“No, but m’mother certainly does. Who do you think told me that Anastasia Stephanoff was going to be the catch of the season? M’mother almost ordered me to put in my bid for the gel.”

“When no one’s even met her yet? And why is that? Why keep her under such tight wraps?”

“She might be a guest of Lady Siddons, but that doesn’t mean she’s been hidden away until her launch tonight. Just means we don’t know anyone who has met her yet.”

“Well, half the bloody ton’s meeting her tonight,” another complained. “Why d’you think Adam’s so put out, since he didn’t get invited.”

“Hardly half the ton.” This was said dryly, if a touch resentfully. “Pro’bly just those with deep pockets, which don’t include us.”

“Speak for yourself, old boy,” the oldest in the group said smugly. “My pockets are deep enough to suit any would-be husband hunter, but I didn’t get invited either. But I’ll tell you, Adam, if she’s as pretty as I’ve heard she is, I might just ask for her m’self. Been thinking it’s about time to settle down. Actually, m’father’s been doing that thinking for me, if you get my drift.”

“How do you know she’s pretty?”

“Would she be the topic on everyone’s mind if she wasn’t?” one of them chuckled.

“That hardly signifies. Doesn’t take a beauty to become the topic.”

“Actually, m’oldest sister heard it from Lady Jennings, who’s a dear friend of Lady Siddons, that the Stephanoff chit is uniquely beautiful, sort of a cross between a Spanish Madonna and a wanton Gypsy. Just the thing to intrigue a man, if you ask me.”

The conversation continued in the same vein as the young bloods approached the theater, but Christopher slowly came to a halt. It took David and Walter a few moments to realize they’d left him behind. Returning to him, it wasn’t hard to see that joining that group hadn’t been such a good idea after all. His expression bordered on the furious.

“It was that mention that the chit they were talking about looks like a Gypsy,” David guessed with a grimace. “What rotten luck.”

But Walter said in a reasonable tone, “You know, Kit, you’ve refused to talk to us about that Gypsy of yours, why she left you when you’d offered to keep her in fine style, why you’ve been so angry about it. What are friends for, if not to hash things out with?”

“I never even told you her full name, did I?” Christopher said.

David, coming up with pretty good guesses tonight, exclaimed, “Good God, you’re not going to say her name’s Anastasia Stephanoff, are you?”

“The same.”

“But you can’t think . . . ?”

“Not bloody likely.” Christopher snorted.