He treated the gentlemen with similar disdain, speaking only to three.
Harry wondered if there was anyone in attendance the prince did not consider beneath his notice.
“You look very serious this evening, Sir Harry.”
He turned and smiled before he could think the better of it. Lady Olivia had somehow sneaked up to his side, heartbreakingly beautiful in midnight-blue velvet.
“Aren’t unmarried ladies supposed to wear pastels?” he asked her.
Her brows rose at his impertinence, but her eyes sparkled with humor. “Yes, but I’m no longer so new. It’s my third year out, you know. Practically on the shelf.”
“Somehow I find it difficult to believe that that is anyone’s fault but your own.”
“Ouch.”
He grinned at her. “And how have you been faring this evening?”
“I have nothing to report. We’ve only just arrived.”
He knew that, of course. But he couldn’t very well let on that he’d been watching for her, so he said, “Your prince is here.”
She looked as if she wanted to groan. “I know.”
He leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. “Shall I help you to avoid him?”
Her eyes lit up. “Do you think you can?”
“I am a man of many talents, Lady Olivia.”
“Funny hats notwithstanding?”
“Funny hats notwithstanding.”
And then, just like that, they both laughed. Together. The sound came together like a perfect chord, clear and true. And then, at quite the same time, they both seemed to realize that moment was significant, although neither had any idea why.
“Why do you wear such dark colors?” she asked.
He looked down at his evening kit. “You don’t like my coat?”
“I do,” she assured him. “It’s very elegant. It’s just that it has been commented upon.”
“My taste in clothing?”
She nodded. “It was a slow week for gossip. Besides, you commented on my gown.”
“True enough. Very well, I wear dark colors because it makes my life easier.”
She said nothing, just waited with an expectant look on her face, as if to say—surely there’s more.
“I shall let you in on a grave secret, Lady Olivia.”
He leaned forward, and so did she, and it was another one of those moments. Perfect accord.
“I am daft when it comes to colors,” he said in a low, grave voice. “Can’t tell red and green apart to save my life.”
“Really?” Her voice was a bit loud, and she glanced about self-consciously before continuing in a quieter tone. “I have never heard of such a thing.”
“I’m not the only one, I’m told, but I’ve never met anyone else so afflicted.”
“But surely there is no need for dark colors all the time.” She sounded—and looked—utterly fascinated. Her eyes were sparkling with it, and her voice was full of interest.
If Harry had known that his difficulties seeing colors would be such a boon with the ladies, he’d have trotted it out years ago.
“Can’t your valet pick out your attire?” she said.
“Yes, but then I’d have to trust him.”
“You don’t?” She looked intrigued. Amused. Perhaps a combination of both.
“He has a rather dry sense of humor, and he knows I can’t sack him.” He gave her a helpless shrug. “He saved my life once. And perhaps more importantly, my horse’s as well.”
“Oh, then you definitely cannot sack him. Your horse is lovely.”
“I’m quite fond of him,” Harry said. “The horse. And the valet, I suppose.”
She nodded approvingly. “You should be thankful that dark colors suit you. Not everyone wears black well.”
“Why, Lady Olivia, is that a compliment?”
“Not so much a compliment to you as an insult to everyone else,” she assured him.
“Thank heavens for that. I don’t think I would know how to conduct myself in a world in which you offered compliments.”
She touched him lightly on the shoulder—flirtatious, daring, and utterly ironic. “I feel exactly the same way.”
“Very well. Now that we are in accord, what shall we do about your prince?”
She gave him a sideways sort of look. “I know that you are just dying for me to say that he’s not my prince.”
“I expected you would, yes,” he murmured.
“In the interest of disappointing you, I shall have to say that he is as much my prince as he is anyone else’s here.” She pressed her lips together as she glanced about the room. “Except for the Russians, I suppose.”
At any other time, Harry would have said that he was Russian, or at least one quarter so. He’d have made a splendid remark, maybe something about not wanting to claim the prince, regardless, and then dazzled her with his command of the language.
But he couldn’t. And truth be told, it was disconcerting how much he wanted to.
“Can you see him?” she asked. She was craning her neck, standing on her tiptoes, but although she was of slightly above average height, there was no way she could see over the crowd.
Harry, however, could. “Over there,” he said with a nod toward the doors leading out to the garden. The prince was standing in the center of a small group of people, looking utterly bored by their attentions, and yet at the same time as if he expected it as his due.
“What is he doing?” Olivia asked.
“He is being presented to…” Well, hell. He had no idea to whom he was being presented. “…someone.”
“Male or female?”
“Female.”
“Young or old?”
“Is this an interrogation?”
“Young or old?” she repeated. “I know everyone here. It is my vocation to know everyone at these events.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Is this something you take special pride in?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“She’s of middling age,” he said.
“What is she wearing?”
“A dress,” he retorted.
“Can you describe it?” she asked impatiently. Then: “You’re as bad as my brother.”
“I quite like your brother,” he said, mostly just to annoy her.
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, you’ll get to know him better and change your mind.”
He smiled at that. He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t sure how he could have thought her cold and remote. If anything, she was brimming with mischief and humor. All it seemed she needed was to be in the company of a friend.
“Well?” she demanded. “What sort of dress is she wearing?”
He shifted his weight from foot to foot to get a better look. “Something puffy, with…” He motioned toward his shoulders, as if he had any hope of describing female attire. He shook his head. “I can’t tell the color.”
“Interesting.” Her brow wrinkled. “Does that mean it must be either red or green?”
“Or any one of a thousand shades thereof.”
Her posture changed completely. “That’s really fascinating, did you know?”