Mother turned with a bright smile. “Goodness, it’s crowded this evening. I hope your new admirer can find us, Juliet.”

Juliet sighed audibly. “He’s not my admirer, Mother. In fact, he seemed to be spend more time looking at Georgie than at me.”

A frown creased Mother’s brow. “Well, there’s no point in him paying Georgiana any attention, is there? Seeing as how she took leave of her senses and married some highwayman without telling anyone.” She shot Georgie a familiar, disapproving look.

“Midshipman,” Georgie corrected absently. “He wasn’t a highwayman.”

Mother waved that away. “Same thing. My point is, you’re already taken.”

“I thought you wanted a title for Juliet?” Georgie couldn’t resist saying. “Mr. Wylde is a younger son. His brother is the earl.”

Mother sniffed. “The Morcotts are an old and extremely well-connected family. Mr. Wylde may not have the robust finances one might like, certainly, but he can trace his lineage back to the Norman conquest.”

Juliet sent Georgie a horrified glance. Mother had clearly been studying her Debrett’s.

“And there’s nothing wrong with him showing an interest in Juliet,” Mother continued. “His attentions will only make her other suitors, like Upton, more ardent.”

Juliet winced, and Georgie gave her arm a sympathetic squeeze. “Oh look,” she said brightly. “Is that your friend Lady Cowper?”

Mother twirled. “It is indeed! I haven’t seen dear Caroline in an age. Would you just look at that ostrich feather? Why, it’s monstrous!” She waved merrily. “Why don’t you two head toward the rotunda and see if you can find Mr. Wylde? I’ll catch up with you in a moment.”

Juliet sent Georgie a triumphant look. “Yes, Mama.”

Benedict was standing under the trees in a shadowy corner of Vauxhall waiting for his informant when he felt an almost imperceptible nudge in the region of his coat pocket. He turned, caught the perpetrator’s slim wrist in a punishing grip, and spun the potential thief into the light—then grinned when he saw the boy’s familiar, grimy face.

“You’ll have to be quicker than that, Jem.” He chuckled. “Best stick to smuggling and selling information. Picking pockets isn’t your forte.”

Jem Barnes’s lips split into a gap-toothed grin as he rubbed his abused wrist to restore the circulation.

“Easy, guv. I’m out o’ practice, is all.” He slunk back into the shadows out of habit and gave a low, impressed whistle as he took in Benedict’s evening clothes and silver-topped cane. “Ho, look at you, dressed up all fancy,” he cooed. “What you do? Rob a bank? Take up the High Toby?”

“Won a shooting contest,” Ben said lazily.

The boy’s gaze sharpened. “Sounds like you can afford to pay me a little sum’fin for what I know, then, don’t it?”