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“Miss Turnbull, may I introduce His Grace, the Duke of Worthington?”
Miss Turnbull turned her attention to him, and Harry forced a smile.
“It is a pleasure, Miss Turnbull.”
“Yes, it is,” Miss Turnbull purred. “I have admired your fortitude in handling your father’s death, Your Grace. It must be deeply disturbing to discover such dreadful things about your own father.”
Was he supposed to thank her for that odd compliment? Perhaps the girl was nervous. His title had that effect on some people. Miss Turnbull’s brown eyes shifted back to Louisa as he remained silent. He supposed he should ask her for a dance.
“Miss Turnbull, I appear to be without a partner for the next set. Would you care to dance?”
Her smile a little too full, exposing a row of slightly crooked teeth. “I would, Your Grace.”
“Miss Turnbull, do tell the duke what you were speaking of with me earlier,” Louisa said with a grin. “About the possibility of locomotive uses.”
Miss Turnbull’s eyes widened in surprise. “I scarcely think the duke would like to hear of such things at a ball, Miss Drake.”
“You underestimate him,” Louisa said with a glance to him. “He loves to discuss topics of modern machinery and inventions, do you not, Your Grace?”
“Indeed,” he replied, wondering why Miss Turnbull would prefer to hide her intelligence. “I do believe our dance is about to begin.”
He held out his arm to her and escorted her to the dance floor. The entire dance, Miss Turnbull kept the conversation on the events of the day and the latest on-dit. Perhaps she didn’t want any of the other dancers to overhear a dialogue on industry and acquire a reputation as a bluestocking.
As the dance ended, she pointed to where her parents stood, watching them approach.
“Miss Turnbull, I would love to hear your thoughts on the use of steam engines locomotives.”
She laughed in a tinny tone. “Oh, Your Grace, only Miss Drake would wish to hear about such a thing at a ball.”
“Miss Drake and I enjoy discussions on subjects other than the weather and gossip, even at balls.”
She blanched before recovering quickly. “Then perhaps you should like to call on me tomorrow, and we shall discuss any topic you prefer.”
Any topic he preferred? Louisa usually broached a subject of interest to them both. He had the feeling that Miss Turnbull was no bluestocking. But, could he settle for such a lady? And one from trade?
“Your Grace?” she asked expectantly.
“Of course.” His lack of attention had now forced him to call on the chit tomorrow.
Harry left her with her proud parents, who gushed over him. Seeing Blakely, he threaded through the crowd until he reached the viscount.
“Worthington, how are you?” Blakely asked.
“Very well, but I was wondering if you had a moment to speak in private.”
Blakely’s brows furrowed in question. “Of course.”
“Come out to the gardens.”
They walked toward the back of the gardens where others hadn’t reached yet. The crescent moon did little to light the way. Blakely pulled out a cheroot and offered him one, which Harry declined.
Harry wondered the best way to approach the question without blurting it out impolitely. “How have you been?”
Blakely blew out the smoke and laughed. “I have been well.”
“Excellent.” There was nothing else to talk about with the man, except one topic. “May I ask a delicate question?”
“If you must,” Blakely replied with a slight frown.
