An excited chorus of women’s voices answered in obvious agreement. Scarlet placed a hand on her breast and stared off across the room. “Who is the Pimpernel? That rogue of a man. I long to tell.”

Sighs and squeals sounded from down the table.

Scarlet continued. “Expert, cunning at disguise. Our eyes wonder at his size.” She held her arms out to demonstrate a broad chest.

“And his nose—”

Lord Panning scoffed. “Nose, indeed.”

“Well, yes, his nose.” She held a finger up in the air. “And his clothes—”

“And what about his hair?” Cordelia called out, covering her mouth with one hand.

“Exactly. Does it have that wavy flair?” Scarlet paused, demonstrating where a wave would rest on the top of Lord Panning’s balding and scaly head. “Perhaps . . . he is an old, coddled creature?”

The ladies at the table murmured in dissent.

“A tired and worn out preacher?”

Prince George’s amused laughter brought smiles to even the men.

“Who is our paragon, The man we all depend upon, Saving many a life

From that despicable knife?”

The Comtesse de Molier’s hand went up to her throat, and she shared a look with her husband.

“Who has seen his face? He hides himself well, England’s own elusive Pimpernel.”

The prince clapped and shouted, “Bravo!” The whole of their table followed suit. Then he stood also, which signaled the rest of the guests do the same, before they all began making their way back to the ballroom.

Matteo circled the table and came to stand behind Scarlet, helping her pull back her chair farther. He turned to face Lord Panning. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure of an introduction.”

Scarlet said, “Oh, yes, of course. Your Highness, Prince Matteo, this is Lord Panning.”

Lord Panning bowed, and Matteo nodded his head with a slight bow in return. He said, “Lord Panning. I couldn’t help but notice an obvious flash of revulsion cross the lovely Lady Cavendish’s face while you were leaning in to talk to her just now.”

Scarlet’s mouth opened in startled amazement. “Matteo—”

He placed his hand upon her own where it rested on his arm, and waited with raised eyebrows, looking expectantly at Lord Panning. With no response forthcoming, Matteo continued. “As a dear friend of hers, I would hope never to see such a look of discomfort cross her features again. If you are ever so fortunate as to secure any ounce of her attention in the future, I expect to see only expressions of supreme well-being shining from her person.”

Lord Panning’s sallow face sputtered and stammered. Then, swallowing, he said, “I can’t see how her sense of well-being is any responsibility of mine.”