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Blythe nodded. “I expected you were more enamored of Miss Emerson’s dowry than the young lady herself. Theodosia’s will be far richer. I suppose it was a happy coincidence for you to find her here.” There was a question in his friend’s eyes, one Ambrose wouldn’t answer.
Blythe could assume whatever he wished. All of London would speculate, especially if Lady Blythe didn’t keep her gossiping lips shut, and he doubted she would.
“Did you never think to offer for Theodosia yourself?”
Blythe looked aghast. “No. Never.” He took a sip of his own scotch. “Theodosia is a delightful creature. I like her very much. She has no idea how beautiful she is, which is a great departure from many young ladies and quite refreshing. I do worry she’ll just tumble into the street one day out of sheer clumsiness.” He chuckled softly. “But the Barrington sisters are all too bold for my tastes. And my mother would never have approved.”
“Indeed not.” Lady Blythe had been nearly giddy with relief that Theodosia hadn’t managed to ensnare Blythe.
A knock sounded at the door moments before it swung open to reveal a gentleman who diminished Blythe’s magnificence to that of tarnished silver. His brilliant blue eyes scanned the room, lingering over Blythe before settling on Ambrose, lip curling in disdain.
“His Grace, the Duke of Averell,” the footman intoned.
Ambrose choked on his scotch. He’d forgotten how much the duke looked like Leo Murphy, especially up close. Averell was probably just as much of a prick. He assumed. Ambrose had never been properly introduced to him nor had they ever spoken. Now was not the time for him to pretend to be anything other than an honorable gentleman, a victim of the same social rules as Theodosia.
