“I’ll be careful. Not like I was with the book.” She winced. “I’m terribly sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. I startled you with my arrival. I’m glad I was able to catch you before you sustained an injury. How would you dance if you’d twisted your ankle?”

He made a good point. “I am grateful for your quick action. I would like to be able to dance.”

“Of course you would.” He said it as if every young woman wanted nothing more than to dance. While it was true about her, she hoped he hadn’t made other assumptions. “Have you always been fond of maps?”

“Yes, but we didn’t have very many. When I see how you live here, I confess that I wonder how our fathers were friends.”

He pivoted, resting his hip against the table as he crossed his arms. “Why is that?”

She found his gray eyes rather distracting. They seemed to possess the ability to see straight inside her, which was ridiculous. He would observe only what she wanted him to. “My father was not wealthy. He was an academic, and we lived on the support of his older brother. After my father died, my uncle took his library in exchange for a settlement for my mother. He permitted me to choose a handful of things to keep—they were all maps.”

The earl frowned. “That sounds rather unfair.”

She lifted a shoulder. “My uncle wasn’t a very caring man. I believe he saw my mother and me as a nuisance. He thought he was being kind enough by allowing us to continue to inhabit our house, which was on his estate.”

“He died recently?”

“Just before my mother passed. Thankfully, when my mother died, his son allowed me—and Mrs. Tucket, of course—to continue living there.” He’d also strongly suggested she marry, but she wouldn’t mention that for fear it would invite discussion on a topic that didn’t remotely interest her. “I was quite relieved when your father’s kind invitation for the Season arrived.” He’d apparently sent it just before he’d died, giving his son no choice but to shepherd her through a debut.

Well, she supposed the current earl could have refused and left her to rot in Bitterley. She was glad he hadn’t.

Overton uncrossed his arms. “My father didn’t tell me a thing about you until he was dying. I have no idea why our fathers were friends. He only told me they’d met at Oxford, and that, as your godfather, he’d agreed to look after you and your mother when your father died. They must have formed their friendship at Oxford. I can’t even imagine it because I can’t see my father in that way.”

“What way is that?”

It took the earl a moment to respond. When he did, he seemed uncertain. “Friendly, I suppose?”

It seemed the relationship between father and son was not close, but before she could ask about it, the butler announced the arrival of Lady Pickering.

Overton pushed away from the table. “Excellent. Please show her to the drawing room and make sure Miss Lancaster joins us.”