It had taken less than a quarter hour for Ash to win Harris over. Indeed, he reminded Harris of a dog from his youth, and now Gregory wondered if Harris secretly enjoyed having Ash to himself on occasion.

“It’s rather unimpressive, isn’t it?” Susan remarked as their coach came to a stop in front of Threadbury Hall.

Built in the late seventeenth century, the house was probably half the size of Witney Court. Even so, it boasted an attractive, symmetrical façade made of Portland stone featuring tall windows and a dormered top story.

“It’s charming,” Gregory said, refusing to let Susan provoke him. Not tonight when he was going to spend the evening in the company of the divine Mrs. Renshaw.

Susan sniffed. “I suppose.”

“You have to admire the man,” Clifford said as the coachman opened the door. “Creighton, I mean. He didn’t inherit this.”

She pursed her lips at Clifford. “I do not have to admire vulgarity.”

Gregory exhaled sharply. “What could possibly be vulgar about a family working to better its prospects?” He was instantly sorry he’d taken her bait.

“Well, we don’t have to befriend them. At least not in London.” She stepped out of the coach, and Gregory had an exceedingly uncharitable thought that perhaps she might trip and hurt her ankle so that she would return to Witney Court.

Alas, she made it to the ground without issue, and Gregory silently admonished himself to be kinder than she was. Clifford followed her out, and Gregory climbed down last. They made their way to the front door, where a smart, liveried footman greeted them.

The butler—Gregory assumed his identity since he possessed the confident carriage of any butler—stood in the center of the entry hall, with its shining marble floor and polished wood paneling. “Welcome to Threadbury Hall. Allow me to escort you to the formal drawing room.”

The footman took Gregory’s and Clifford’s hats and gloves and Susan’s cloak. Gregory trailed them as they fell in behind the butler, who led them through the staircase hall. They passed through two more rooms before entering the large formal drawing room.

The space was elegantly, if a bit spartanly, decorated and contained their hosts along with perhaps a dozen other people, including Mrs. Renshaw. Gregory spotted her immediately. She stood near the center of the room speaking with the vicar. A purple gown embroidered with gold flowers draped her frame, and an amethyst necklace sparkled against the flesh of her upper bosom. He could scarcely wait to begin his campaign of flirtation.