Sylvester nodded energetically. He had no wish to cross swords with Eloise (to be frank, he was terrified of her), and besides, the girl did seem to be charming.

“You misunderstand me, dear lady,” he said, pouring oil on the waters. “I never meant to cast aspersions on Lady Madeleine’s background. I simply made a general statement. Someone with your keen eye must have noticed that there seem to be more French aristocrats in London than there ever were in Paris, even when Louis XVI was on the throne!”

Eloise settled her ruffled plumage. “In that respect, Mr. Bredbeck, you are absolutely correct.” She lowered her voice. “Did you hear that the so-called Comte de Vissale turned out to be a French nobody? In fact, Madame de Meneval told me that she suspects he was nothing more than the music instructor for the real comte’s children.”

Sylvester’s eyes brightened. “Goodness me,” he said. “Why, I had the pleasure of talking to the comte—or rather, the not-comte—just last week.” He tittered happily.

Sophie walked up to her mother. “Maman, now that our party is complete, I thought we might go in to dinner.”

Eloise cast a look toward the door. To be sure, Sophie had already corralled the Earl and Countess of Sheffield and Downes, Patrick’s brother and sister-in-law.

But Sylvester had one more thing to ask. “And where is the former comte now? Applying for work in a music academy, perhaps?”

“Madame de Meneval told me that he has fled the country,” Eloise replied. “Most likely he has gone to America. I understand that all manner of thieves and frauds live in that country.”

“My goodness,” Sophie said lightly. “What on earth are you two talking about?”

Sylvester turned to her. “Your mother is the best of friends with Madame de Meneval and is telling me amusing tales of false Frenchmen. Have you met Madame?”

Sophie shook her head. “Who is she?”

Eloise broke in impatiently. “Goodness me, Sophie. I told you about dear Madame last week. You must not have been listening. She was a valued member of the court of Louis XVI, and she personally knew every single member of the French aristocracy. Now she is in London, and one of her more unpleasant tasks has been unmasking the large number of pretenders who are thronging our streets, pretending to be French nobility!”

Sophie’s eyes widened. Madame de Meneval was clearly someone whom Madeleine must avoid at all costs. But Eloise was already turning away, going to join her husband at the door.

Sophie had placed Madeleine between Quill and Lord Reginald Petersham. Quill would never do anything to overset a lady’s composure, and while Reginald was practically guaranteed to bore Madeleine’s ear off with some lengthy bits of gallantry, he too was harmless.