“Good afternoon, sir,” he said as the marquess halted in front of them. “May I present Miss Eve Crenshaw? Miss Crenshaw, my father, the Marquess of Rushton.” She dipped into a perfect curtsy. “My lord.” She rose. “Miss Crenshaw,” he said. “I trust you are well?” “Very well, my lord, thank you.” Erroll was impressed. The lady had collected herself in two heartbeats and was conducting herself as if she hadn’t arrived at Ravenhall ahead of what promised to be one of the biggest scandals of the decade. To his father’s credit, he wasn’t revealing any of his earlier misgivings concerning her. But the marquess was nothing if not the modicum of gentility. “And the rest of your party, they are well?” his father asked. “Indeed,” she answered. “My sister is enjoying herself immensely. She has already visited the ladies solar and the…pink parlor, I believe it is called.
