“I’m serious. Choosing a bride in the ton is worse than selecting a horse at Tattersall’s. At least at Tat’s, you get to look at their teeth.” Seb subtly inclined his head toward the next female to stroll past. “Shall I try to get Miss Asquith to smile so you can get a glimpse of her pearly-white gnashers?”

Alex gave a theatrical shudder. “Please don’t.”

Benedict scanned the crowd, searching for Georgie, and finally located her coming down one of the tree-lined walks. It was time to set tongues wagging about the two of them. He downed his drink, vaulted easily over the low wall at the front of the booth, and stalked toward her.

She saw him approach, and then pretended she didn’t, and he smiled at her evasion. She hadn’t been so coy when she’d kneed old Josiah in the crown jewels earlier. He stepped into her path and bowed low to her mother, who preened a little at the attention, then at Georgie and her sister.

“Ladies, what a pleasure to see you all again. I hope you’re having a pleasant evening?”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Caversteed enthused. “It is a little chilly, perhaps, with this breeze, but the fireworks were wonderful. And did you see Madame Saqui descending her rope? Extraordinary.”

Benedict caught Georgie’s eye. “It has been a most enlightening evening.”

Color rose in her cheeks as she caught his double meaning, and she shot him a chiding “don’t-you-dare-say-anything” look from behind her mother’s back. He sent her a bland, angelic smile in return.

“May I walk with you a little way, Miss Caversteed?” He offered her his crooked arm, and after a small hesitation she took it, leaving Juliet and her mother to follow on behind.

He steered them away from Seb and Alex’s avid interest and along a row of vendors’ stalls, pointing out various foodstuffs and trinkets along the way, and making sure to smile brightly at every gossipy old biddy he encountered while simultaneously keeping his head bent toward Georgie as if enchanted. It wasn’t as difficult as he’d imagined; watching her expressive face as she enthused over such simple things as toasted chestnuts or a gaudy fan was entertaining in itself. She seemed to find delight in everything.

They stopped to watch a Punch and Judy show, laughing as the shrill-voiced puppet of Judy battered her poor husband over the head with a rolling pin and tried to prevent an incongruous crocodile from stealing a string of fabric sausages.

“Poor Mr. Punch,” Benedict murmured under his breath. “I do hope you won’t treat your own husband quite so poorly, Miss Caversteed.”

Georgie chuckled. “Only if he deserves it, Mr. Wylde.”