promised them a hero from the late Hungarian war.”
Annabelle’s husband, Timothy, cast her a tolerant smile and greeted Griz with casual friendliness.
As the Duke of Kelburn’s daughter, she was never unwelcome at any society gathering. Every gentleman offered her his chair. Flustered by the attention, she went straight toward the man she knew, Mr. Watters, before she realized it placed her beside Miss Watters, whom her mother wished to marry Forsythe.
“Thank you, sir,” she said civilly, seating herself since she could not now change her mind. “How are you, Miss Watters?”
“A little fatigued from the season,” Miss Watters replied very properly. “Such a constant round of pleasure! And you, Lady Grizelda? I believe I did not see you at Lady Tamar’s ball on Saturday night?”
“Oh, no,” Griz agreed. “I had a previous engagement. I imagine it was a very smart affair.”
“Indeed. So many people one could not move!” She glanced toward the door again. “Did Lord Forsythe accompany you today? Or one of your other brothers?”
“Goodness, no, they are all busy about their own business. Or so I imagine.”
Miss Watters’s eyes widened. “You came alone?”
“I frequently do. Annabelle and I have been friends forever, and it is only a step, you know.”
The drawing room door opened again to reveal only Annabelle’s butler, who walked sedately across the floor to murmur in his mistress’s ear.
“Oh, yes, of course, show him up, Stevens!” Annabelle smiled around the room as her butler departed. “Mr. Tizsa,” she confided in tones of one supplying a long-awaited treat.
Griz awaited his arrival with a mixture of amusement and unease, unsure how he would take to being the chief attraction of the event. In fact, he did not appear to notice, striding straight in and bowing civilly over Annabelle’s outstretched hand.
Annabelle beamed. “How lovely to see you again. Timothy, this is Mr. Tizsa, whom I was telling you about. Mr. Tizsa, my husband.”
Timothy shook hands with his usual good nature before Annabelle whipped her guest of honor away to introduce him to everyone else. As he passed Griz, his gaze met hers for an instant, and his eyebrows shot up.
It wasn’t quite the quiet meeting and further conversation that Griz had hoped for. Dragan was feted and avidly questioned about the late campaigns in Hungary and how his people had held out so long against the emperor. He bore it with good nature and without flinching, and the women gazed at him with awed appreciation, while their menfolk stuck to military and political questions.
“Why are they making such a fuss of him?” Mr. Watters murmured. “Just because he is Hungarian?”
“Well, it is fashionable,” Miss Watters replied with a hint of humor. “I believe Mr. Kossuth himself is expected in London later in the year.”
It became clear that there would be no private discussion with Dragan this afternoon, and, indeed, since she had discovered nothing new since the morning, there was no real need. Still, she could not help being a trifle disappointed when she went over to Annabelle to say goodbye.
“What a successful tea party,” she teased.
“I suspect it would have been the opposite if he hadn’t turned up. Are you leaving already?”
“I have taken up my allotted half-hour of your time. Although I thought I might step up and see Timmie before I go?”
“I’ll come up with you…”
Timmie, a lively young gentleman of three, appeared delighted to see Griz, galloping across the nursery on his hobby horse and casting his wooden sword aside to jump on her. Griz laughed, hugging him and spinning him around and back onto the horse.
She had always been fond of Timmie as an extension of Annabelle, but she realized now the child was his own lovable little person. For the first time, she wondered if she would ever have children of her own.
Veering hastily away from that thought, she told Annabelle she would have to hurry home and waved goodbye to the exuberant Timmie. As they descended the stairs, Timothy and Dragan emerged from the drawing room, the latter clearly being shown out by his host.
“You are not going already, Mr. Tizsa?” Annabelle called, hurrying after them.
“I have a patient to see on my way home, but I have had a most agreeable break from work. Thank you for the tea and company.” He hesitated, then said, “I would like to invite you to a Hungarian evening at the Blue Horse in Kensington. It is no grand affair, merely a fund-raising event to help those refugees from the war who have landed