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“How dreadful. I’m Lord Edward Guilford, Duke of Faversham.”
“Then my luck is secured, Your Grace. I was told of your event, and I thought it advantageous to attend while the horse is tended to.”
“Have you made arrangements with a footman?” the duke asked.
Reginald cleared his throat. In truth, Lucky Stars was tied to a tree.
“I have. Most kind of you.”
“Please.” The duke motioned towards the dining table. “Take supper and greet my guests. I’m sure they will be delighted to meet you.”
“Your hospitality is most kind.”
Reginald began to walk around the room, enjoying the gazes of various charming ladies and the respectful nods of the head from gentlemen. Everything was going to plan so far, but where was that enchanting girl he’d seen at the haberdashery? She was nowhere to be found.
Securing a plate of food, the next order of business was to find a way to engage in conversation. There was a rather portly fellow speaking with three other distinguished gentlemen, and Reginald approached, introduced himself, and quickly and effortlessly engaged in a conversation about fox hunting.
Reginald could tell that the gentlemen he conversed with took an instant liking to him. The men laughed and carried on, and their lighthearted, manly discussion obviously caused a stir because more men approached to join, and finally, the duke, himself.
The duke said, “I can see that you’ve met my new friend, the Earl of Buckland.”
“That we have,” the portly man said, his cheeks inflamed from food and drink.
“Might I ask where you hail from, sir?”
Reginald stood tall. “If you can believe it, I’ve travelled from Wales. I took a carriage as far as Oxford, then secured a horse to make the rest of the journey to London, where a ship is set to take me on my grand tour of Europe.”
“Most remarkable,” the portly man said. “Your first tour?”
Reginald felt all eyes on him. Yes, he was a remarkable success so far.
“I admit that it’s my second,” Reginald replied. “My first tour was after graduation from Oxford—I was just there visiting old friends,” Reginald spoke effortlessly. The words flowed through him. “I was able to see such sights; the wonders of Rome, the canals of Venice, the charming mountains of Switzerland.”
The duke laughed. “You are well-travelled. I admit that I enjoy the French countryside.”
“Most capital,” Reginald said. “The gardens of Versailles were a highlight.”
Of course, these were all things that he’d read about while sleeping on piles of hay. But in books, these landmarks were so well described that he felt as though he’d seen them with his own two eyes.
“I also admit to having something of a predilection towards French cuisine,” the duke said. All the men nodded their heads. “I have the mind to hire a French chef.”
“There is a French chef at my estate in Wales.”
The men were incredibly impressed, nodding their heads and looking to one another to share their enthusiasm.
Just then, across the room, Reginald spotted that remarkable girl from the haberdashery. She was gazing at him with curiosity, and Reginald felt heat in his chest. She was even more beautiful than he remembered her. She finally looked away, talking with her sister.
“Might I ask who that exquisite creature is?” Reginald asked.
The duke turned his head towards Sarah. “You have marvellous taste. That is Lady Sarah Crawford, daughter to the Duke of Benton. She and her sister, Lady Lisbeth, made the journey from London.”
“She appears familiar for some reason.”
“Perhaps you have engaged in conversation at some other ball.”
Reginald shook his head. “I’m something of a recluse. I rarely attend such events.”
The portly man spoke. “Then you deny all of society your fine company. I do hope that you make yourself a vital part of the season.”
Reginald laughed. “I fear that it’s not for me. I much prefer travel, hunting, leisurely walks with my hounds.”
The duke said, “All very pleasing pastimes.”
When Reginald turned back to where Sarah stood, the lady was gone. He felt a tinge of disappointment but was determined to locate her again. Reginald assumed that his disguise was so excellent that she wouldn’t take him for the man she’d seen at the shop.
“Come, gentlemen,” the duke said. “Let us spend an hour in the parlour. I have the finest cigars.”
“Most excellent!” the portly man said.
So, it had only been an hour since his arrival, and already Reginald Simmons was being led into the exclusive assembly room of gentlemen: the parlour. Reginald knew this was a good sign. Past question, he was going to win the wager.
