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By the time Jake made it to the other end of the room, where sherry was being served, Cleo was seated with Merry on one side and Lilford on the other. He sat down beside Viscount Falconer, nursing his glass of sweet sherry.

He had to instruct Trent to acquire better wine, once the duke returned to London.

“You’ll never catch my granddaughter if you don’t get out of those clown suits,” the viscount said dispassionately.

Jake startled.

“You want her, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Jake said, putting it as baldly as Falconer had.

“You’ll have to move to this country.”

From Jake’s point of view, he didn’t have to do anything. But the truth was that for Cleo, he would do anything.

“I am buying a townhouse in Davies Street, around the corner from you.”

“That’ll do,” the viscount said, satisfied. “How are you planning to talk her into it? Making a game of yourself by wearing those garments is not the way to a girl’s heart.”

Jake shot him a disbelieving glance. “She designed them. I’ll wear them.”

“Byng designed them. You’re not talking of marrying Byng.”

“No.”

“I see that I’m going to have to help,” the viscount said with a sigh. “I thought it was enough to introduce my granddaughter to polite society, but now I see that one’s work is never done.”

“Are you playing Cupid?” Jake was torn between a wish to laugh and the horrified realization that the viscount and his mother were likely to meet some day. Sooner rather than later, if he managed to talk Cleo into accepting his proposal. He hadn’t been jesting when he told Merry that his mother would catch a packet to cross the ocean if she heard the faintest rumor that he was courting a lady.

“I suspect I am,” the viscount said. “And fair warning: I have advice for child rearing, based on my own failures.”

“We’re running ahead of ourselves.” Jake glanced at Cleo, who seemed to have Lilford enthralled. “I will do my best, but she may choose someone else. Merry tells me that earl is ‘pretty.’”

“My granddaughter doesn’t care for pretty ornaments, luckily for you,” the viscount said, finishing his glass of sherry and turning to Merry. “Your Grace, what on earth is your husband doing, keeping sweet sherry in his cellars?”

“Trent loathes the drink,” Merry said cheerfully. “But since he’s not here, I ordered the libation of my choice. Those of you with excellent palates will simply have to suffer. I promise that the dinner wines were chosen by our butler and will have august pedigrees and the rest of it.”

Cleo saluted her with her glass. “I admire you, Your Grace. I shall serve no ratafia and no lemonade when I have a household of my own.”

“When you have that household, you’ll learn that one’s butler is the king,” Merry told her. “Mine is nodding at us, which means that we must make our way to the table.”

“This sherry is perfectly peppery. I adore it!” Lydia exclaimed.

Jake blinked at her. If there was one word that didn’t describe sweet sherry, it was peppery.

“Peppery means absolutely delicious,” Lady Lydia told him. “I know it’s challenging for older people to keep up with the latest verbiage. My brother is often confused.” She hopped to her feet.

Jake caught Cleo’s eye; her mouth was quivering with laughter.

“Mr. Addison, do bring Lady Lydia into dinner,” Merry told him. She had bent down next to Viscount Falconer and was steadying him as he clambered to his feet.

Cleo rose and slipped her arm into the Earl of Lilford’s elbow; Byng instantly claimed her other arm.

“You’re scowling,” Lady Lydia whispered as they trailed after the others into dinner.

Jake grimaced. His mother would be appalled by his ill manners. “Have you been presented at court, Lady Lydia?”

“Not yet, Mr. Astor Addison. My brother will escort me to the queen’s drawing room next week.”