As George removed her gloves and tucked them into her reticule, Aunt Agatha leaned forward and, from across the room, eyed George in a minatory be-nice-to-the-duke fashion. George bared her teeth in not quite a smile.

The duke proved to be a solicitous supper partner and presented George with a variety of dishes, all very much to her taste. She accepted a portion from every one. She really was very hungry, and the spread was magnificent. The memory of hunger, going several days without food, was not all that far in her past, and it simply wasn’t in her to refuse food when it was offered.

Nor could she waste good food by toying with it in a ladylike manner and leaving most of it on her plate. She allowed her plate to be filled and ate the lot. She ignored the sideways looks from the ladies close by. What she did was none of their business.

The lady beside the duke kept trying to engage him in conversation. As far as George was concerned she was welcome to him, but the duke merely responded to the woman’s gushing efforts with bored-sounding monosyllables, then returned his attention to George. It was very annoying. He ought to have better manners.

What was he playing at? If his purpose in coming here tonight was to indicate to the ton that there were no hard feelings between him and the Rutherford family—Rose in particular—he could have left after his dance with Rose.

This very particular attention to George—so uncharacteristic and public—was drawing unwelcome attention from some of the ladies. Speculative attention. Unfriendly speculation at that, she could tell.

She tried to engage the gentleman on the other side of her in conversation, old General Fairfax, a former commander of Cal’s, but the general was deaf and extremely focused on his supper. For each of her efforts he gave a smile and a nod and returned to shoveling in food, as if at any moment someone would come to snatch his plate away.

As a distraction the general was useless.

The duke plied her with food and drink and gave her his full attention. Taking her cue from the general, George gave supper her full attention.

She felt like a mouse feeding under the gaze of a cat. Or a hawk. A lady mouse with an unladylike appetite. She did her best to throw off her self-consciousness. If he didn’t like her eating so much, he shouldn’t have served her all this delicious food.

Besides which, eating prevented conversation, and that suited George. Every time she’d spoken to this duke she’d managed to offend him. Crab patties were safer than opinions, when one was trying to be good.

“The crab patties are very good, don’t you think?” the duke murmured as he signaled for her glass to be refilled with champagne.