"Mind your knee.""Is someone pursuing you?""My mother.""You have chosen an excellent room.""There were several spare in it."The Duke of Lethbury was halfway through a chicken sandwich when a woman crawled under his supper table."Mind the plate," he whispered."Mind your knee," she whispered back.He attempted to move both, caught his shoulder against a wooden brace, and discovered that there were limits to what could be achieved with dignity beneath a tablecloth.The woman settled beside him, pale green silk spread over his shoe. One glove had come loose at the wrist, and a curl had escaped its pin. She appeared considerably more annoyed than frightened."Is someone pursuing you?" he asked."My mother."He considered this. "You have chosen an excellent room. There are several spare tables."She was already in it.Outside their small shelter, conversation rose and fell. A spoon struck a plate. Someone laughed with the confidence of a person whose evening was proceeding above the furniture."Would you like a sandwich?" he asked.She looked at him properly then. He was a dark-haired man in evening clothes, sitting with one long leg bent awkwardly beneath the other. His white tie had survived whatever brought him here. The expression above it suggested that he would prefer not to explain."Why are you under a table?""For much the same reason, I imagine. You have a mother, too.""I have had one for years. She is becoming increasingly inventive."The woman's mouth twitched.Beyond the cloth, a familiar voice said, "Daphne was here a moment ago.""She stopped breathing," another voice answered. "Gilbert seems to have gone missing as well."The man closed his eyes.For several seconds, two mothers stood close enough to be identified by their shoes, discussing the whereabouts of two adults who possessed money, education, and no convincing defense of their present behavior."I wish to introduce her to Mr. Dunford," the first voice said. "Such a pleasant man, very steady."Daphne's face became expressive enough that the man had to put down his sandwich."And Gilbert has still not spoken properly to Marcia," the other woman continued. "He promised he would make himself agreeable."He looked at Daphne. She raised one eyebrow. The shoes moved away.Neither spoke until the voices had traveled beyond the door. Then Daphne said, "Are you Gilbert Haldane?""I was hoping to postpone that question.""The duke?""Unfortunately, it appears to be the same man."She stared at him, then began to laugh. He watched her press her gloved knuckles against her mouth, and considered whether the title had ever before been greeted with quite so little advantage."You must be Winnie's sister," he said.She nodded, still unable to answer."Miss Selwood, Daphne.""I don't think we need begin with formal introductions. I have already knelt on your coat."He retrieved the edge of it from beneath her skirt. "Gilbert, then."