Of course he would be as scandalous as the rest of them. She should expect no less. She recalled him well enough, even if he had spent the bulk of these last years away at school. He’d been an incorrigible boy. She doubted he had changed that much. Mama always said a leopard never changed its spots.

Imogen rather enjoyed this moment of invisibility. No one, especially gentlemen such as these fine toffs, ever spoke their true minds in her presence. She winced. These toffs never even spoke to her at all. She was beneath their consideration.

How different the world would be if people spoke their true thoughts. Chaotic perhaps, but there would be no confusion.

You would know who the monsters were.

Penning continued, “You shall be betrothed by the end of this house party if you do not exercise some caution.”

“Well, married to Lord Delby’s daughter would not be such a terrible fate? I can think of far more miserable futures than that,” a voice contributed. “The lass is comely. Her papa is well positioned and with deep pockets. It would be a brilliant match for any of us.”

“Well, if you don’t mind marrying straight out of Eton, then I’m happy for you,” Penning said in that all-knowing way of his that had not changed since he was a lad of ten. He always had that air to him. It irked her then and it irked her now. Arrogance must go part and parcel with his noble birthright.

“You expect to do better, Penning?”

“He is Penning,” another lad chimed in with an incredulous laugh. “He will have his choice of heiresses. Beauty, charm, rank . . . he can take his pick.”

“Aye, I’ll have my pick,” he agreed mildly. Arrogant prig. He spoke as though he were shopping for ribbons at the village market and nothing more significant than that. “But nothing would lure me into marriage for another decade at least.”

Invisibility, indeed, proved useful. She was correct on that score. He had not changed from that lad who treated her to hard silences, resentful of their parents forcing them to spend time together and vexed when things did not go according to his wishes.

“You mean the vicar’s daughter is not your fate then?” a voice trembling with mirth asked.

Imogen stiffened where she crouched. They spoke of her?

Masculine laughter broke out.

Hot mortification washed over her, but she strained for Penning’s response just the same, curious to hear if he would heighten her humiliation or alleviate it.

If he would be a decent human or not.

“Amusing,” he said, “but no.” Despite his words there was no amusement in his voice. Only hard denial. Stinging rejection that should not sting because she should not care.

She took a bracing breath.