A Secret Surrender - Darcy Burke Page 0,36

everyone was gathered with the exception of Jeremy. Harry wondered if his twin would come—he didn’t attend every week. In fact, he attended less often than Harry, who always strove to be present unless his work interfered, which happened on occasion.

Rachel strolled toward him, an auburn brow arched saucily. “You’re here.”

“You doubted it?”

She shrugged. “Your presence isn’t guaranteed. But tonight of all nights, I was really hoping you would be here.”

Instantly, Harry’s neck pricked. He looked from one sister to the other. Every single one had an anticipatory sheen to their expression—that and an irritating smugness. What the hell was going on? He shot a look toward his mother. She had that same sense of anticipation about her, along with something else: giddiness.

Bloody hell, what were they planning?

“Lady Gresham and Miss Whitford,” Tallent announced, drawing Harry to turn.

Standing just over the threshold was Lady Gresham and her sister. Probably her sister—because Tallent had said so. Harry couldn’t confirm her presence because he couldn’t tear his gaze from Lady Gresham.

But he did. Because he knew what this was: an unabashed attempt at matchmaking. How the hell had they—his sisters and mother—correctly determined that Lady Gresham was special? That he was, perhaps, interested in her?

Because they weren’t stupid, apparently.

Harry cast a narrow-eyed glare at Rachel. She barely lifted a shoulder in response as her lips almost curved into a smile. Almost. The wretch.

Except was he upset that Lady Gresham was here? Not at all. And maybe that disturbed him more than his family’s machinations.

Harry took in the ivory gown with its red and dark orange embroidery that perfectly draped Lady Gresham’s tall, elegant form. She looked like she belonged in London’s best drawing rooms, which, he supposed, she was—the Earl of Aylesbury’s library was as fashionable as any in the upper crust. He suddenly felt a great divide between them. She was a woman at home in this environment, while he was more comfortable working.

Except she’d seemed quite well adapted to assisting him with and accompanying him on investigations. He ought to be careful not to make assumptions about her. Perhaps that was why he found himself so attracted to her—she did not fit any particular mold.

Miss Whitford curtsied to the room at large. “Good evening.”

Lady Gresham also dipped a brief curtsey, her gaze going to Harry’s father. “Good evening, my lord. Thank you so much for your kind invitation to dinner this evening.”

“It is our pleasure to welcome you,” Harry’s mother answered, moving toward Lady Gresham and drawing her into the room.

Rachel went to Miss Whitford, smiling, and escorted her to sit on the settee next to Delia.

Harry resisted the urge to go directly to Lady Gresham. That would only encourage his family’s efforts to pair them off.

Would that be so bad?

Yes. He wasn’t seeking a wife, and she wasn’t planning to remarry. He’d made himself quite clear on that topic to his entire family. Perhaps he ought to suggest to Lady Gresham that she do the same.

Instead, Harry simply looked in her direction. Their eyes locked, and her lips curved into a slight smile, as if they shared a secret. He supposed they did. His family had no idea they’d spent an afternoon together—two if he counted their previous visit to Gunter’s—and he certainly wasn’t going to tell them.

He went to stand behind the settee where his brother-in-law Nathaniel Hayes, an MP, stood with his other brother-in-law, Sir Kenneth. “We were just discussing the need for greater governance regarding child labor. Limiting hours and ages for those working only in cotton mills isn’t enough,” Hayes said with a frown.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Harry thought of the children at Mr. Winter’s home the other day. They could all be working in a textile mill for far too many hours and even overnight. Too many of them suffered those conditions and were exposed to environmental dangers. “You’re fighting for this in the Commons, I expect.”

Hayes nodded. “Of course, though I’ve not nearly enough support.”

Harry appreciated that Rachel’s husband fought so hard for others. That made Harry think of Lady Gresham’s concern for the less fortunate. She would undoubtedly support Hayes’s efforts too. Harry’s gaze strayed toward her, but she was focused on his mother. Were they discussing Madame Sybila? That was actually a good idea. Perhaps Lady Gresham, as a woman who had also seen the fortune-teller, could dissuade his mother from seeing her.

But no, he wouldn’t ask her to do that. It wasn’t fair—to her or his mother. His father might