“Ah. Speaking of which-how goes the courting of my sister?”

Andrew looked toward the ceiling. “Rather slowly, I’m afraid.”

“Well, quit dawdling about. I’ve never known you to be anything less than relentless when you wanted something. Why are you dilly-dallying?”

“I’m not dilly-”

“And for God’s sake, quit tugging at your hair. You look as if a lightning bolt struck you.”

Andrew scraped a hasty hand through his apparently lightning-struck hair and frowned. “You’re a fine one to talk. Have you consulted a mirror lately? Your manner can only be described as harried, and your own hair looks as if you were caught in sudden freakish storm.”

“I am harried, but considering that my first child is soon to be born, I at least have a valid excuse for yanking at my hair and behaving oddly. What the devil is wrong with you?”

“There is nothing wrong with me, other than frustration. I haven’t had an opportunity even to speak with Lady Catherine. Every time I finally spot her in the crowd, another museum investor or potential investor claims my attention.” He shot Philip a pointed stare. “I was attempting to approach her for the fourth time this evening when I was again waylaid-this time by you.”

“And you should be glad you were. If she’d seen that mess of a coiffure, she would have run screaming from the room.”

“Thank you. Your encouragement warms my heart. Truly. Although I find it difficult to take fashion advice from someone whose own attire and coiffure most often resemble a squirrel’s nest.”

Instead of taking offense, Philip smiled. “True. However, I am not attempting to court a lady this evening. I have already succeeded in winning the woman I love.”