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To a one, they’d managed to insinuate that if he broke his engagement to their close friend, they would be happy to fill in. That included the curly-haired lady betrothed to an earl, which just went to show that money trumped blood these days.

But Miss Valentine?

After an initial blush, they met and parted in the steps of a quadrille, and she made absolutely no effort to enchant him. Not that it bothered him. He went back to thinking about an article in The London Times referencing England’s massive public debt, until her silence made him remember the generally ignored rule that a gentleman must initiate conversation during a dance.

“How is your experience of London?” he asked. He was pretty sure she was from Cheshire, given her soft accent.

“Incomparable,” his dance partner replied.

That was irony in her voice. Fiennes looked at Beatrice Valentine more closely. She had a clear-eyed pragmatism that he rarely saw in young ladies.

“What were you thinking about earlier, Lord Peregrine?” Miss Valentine asked. “You appeared to be deep in thought.”

He answered honestly. “England’s war debt.”

“It’s far too large, isn’t it? My father is quite concerned.”

Fiennes blinked at that.

She gave him a slight smile. “My father owns a country bank. He doesn’t trust the new high-yield bonds.”

“Interesting,” Fiennes replied. “Neither do I. Nor do I trust the wartime bond issues.”

“Too much easy credit,” Miss Valentine said, nodding. “The Bullion Report didn’t help.”

They parted again, processing forward and back.

“Once again, I agree,” Fiennes said when they were back on the sidelines. “What does your father think about the suspension of the gold standard?”

“He is concerned about government debt.” Miss Valentine hesitated. “He is more optimistic, but I think that we’ll be lucky to get through the next decade without a bail-out from a foreign bank.”

He frowned.

“An infusion of gold reserves, say from the Banque de France,” she added.

They separated for a few steps before Miss Valentine returned to his arms. He twirled her about, pleased that the music was drawing to a close. It would be interesting to eat a meal with her.

“What do you and your father feel about speculative ventures in America?” Fiennes asked, as they waited to enter the dining room.

“My father is enamored. I don’t believe they are a good idea.” Miss Valentine replied, adding, “I use the word ‘enamored’ with intent.”

“Mr. Valentine appears to be both speculative and conservative,” Fiennes noted, once they were seated. He couldn’t see Regina anywhere. She had said they would eat together, so he chose a table for four.

A footman set down a selection of withered-looking ham sandwiches. “These are revolting,” Fiennes observed, poking at them with a fork.

Miss Valentine gave him a wry smile. “It’s my first visit to Almack’s, but even I know that the food is reputed to be terrible.”

“Has your father made extensive investments in America?” Fiennes asked. Her eyes were shining with intelligence.

“I have managed to curb his enthusiasm,” she replied. “I believe a local bank, like ours in Cheshire, is best served by investing in local canals and mines. My father remembers when there were only five stocks available on the London Exchange, so he is thrilled by the ability to invest in foreign countries.”

“My father is fond of talking of those days too,” Fiennes said.

With a flutter of skirts, Lady Regina appeared at his left side. “There you are!” she cried, in a petulant voice that told him she was in a temper.

Fiennes rose. “Good evening, Lady Regina.” He bowed and kissed his fiancée’s hand. She was wearing the diamond he gave her over her white glove, which struck him as slightly gauche.

“Good evening, Lennox.” He bowed before his fiancée’s brother.