He and his wife moved into the room to make way for the next guests. Kit knew them all. She couldn’t help comparing the real joy she felt in such a simple affair with the boredom she’d found in the elaborate entertainments of the ton.

The Greshams were the last to arrive. After exchanging compliments with Sir Harvey and Lady Gresham, Kit linked her arm in Amy’s. “Where’s your George?” At her suggestion, the Greshams’ invitation had included Amy’s betrothed. “I’m dying to meet this paragon whose kisses get you hot and wet.”

“Sssh! For heaven’s sake, Kit, keep your voice down.” Amy’s eyes were fixed on her mother’s back. Perceiving no sign that her ladyship had heard, she switched her gaze to Kit’s teasing face. And sighed. “George had to cry off. It seems he’s still on duty-assigned to some special mission.” Amy grimaced. “He does steal time to drop by now and then, but it’s hardly what I’d hoped-I haven’t seen much of him in the last few weeks.”

“Oh,” was all Kit could find to say.

“But,” added Amy, drawing herself up, “it will only be for another few months. And at least he’s safe in England, not facing the French guns.” Smiling, she squeezed Kit’s arm. “Incidentally, he said he was most desirous of making your acquaintance.”

Kit looked her disbelief. “Did he really say that or are you just being loyal?”

Amy laughed. “You’re right. What with his apologies for not being able to accompany us, I’m afraid we never got around to discussing you.”

Kit nodded sagely. “I see. Too feverish for sense.”

Amy grinned but refused confirmation. Together, they strolled among the guests, chatting easily. The conversation in the drawing room revolved around farming and the local markets, but once they were all seated about the long dining table, the talk shifted to other spheres.

“Hendon’s not here, I see.” Lord Marchmont sent a glance around the table, as if the recently returned Lord Hendon might have slipped in unnoticed. “Thought he would be.”