There was a tiny pause. My lord looked down into the gold-flecked eyes and frowned a little.

“Did I call him that?”

“Yes, I remember it distinctly. Was it just⁠—a manner of speaking?”

“Just a manner of speaking.⁠ ⁠… You may call it that, mademoiselle. Do you not think that he looks rather ducal?”

“I tried not to think of him at all. I hate him!”

“Almost I begin to pity this Mr. Everard,” quoth Jack.

The dimple peeped out.

“Then ’tis most ungallant of you, sir!” she reproved. “Do you know Mr. Everard?”