Either Mr. Macmillan was the sort to be keenly aware of social goings on (but also flubbed in this situation) or he was asking a question without asking anyone. Tatiana considered herself to be a reasonably good judge of character, and so was please to determine it was almost certainly the latter.

This was not the dance of the frivolous sheep around them but a more sophisticated waltz with higher stakes.

Tatiana Lestrange was a pragmatic woman. Love and lust were not nearly at the top of the list when it came to finding a potential husband. Power, however, most certainly was, and Charles Macmillan was inching ever closer to that power, making him a fine prize indeed—so long as she knew the steps to this dance well enough.

"And thus, I fear we are but acquaintances now," came the wry response, though she had not entertained any beaus of late; her high standards and advancing years were not productive bedfellows. Then again, with the affections of her brother and aunt both guaranteed, Tatiana could quite literally afford to have those standards—though that wasn't to say she did not wish to find the right match.

"But what of you, Mr. Macmillan?" the debutante inquired. "It must be difficult to have so rich an announcement but be unable to make it."