Sophie’s heart beat a little faster. It was unfortunate that Madeleine happened to arrive at the same time as a group of guests. Sophie had hoped to introduce her to Eloise without an audience. But Sylvester Bredbeck was one of Eloise’s dearest friends, and so Eloise greeted her daughter’s new friend quickly and then settled into a cozy talk with Sylvester.

Madeleine, for her part, felt nothing but gratitude when the terrifying marchioness dismissed her with a kindly smile. She turned to greet the gentleman at her elbow, but her brown eyes immediately softened when she saw that Erskine—Quill—had difficulty standing.

With all her innate gentility, she instantly broke one of the rules she had learned from Sophie—a young lady never asks to be seated when her elders are standing—and announced that she was a bit tired after the carriage ride. In mere seconds, she and her chaperone were seated, with Quill relaxed in an armchair and breathing a silent sigh of relief.

“That’s a pretty-behaved gal,” her father said to Sophie in passing. “Saw what she did for the elder Dewland chap, the one with the ridiculous nickname—Quill, isn’t it?” He snorted. “A man shouldn’t be named after a writing tool, if you ask me. Pretty behaved: pretty gal, too. Too many young girls don’t have any meat on their bones, these days.”

Sophie looked at him sharply. Papa couldn’t try to set Madeleine up as a flirt! But George was smiling at Madeleine with paternal approval. Sophie sent up a silent prayer of thanks. Amorous interest on her father’s part would be a disaster for Sophie’s plans. Then her mother would be bound to dislike poor Madeleine.

“Never heard of the Marquis de Flammarion, have you?” The Honorable Sylvester Bredbeck had finished imparting a delicate rumor about a mutual acquaintance and was scanning the room. He was a small, bustling man with a creaky corset and a fervent love of gossip.

“Certainly I have,” Eloise replied firmly. She prided herself on a vast knowledge of French aristocracy. “The marquis lived a very retired life. I never met him myself.” She frowned. “I can’t quite place where his estates were. The Limousin, perhaps.”

“Can’t be too careful, these days,” Sylvester commented.

Eloise bridled. Sylvester was close to suggesting that Eloise’s own daughter had invited a pretender to her home. Sylvester caught her glance and quailed.

“I certainly didn’t mean to suggest anything of the sort about the daughter of the marquis,” he said hastily. “Seeing as she is a special friend of your family.”

“Not only because of that,” Eloise snapped. “Lady Madeleine is French aristocracy to the tip of her fingertips, sir. It is visible with just a glance. I, if anyone, would be able to ascertain immediately if she were an impostor, and she is not.”