“Pah,” said Tommy. “Not your duchess. Besides, Chloe’s been nicking things since she was five years old. She can do it in her sleep. Of course she can do it in a crowded ballroom. You look after Philippa and leave the thievery to the experts.”

“I’ll look after all of my ladies.” He gave his wife a look of such heat and tenderness, Tommy rather doubted Faircliffe capable of noticing anyone else.

“And another thing,” she quavered at full volume, once they were within earshot of the door. “Young bucks like you, Faircliffe—”

“Why, look, Aunt,” Chloe said soothingly. “We’ve arrived at Captain Northrup’s residence. Isn’t it lovely? This fine man must be the butler. Here are our cards, good sir. These are gifts for Miss Damaris Urqhart. We’ll present them to her ourselves. I am anxious to be rid of my coat and bonnet. Aunt, may we assist you with yours?”

“I’ll help her,” Faircliffe said.

Tommy cackled and sent a salacious look at the butler. “Any excuse to be manhandled by a duke, I always say. Don’t you agree?”

The butler’s startled eyes flared wide. “I…what…”

“Come along, Aunt,” Chloe coaxed. “They’ll read our names, and then we can greet our hosts.”

Tommy tottered next to Faircliffe and Chloe, being sure to peer about myopically and bump into anyone who passed within arm’s length of her.

The most effective part of the Great-Aunt Wynchester disguise was not her wig or her cosmetics, but the impression of helpless senility. One look, and she was immediately discounted as harmless.

…And more than a touch embarrassing. The sort of person one would be relieved to see disappear from a fancy soirée.

There would be no search party, nor any particular surprise, if an old lady were to be discovered roaming the halls in confusion. The trick was not to be caught until after she’d found the manuscript. Only then would she be ready to make her grand re-entrance to the ball.

“A captain, you say?” she blustered when they reached Northrup. “You remind me of an insolent pup who once barged into a ladies’ private reading circle without an invitation. I should hope that cad was no relative of yours.”

“Come along, Aunt,” said Chloe. “Give your basket to Damaris, and let’s greet the other guests, shall we? Look, there are Mr. and Mrs. York and their daughter, Philippa. Doesn’t she look charming tonight?”

“A treat.” Tommy licked her lips as she tottered away from the receiving line. “A soft, succulent peach of a girl. A ripe, plump, dare I say juicy—”

Chloe snorted. “You’re lucky only I can hear you now.”

“And I,” the Duke of Faircliffe said. “I am less lucky.”

“Pah,” Tommy said. “You have your own peach right here. Take her to the refreshment table for a nice cup of gin while I charm the stockings off my future father-in-law.”