“I beg your pardon?”

She nodded toward the punch bowl. “Lord Nordnick. He’s trying to entice Lady Ophelia, and he’s making a complete muck of it.”

Andrew turned his attention to the couple standing next to the ornate silver punch bowl. An eager-looking young man, presumably Lord Nordnick, was handing an attractive young lady, presumably Lady Ophelia, a cup of punch.

“Er, there is a wrong way to hand a woman a beverage?” Andrew asked.

“He is not merely handing her a drink, Mr. Stanton. He is courting her. And doing a very poor job of it, I’m afraid.”

Andrew studied the couple for several more seconds, then shook his head in bewilderment. “I don’t see anything wrong.”

She leaned a fraction closer. The intoxicating scent of flowers filled his head, and he had to grit his teeth to remained focused on her words. “Note his overeager manner.”

“Overeager? ‘Tis clear he is smitten and wishes to please her. Surely you don’t think he should have allowed Lady Ophelia to fetch her own punch?”

“No, but he clearly didn’t ask her preference. From her expression it is obvious that Lady Ophelia did not desire a glass of punch-no doubt because he’d already handed her one not five minutes ago.”

“Perhaps Lord Nordnick is merely nervous. I believe it is common for sanity to flee a man’s head when he’s in the company of a lady he finds attractive.”

She made a tsking sound. “That is indeed unfortunate. Observe how bored she clearly is with his inept attentions.”

Hmmm. Lady Ophelia did indeed look bored. Blast. When had courting become so bloody complicated? Hoping he sounded like a coconspirator rather than an information seeker, he asked, “What should Lord Nordnick do?”

“He should shower her with romance. Find out her favorite flower. Her favorite food.”