Behind the hotel, away from the street, Mick had created an oasis of greenery where his guests could take tea, read, or stroll about. It might be more relaxing, less taxing, to take her callers there. If she had callers. She was striving to keep her expectations modest and realistic so as not to be frightfully disappointed when her entrée into Society happened at a snail’s pace.

With her fork, she poked at her buttered eggs. Suddenly nothing before her seemed appetizing. Perhaps because the thought of gentlemen calling on her reminded her of Mr. Sommersby’s admonishment. It is a dangerous thing, indeed, to fall in love with a man before ever having met him.

Mr. Sommersby’s reaction had taken her aback. He’d sounded almost jealous, although certainly she’d misread that. They’d only just met, and he hadn’t given any indication he had anything other than a friendly interest in her—if even that. Perhaps it was simply that he held a disdain for the aristocracy. He might be a gentleman of means, but if he was living in this area of London and not Mayfair, then his means were no doubt quite modest.

As she’d told him, she was not in love with the Earl of Rosemont. The letter merely served as an example of what Fancy hoped to acquire. Still it had been embarrassing to be caught with it in her pocket. “Aslyn, are you acquainted with Lord Rosemont?”

The widening of her eyes indicated she was surprised by the question. It was one Fancy should have thought to ask sooner since Aslyn had once inhabited the same world as the earl.

“We were introduced, yes, but only in passing. We never spoke at length. I suppose you’re thinking of the letter his wife arranged to be printed in the Times.”

“I know it’s silly to place such stock in a letter a woman wrote on her deathbed, but that’s the very reason I find it so compelling, so persuasive—that she would go to such bother before leaving this world. He must be an extraordinary man.”

“One would think. However, knowing he would never be a suitor, I paid very little attention to him.” She gave a light laugh. “Although to be honest, I saw most men as only a potential dance partner and little else because I always expected to marry Kipwick.” The Duke of Hedley’s son and heir. Mick had stolen her away from him, originally with the intention of ruining her, but then she’d conquered his heart.

Fancy watched as Aslyn reached over and threaded her fingers through Mick’s. He brought them to his lips and simply held them there, meeting her gaze, his warming. “The best laid plans and all that.”

Aslyn arched a delicate brow. “Are you referring to yours or mine?”

He chuckled low. “Both.”