Quill’s dark green eyes filled with laughter. “It sounds more like a bankside interlude, as you describe it.”

Madeleine looked curious.

“A puppet show,” Quill explained.

Madeleine gave him a tiny smile. “I, sir, would never be so impolite as to describe the crème of English society as puppets.”

At that Quill laughed out loud, instantly drawing the attention of Lady Skiffing, Lady Prestlefield, and the Honorable Sylvester Bredbeck.

Lady Skiffing frowned slightly. “Lady Madeleine could do much better than Erskine Dewland,” she remarked to Patrick. “True, he will be a viscount someday, but one must ask: Is he capable? Although he appears to have almost recovered from the accident, I hear that his father has arranged for the younger boy to marry an Indian heiress, so the family must know something we don’t.”

Patrick resisted the impulse to give his dinner partner a sharp set-down. Sophie had been so worried about the success of her dinner that he didn’t want to cause further anxiety by snapping at her guests, although Lady Skiffing was a petulant old witch.

So he looked down at her benignly, his face smooth and friendly. “Quill is a particular friend of mine; I can assure you that Lady Madeleine could not do better than to accept his hand in marriage, were he to offer it.”

Lady Skiffing sniffed disapprovingly. As someone who spent her days spicing gossip with an intonation, giving faint blame and even fainter praise, she thoroughly understood the language of the undertone.

Smiling graciously, she inclined her head. “You put me to shame, dear sir,” she crooned. “One should remember, of course, that when your brother was abroad for such a long period of time, many people believed that you would inherit his title, and yet here you both are.” She smiled happily at Patrick and turned to the Marquis of Brandenburg, seated on her left.

Touché! Patrick thought appreciatively. She managed to remind me that I am a younger son and untitled.

And he wondered for the fortieth time why Sophie had assembled such an odd group for their first dinner as a married couple. True, Quill seemed happy talking to Sophie’s friend Madeleine, and that was splendid, given that Quill rarely left his house. It was a pleasure to see Will Holland and his lovely wife, Chloe. And at least Braddon hadn’t been invited.

But why on earth had Sophie invited that dried-up old prune, Lady Skiffing? And why, in God’s name, had she invited Lady Sarah Prestlefield, the woman who had walked into the salon at the Cumberland ball and caught them kissing?

With a sigh he turned to Sophie’s mother. Eloise was picking at her stuffed capon in an unsatisfied sort of way.

Patrick bent toward her. “May I summon a footman to dispatch with your capon?”