Mr. Wight acknowledged his daughter with an easy smile and a glass lifted in salute. And he apparently knew what it was she wanted, because he and the man at his side were soon coming their way.

Perhaps the events of the evening had already numbed her, because Libby’s stomach couldn’t muster so much as a single cramp at the approach of the viscount, even when his gaze swept over her before landing on her face and a smile graced his lips.

He looked vaguely familiar, the kind that came of seeing someone across a crowded ballroom but never being introduced. No doubt they had scores of common acquaintances, and Bram probably knew him well enough to say hello on the street. He may have been a bit older than her brother—or else just looked it due to his receding hairline.

He wasn’t a bad-looking man though, not that Libby made a study of the specimens on display each Season, like Lottie did. He was of average height, wore a well-cut jacket that she suspected hid a waist that was thicker than he wanted it to be, and had eyes that, at least, gleamed with intelligence. That was a nice change of pace.

“Lady Elizabeth, so glad you made it!” Mr. Wight boomed. A newcomer might assume it was in order to be heard over the instruments, but she’d met the man before. He boomed everything. Perhaps in order to be heard over his daughter’s incessant chatter. “Allow me to make introductions! Lady Elizabeth Sinclair, sister of the Earl of Telford! Viscount Willsworth!”

She held out her hand, not regretting having worn the satin gloves that stretched over her wrist and then her elbow, all the way to her bicep. They gave her a bit of insulation between her hand and the stranger’s as he took her fingers and bowed over them.

“How do you do, my lady?”

“Very well, my lord. Thank you. And you?”

He straightened again with a warm smile. “My evening just brightened considerably. You’re the friend Miss Wight mentioned who is interested in botany? And biology?”

She nodded.

“I suspected as much.” His hand inexplicably lifted, hovered, and his brows raised to match. “Excuse me, you’ve . . .” He reached forward and plucked something off her arm.

A jasmine flower, snagged in the lacework of her shawl. “Oh.” She cleared her throat. She couldn’t exactly say she’d been shoved into the plant’s embrace, could she? “I saw a Cestrum nocturnum on my walk here and stopped to investigate.”

He didn’t seem to find anything amiss in her explanation. He smiled and motioned to her head. Or her hair, specifically. “If I may?”

Libby’s lack of reply was covered by Lottie’s next burst of giggles, even as Willsworth tucked the bloom into her hair and then quickly retreated.