“Carrying on relations,” Meredith continued for her.

“Yes. That. Since you’re carrying on regardless, he thinks he can score points and make it more acceptable for him to trot out his cookies. Since his wife is a rhino, politically, it’s actually better for him to attend with his cookies, believe it or not. But…”

“Herzer won’t want to come, anyway,” Megan muttered. “Ashly: Send a message to the duke telling him that I will be unattended by my… fiancé… and since it would be imbalanced, etc.”

“Good call,” Ashly said, relieved.

“Public, Ashly,” Megan snapped. “Very much public. A male aide, fine. I’ll have Meredith with me. A doxie, no.”

“Will do,” Ashly muttered. “De Funcha. Very new, very hip, brightly lit, I know the maitre d’ so getting you a good table at the last moment won’t be a problem, not that it ever is—”

“Handle it,” Megan said. “Meredith, let’s go.”

“The Honorable Jasper Thornton!” the majordomo at the top of the steps cried over the buzz of voices in the ballroom. “Mrs. Jasper Thornton.”

“Her name is Amelia, for God’s sake,” Megan muttered angrily.

“Smile for the cameras,” Herzer muttered as they stepped forward. “Although, I really hope he doesn’t screw up and call me ‘Mr. Megan Travante.’ ”

“Countess Megan Samantha Travante!” the functionary said without a glance at the card Herzer handed him. “Major Herzer Herrick!”

The low buzz of conversation stopped and the group broke into apparently spontaneous applause as a chemical flash caught the couple standing hand in hand. It would probably make the morning edition of the Washan Times, society page if not the front, and be in Lasang in no more than two weeks by courier.