When she spotted the man, Beatrice knew instantly who he was. She'd heard talk of him, seen him once or twice; Harry Fisher. By all accounts, a very eligible bachelor, a charming fellow, and a complete fraud. She'd already done a little digging, should she ever need the information. He was completely mired in bad business. And that was glorious.
She needed to meet him. Adopting her best air of charm and warmth, she took another sip of her drink and stepped closer, reaching a hand out to brush lightly at his arm in order to gain his attention. "Excuse me for my insolence, sir, at addressing you without introduction, but I couldn't help notice you stood here all by your lonesome. Surely you are in need of some company."
She paused, before clearing her throat and extending her hand. "And forgive my lack of manners. Beatrice Stanley, Duchess of Marlborough. Delighted to make your acquaintance."