The duke picked up his quizzing glass and began to twirl it slowly by its black riband. "My dear boy, would you show some sense?" he said. "Put that back where it came from."

Ridley did so, the expression on his face and the rigid set of his spine conveying his indignant disapproval.

"Lord and Lady Manning request the pleasure of your presence at a masquerade ball to be held on May eight," Ridley read with stiff formality.

"Hmm." Eversleigh pondered awhile, the quizzing glass still turning in hypnotic circles. "I would not be able to check for pimples," he muttered quietly to himself, though his eyes still rested absently on his disapproving secretary, "and I do draw the line at spots. No, throw it away, dear boy," he said decisively.

"Your aunt, the Countess of Lambert, requests the pleasure of your company at a come-out ball for her daughter, the Honorable Althea Summers," Ridley began, but with a hasty glance at his employer, he moved to throw it in pursuit of the soiree and the masquerade.

The quizzing glass fell still at the end of its riband. "Are my ears failing me, James?" Eversleigh asked. I missed the date of that one."

Ridley pulled the card toward him again and glanced at it. "May eleven, your Grace."

Eversleigh appeared to be doing some mental calculations. "All the new little girls of the Season will be there on display, I suppose, James?" he asked faintly.

"Undoubtedly, your Grace," Ridley replied. "It is a come-out and early in the Season. If you will forgive my saying so, sir, it is not at all your sort of do." He coughed delicately.

"Ah," the duke said, nodding slowly and fixing his employee with a keen eye, "but there is family duty, you see, James. My aunt, you know. Althea, did you say?"

Ridley glanced again at the card and nodded.