked.

“No, that was the result of Alice Benson’s wooden spoon boot camp. If I ever treated her or any other female without consideration—bam.”

“You are a dying breed, Harry Benson.” Elise dropped her eyes to her plate, her color high. “Tell your mother thank you. It’s nice to be treated like a lady.”

He placed his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I think Mum needs to mail me that wooden spoon. Sammy is a positive heathen.”

She chuckled as he had meant her to, putting emotions on a more even keel between them. Their relationship had shifted in the last few weeks, and that wasn’t the only thing that had subtly changed between them. A softer, less hardened Elise had emerged. While Harry enjoyed her cat-spitting ways, this gentler version had snared his soul.

Turning, he glanced at the woman’s name card beside him: Lady Cairstine Henderson.

Another sister?

He recognized Lady Cairstine from his trip to Edinburgh, but he hadn’t realized she, too, was related. On the tallish side, Cairstine was quite pretty, but her youthful spirits were the main attraction. Her escort, Lord Ahern, a man a few years her senior, appeared quite taken with her.

“I assume these are all your siblings?” Harry included the table at large when a lull in conversation occurred.

“We’re missing Roddy—he’s an acquired taste,” Elise said with a mischievous twinkle.

“I sense a story.”

“Many stories,” Lady Cairstine corrected. “The media adores him.”

Interesting. None of the sisters elaborated. Evidently, their brother’s behavior was not a topic for formal gatherings.

“May I ask what brings you to the Borders, Mr. Matthews?” Harry asked, turning his conversation to Lady Sophie’s date.

“I handle several of Lord Roxbury’s funds.”

“Zander is a hedge-fund manager.” Lady Sophie unfurled her napkin and slipped it onto her lap.

“I only asked because I didn’t detect the cadence of Scotland in your voice,” Harry said. “Is there a chance that you hail south of the border? I’m a little outnumbered tonight.”