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When Hazel looked at her inquiringly, she shrugged. “He’s a duke. First on Caitlin’s list, after all.”

“Oh, I thought for a moment that you knew him.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t be insulted if he scarcely notices you’re there, even if you’re standing before him. He’s all right around the family but haughty in public. Oh, and I should tell you that my father got an idea that you and Devin would suit, but it’s only based on the fact that your father managed to put up with his father, who was a frightful beast. Devin is not the sort of man you would like at all, duke or no duke.”

“I see,” Viola said, feeling oddly disgruntled about Hazel’s assessment. “What is the problem with the party?”

“All the girls are sighing over Devin, and you’d think that would leave the gentlemen to me, but instead they’ve been sitting about waiting for Joan to arrive. Now look, they’re clustered around her as if she was handing out sweets.”

Viola tucked an arm through hers. “You are beautiful and kind, Hazel. The right person will come along. Joan said last night that she hadn’t danced with a single man whom she’d contemplate marrying.”

“The Earl of Kimp asked me to dance twice, but his only subject of conversation is gargoyles,” Hazel said. She lowered her voice. “As a joke, I told my father that I had taken a fancy to the earl, and he took me seriously.”

“Whereas the only person whom Joan liked was Kimp,” Viola pointed out. “She enjoys eccentrics.”

Now she thought of it, that character trait might explain Joan’s dislike of Mr. Marlowe. The vicar was not at all eccentric.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” Hazel said. “I want to introduce you to my brother Otis. He’s over there, hiding from my father.”

They were walking to the far side of the room, when a deep voice said, “Good afternoon, Miss Astley,” from just behind her shoulder.

She startled, and let out a squeak as the duke stepped forward.

“Hello, Devin,” Hazel said, glancing across Viola. “We’re going to talk to Otis.”

She kept walking toward the other side of the room, but Viola stayed where she was, if only to prove to the duke that she was capable of looking him in the eye.

“How’s your stomach?” His Grace inquired.

“In no danger,” she said, smiling because his straightforward question suggested that he hadn’t the faintest worry about his shoes. That contrasted with her family members, who tended to look at her with apprehensive expressions.

She had been nauseated—just a tad—but now her stomach steadied. There was something very calming about Hazel’s cousin.

Partly because of the whole not-Wilde business being out of the way, but also partly due to his calmness which stemmed, she would guess, from having nothing to prove to anyone.

In short, he was her opposite, because she constantly felt that she had to prove herself a real Wilde, and he was at home in his own skin. What’s more, he knew she had an affection for Mr. Marlowe, and that took all the pressure away from their conversation. She didn’t have to worry about whether he was courting her.

Hazel, having realized that they had not followed, trotted back and tucked her arm in Viola’s. “Come along, V!”

“V?” the duke inquired, ambling along on Viola’s other side.

“That’s what we called her at school,” Hazel said. And before Viola could elbow her, she said, “Because she’s short. No need for a whole name.”

“I didn’t notice that she was short,” the duke said, his eyes gleaming with an emotion that Viola couldn’t quite make out.

Wasn’t sure that she wanted to make out.

“You’ve gone blind from staring at mathematical formulas,” Hazel said.

Viola was coming to the uncomfortable conclusion that perhaps the duke wasn’t quite as fatheaded as she had thought. For one thing, Hazel clearly liked him. He couldn’t be as stiff-necked as he first appeared.

For another, there was laughter in his eyes, though it didn’t show on his face.

“Otis!” Hazel cried, when they reached a short gentleman in a bright yellow satin coat. “I want to introduce you to my dearest friend, Miss Viola Astley. I know you met a moment ago, but I mean a proper acquaintance. Viola, this is my brother.”

Viola was somewhat surprised to find that Otis Murgatroyd had no resemblance to his cousin, the duke.

Before she thought of it, she turned to look up at His Grace.

“Absurd, isn’t it?” Otis said. “Even Hazel is taller than I am, and given that she’s a beanstalk for a woman, that makes me a shrimp.”