LADY MARY'S MAY DAY MISCHIEF

FOUR WEDDINGS AND A FROLIC, BOOK 2

CERISE DELAND

Copyright © 2020 by Wilma Jo-Ann Power writing as Cerise DeLand

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1-7330794-6-4

W. J. Power Publisher

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C O NT E NT S

Your invitation to the Courtland May Day FrolicBath ChronicleChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12EpilogueMiss Harvey’s Horribly Lovable FiancéWho is Cerise DeLand?Also by Cerise DeLand

Your invitation to the CourtlandMay Day Frolic

Lord and Lady Courtlandrequest

the pleasure of your company at their homefor their annual May Day Frolic!

Do know, they plan a serene wedding of their daughter to her troublesome groom. Forthat wedding, they’ve secured the services of the new vicar with whom they’ve pleadednot to seduce his former lover who will also attend.

Moreover, the hosts expressly hope no guests will conduct naughty affairs in theevenings! Such goings-on occurred last year and the Courtlands will not tolerateshenanigans!

Répondez s’il vous plait!

The house party where every young lady lands in lap of the right beau! (Eventhe one who loves the divinely wicked vicar!)

Bath ChronicleThursday 25 April 1816

A special license has been obtained for the marriage of Miss Esme Harvey tothe

Marquess of Northington, which is to take place in the course of the next week.

* * *

Lord and Lady Courtland happily welcome a large party of relatives and friendsto their annual May Day Frolic to commence Tuesday next, April 30, at theirhome Courtland Hall, Wiltshire. Festivities begin with the village annual MayPole Frolic, May 1, the Courtlands’ May Day Ball to follow that evening. Thenext morning they present their only daughter, Miss Esme Harvey in marriageto her intended, the Marquess of Northington in the chapel of St. Andrew's.

Nine o'clock. Rev. Charles Compton, Vicar, presiding.As this day is also that of the joyous celebration of the wedding of our

gracious lady, Her Royal Highness, the Princess Charlotte of Wales to Leopold,Prince of Saxe-Cobourg, Lord and Lady Courtland present a wedding breakfastin the house for their guests consisting of every delicacy, and a general ColdCollation, Tea, Coffee, Ices, Etc.

Those in the parish are welcome. Public service will be laid on the frontlawn. Eleven o'clock, promptly.

N.B.: Should the weather on Thursday prove unfavorable, the Breakfast forparishioners will take place on Friday.

Chapter 1

No. 21, Queen SquareBath, England

Lady Mary Trentham-Little-Finch bent over her garden box and cursed the letter thatcrinkled in her garden apron pocket. She needed no reminders of her latest failure.

She jabbed her trowel into the damp soil. She would count her assets.Not that letter she’d gotten this morning. Along with the newspaper that bore the

announcement of Esme Harvey’s engagement and coming wedding. Or that other pagethat told of the Princess of Wales’ marriage next week to a German prince. Both remindedher of her failure.

Curse it. What had happened to her matchmaking abilities? Fizzled, like a damp fire.She saw men for what they were. Women, too. What they needed in a spouse.Yes, Esme was getting married. Not to the man Mary had encouraged to court her, but

to another whom her friend, Lady Fiona Chastain favored. Esme was the fifth of Mary’sfriends to marry in as many years. All of them near the time of this annual May Day FrolicEsme’s parents hosted. But Esme was also the second to find a different man moreappealing than the one Mary had proposed.

And yes, there was that other irritant.With the back of her hand, she wiped away telltale moisture from her cheek.Everyone was getting married. Finding love and companionship.“Do not say the obvious,” she warned herself about her own state of affairs. “There

are benefits to spinsterhood.”She pushed up her floppy garden hat with her forearm. “First—very liberating, too, if I

say so myself—a woman who need not flirt with any creature in trousers need not attireherself slavishly in the latest fashion. That saves money, a useful relief to the strains onone’s limited monthly income.”

She sank her trowel into the fine loam of her seedling box. True, too, few liked hertaste in clothes. Save her parrot, Caesar.

Then there was that other benefit. Spinsterhood also saved a person endless hours ofpreening one’s feathers to attract a man whom one did not necessarily know well enoughto accompany to the altar. “Or to bed. And that, Mama said, should be a race to thebedroom.”

A third benefit…

She considered her little green sprouts of celery, kale and cauliflower. Frowning athow small they were this year, she peered upward at the ice blue April sky. “Is thereanother asset to being an unmarried lady?”

Yes, of course. Tedious attempts to enchant a prospective groom meant that one wasfree to state raw truths.

She approved of that. Bending to her work, she carved a straight line in her soil withher hand trowel. But stopped again.

Calling a spade a spade—she chuckled at that—had often gotten her into trouble.Despite popular opinion, in her nearly twenty-five years, she’d held her tongue on manyoccasions. Largely to please her mother. Or her father. Or their friends. But now…

Now that both her parents were gone, and those loved ones who remained were herfriends who understood her foibles, was she not free of the thankless obligation to becharming and witty and wise and ever so politic?

She had focused on her one grand ability to find husbands for her friends. Until shefailed with that match of two years ago. And the one she’d learned of this morning.

The announcement she’d read in the Bath newspaper over breakfast had brought atear to her eye. She never cried. But her cumulative losses overtook her and a few tearshad wet down her toast. Soggy toast was not tasty. But she had reason to shed a tear ortwo. The loss of her parents, affectionate and kind. Her brother, studious and smart, goneat Badajoz. Her best friend, gone nearly ten years now to school and the wars, a ghostwho’d managed a regular correspondence. Written from battlefields, splattered with therain and mud of struggle and death. And then…after he’d come home two years ago afterhis own father died, he’d found solace in her company. Kissed her. Often. Then Napoleonreturned to Paris from Elba. He’d returned to his duties. Since then, Blake Lindsey,Captain Lindsey of the Royal Engineers and a recently minted baron, had stopped writing.She knew not why. Years of his letters that sat upstairs in her trunk, tied together infraying pink ribbons, revealed no reasons her dearest friend no longer wished tocommunicate.

She jabbed her trowel into the dark earth.Oh! She hated grievances she could not cure. She liked growth, excitement, spring

flowers and shoots of kale and cabbage.But reading the news of weddings this morning had caught her unawares and stabbed

her with grief.Not because she hadn’t chosen Northington for Esme. Not because she wanted

Northington for herself. For goodness sake, he was her distant cousin!Not because she hated Esme, either. Esme might be peculiar, yet she had charms

none of which were worthy of ridicule.But because…Well, hell’s bells!She winced at the iridescent sky and spoke the bald truth she’d kept locked away

inside her. Once she’d been fearless. At six, she’d saved her hunting dog Rolf fromdrowning when he’d been but five weeks old. At ten, she’d hauled her friend Blake fromthe same river when he’d fallen in and might have drowned, had she not pumped his

chest and forced out the mess he’d swallowed. At twelve, she’d grabbed the fire bucket inthe hall at Miss Shipley’s to throw on a blaze, then rolled her friend Fifi in a blanket todouse the flames that could have scarred her pretty face. At twenty, she’d nursed herailing mother when the doctor told her all hope was lost of that lady’s recovery from awasting in the stomach. At eighteen and nineteen and twenty-two, she helped threefriends secure loving husbands.

However for the past two years, she had performed no feats. She’d stopped aiding herfriends when one of her plans—a feint, actually—failed. Ricocheted, more to the point.

She jabbed her trowel into the rich earth and glared at the wispy silver clouds thatrolled onward, blithe, uncaring of her desire.

“My lady!” her butler called to her from the kitchen door.She caught her broad straw hat from whipping away in the wind. “Yes, Thompson?”“You asked not to be interrupted, ma’am, but Lady Fiona Chastain has arrived. She

says it’s urgent she see you.”I expected her to rush in an hour ago. “Did you tell Cook she’s here?”“Yes, milady. I’ll bring a tray up to you within minutes.”“Good.” Long ago, Mary had learned the best way to help Fifi deal with any event was

to order a complete tea whenever she called. Her friend loved to eat, especiallydelicacies that Mary’s Cook created. Today, she had expected Fifi to fly to her as soon asher friend read the announcement of Northington and Esme’s impending nuptials in thismorning’s paper. “I’ll be right in.”

He ambled away.With a tug at her gardening gloves, Mary bent to whisper to her sprouts. “This

afternoon I shall return.”With a nod at the clouds and the sun and the universe that always blossomed here at

least into rich results under her hands, she left her tender aspirations in her garden.Then she limped toward her house.

* * *

“Good morning!” Mary padded across her salon carpet in her stocking feet and threw outher arms in welcome. This morning, her old friend would want comfort, not formality. Notprimping, either. And Mary hadn’t. So if her waist-length hair escaped her hastily pinnedribbons and her apron bore grimy signs of the weeding she’d done in her garden box, wellthen, Fifi never minded Mary’s peccadilloes. Especially today, when what Fifi wanted wasconsolation. “I’m delighted to see you. How are you? I knew you’d come.”

“Of course you did. I’m terrible! Angry! Very angry.” Fifi looked it, too. Her rich darkmahogany hair bound back tight as a fisherman’s net over his catch. Her large blue eyessnapping with distress. Her little spectacles propped on the tip of her nose. Even her

toque was tilted at a tipsy angle. “And you? Aren’t you shocked?”“At anything Esme Harvey does?” Mary shook her head. Fifi’s anger was her first

emotion? “Ha! No. And neither should you be. Come sit down.”“Sit down! Sit down!” Caesar called from his cage by the tall front windows.Mary cast the parrot a withering look.In response, he hopped from one foot to the other. “Good boy. Good boy!”“Oh, Mary, I can’t sit. I simply can’t.” Fifi was too disturbed to care about the bird. She

extracted from her reticule a little ball of paper and shoved it into Mary’s hand. “Look atthis.”

“I’ve seen the Chronicle.”“No. This is a letter that arrived this morning. From my Aunt Courtland. A personal

invitation to the wedding!”Mary liked weddings. Had done, too. Until lately. “To tell the truth, I assumed all of us

who’d been invited to the May Day frolic and your Aunt Courtland’s ball would go to thechurch.”

“They planned it this way,” Fifi moaned. “Esme knew we’d be there.”Fifi must focus on reason. Her friend was an intelligent woman. Except when it came

to this irrational interest in Northington. “It’s as good a plan as any.”Fifi arched a dark brow. “Especially when you’ve acquired a special license and forgo

the reading of the banns!”At the risqué hint Esme might need to marry quickly, Mary was surprised. Fifi was not

usually judgmental. “That’s unworthy of you.”“I agree.” Fifi spun away toward the window and stared down at the passersby in the

street. “Forgive me.”“I love you,” crowed the large green bird who took any opportunity to crow about his

passion for Fifi. “I love you.”Fifi placed a hand over her heart and feigned adoration equal to a Drury Lane actress.

“I come to marry Caesar.”“Not to praise him.” Mary scowled at him and drew a hand across her throat. “I know.

Forget him.”“I love you!” he repeated and cast his mistress a dark evil eye.“Tough bird.” Fifi chuckled.“Caesar, stop that. It’s irritating.” She must get her friend onto the topic of the hour.

“But I will give you that Esme wants an audience.”Fifi threw up her hands and whirled toward Mary. “I’m not in the habit of thinking the

worst of people. Even Esme Harvey.”But Mary questioned how this engagement had come about. “I had no idea Esme

traveled in the same circles as Northington. Did you?”“My Aunt Courtland—God love her—is a sweet soul, but if she has any fault it’s that

she encouraged Esme to exceed her grasp. Excel at French, archery, cards. Anything! Youknow she did.”

Mary did not give credence to the ton’s dictum that a viscount’s daughter was beneathnotice as a potential bride for a marquess. But Esme had been pushed by her mother to

go over and above any normal expectations. “I remember your aunt appearing any nightor day at Miss Shipley’s demanding Esme do more, study longer hours, practice morediligently. Your aunt was a harpy to her only daughter, but in all else a serene lady with asense of humor.”

“Yes. Well! I cannot laugh at this!” Fifi paced back and forth before the pianoforte.Mary pointed to the settee. “Come sit down.”“Sit down! Sit down!”Mary stepped to the bird’s cage and dropped his cover over him. As if that deterred

him.“Now then,” she said, then hobbled over to sit and pat the cushion. “We’ll have tea.

Cook made creamed horns yesterday. You like those.”“Oh, Mary. I can’t eat.”Mary couldn’t let that stand! “Dearest, long after I have waddled to my bed stuffed to

my gizzard like a Christmas goose, you can always eat.”Fifi heaved a huge sigh. “You’re right. Of course. Why do you always state the truth?”“Hmm. Not the best of traits. My mama always urged me to discretion. ‘A little

politesse, dear girl,’ she’d say. I’m not a diplomat! Never will be! Now do sit—”“Sit down! Sit down!”Fifi appeared half-way between a laugh and a curse. “He becomes more vocal as he

gets older.”“And he is company.”Fifi let out an unladylike snort. “You can do better.”“I could hope. Here now.” She didn’t dare ask her friend to sit. “Let’s figure this one

out.”Weary and surrendering, Fifi strode over and sank to the settee. “I cannot imagine

Aunt Courtland would encourage Esme to charm Northington into marriage.”“Does your aunt know you cared for him?”“I never told her. But my mother might have.”“That had to be two years ago, before your mama became so ill,” Mary pointed out.“But Esme knows.”Mary drew back. Fifi would never confide in Esme. “You told her?”“Wasn’t it always obvious? The year all of us came out? I danced with him at that

masquerade ball. Later that night, I won all that money from him! He laughed at myskills. Imagine! No one…no one has ever matched him.”

“Fifi, you were eighteen. All of us were green. Foolish.”“Six years ago.” Fifi inhaled and her spectacles slipped. She pushed them up. “The

wars were on.”Mary stilled. She hated discussions of the dead, or worse the disabled soldiers who

wandered the city streets without bread or board or hope. “We had the ridiculousperception that war was glorious…and that all soldiers would return.”

Fifi slouched, repentant. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to open old wounds.”Mary lifted a shoulder. She had not yet recovered from the loss of her brother, George,

at Badajoz, or the demise of both her parents. She reached over and squeezed Fifi’s

hand. “No need to apologize. Things were different with me then. For us both.”Six years ago, when Fifi and Mary debuted, Mary’s parents were alive as well her older

brother George who was heir to the Dalworthy earldom. Now her first cousin, Winston,was the Earl of Dalworthy. And she lived here alone, far from her childhood home,striding from room to room with only echoes of love and affection ringing in her ears.

Six years ago, Fifi had a different life, too. Her father was alive. Her mother had notbegun to stumble over carpets or mumble phrases as mismatched as pieces from twodifferent puzzles. The result was that Fifi lived in her large Georgian home in the Crescent—and for all intents and purposes, she was as much alone as Mary.

At twenty-four years of age, both of them had increasingly secluded lives. Bath was alovely little town, quaint and tranquil as the patina of its dark honey-colored stone. Butthe place where society had flocked for more than a century to take the waters, gossipand dance until two in the Assembly Rooms, was so very passé.

The town to see and be seen, to find drama and romance and a man who might trulygrow to love a lady, was Brighton. To the coast, south of London, society flocked. Therethe roly-poly spendthrift Prince Regent lived, and lavishly so. He added to his Pavilionwith impecunious abandon, brought his mistresses to entertain him and drew the ton tohim for dinner, musicales, the theater—and affaires de coeur.

And Fifi and I cannot go because we haven’t the desire—or the blunt.But that doesn’t mean we must continue to deny ourselves.“What do you mean?” Fifi blinked.Mary caught her lower lip. One day soon she must master the art of keeping her truths

to herself. Or learn how to present them in a more acceptable fashion. “I’ve beenthinking.”

Fifi clapped her hands. “That’s the spirit. The old Mary!”Her butler stood in the open doorway with the tea tray—and stared at her. She

balked. He was just in time to feed Fifi. But he’d been present when one of her so-calledplans had erupted. Millicent Weaver, one of their school friends, had barged in two yearsago to her parlor in London and bemoaned how their silliness had ended her relationshipwith one young man and ruined her life. That failure had put her off any futureinterference.

“You’ve got a plan?” Fifi urged her to speak. “What is it? Tell me.”Thompson glared at Mary. He was seventy, if a day. He was spry, an inveterate

walker and former boxer. He was her Cerberus, her watchdog. Her major critic. Hecocked a bushy grey brow in warning.

“Mary, tell me!”Her butler might have been set in stained glass, so transparent was his intent to

dissuade her from her old ways.She winced. “Well, it’s not a plan. Not like one of my old ones.”“No?” Fifi tipped her head.No? Thompson imitated her friend.Mary frowned at him.He scowled at her.

Fifi licked her lips, wiggling in anticipation. “Hurry. I’m hungry.”“Thompson, please.” Mary indicated with a wave that she wanted him to finish his

service and disappear. She rose to consider the street below as he laid out the feast onthe little table before the settee.

“Oh, lovely little sweets. Your cook, Mary, is superb. Look at this! Never let her go.”Fifi rubbed her hands together. “Or if you must, send her to me. I will dismiss everyservant I have to fund her wages. The cakes and—”

“Caesar wants cake.”“Quiet, Caesar.” Mary swallowed a chuckle. “Or no cakes for you at all.”Thompson, wide-eyed, fought for an iron decorum. “My lady?”Mary managed to respond. “Yes, Thompson. We are well cared for. And do—” she said

as she glanced at Fifi’s ravenous expression over the tea cakes, choux and creme horns,“—do tell Cook her wares make Lady Fiona giddy with delight.”

The man—unable to control himself—barked in laughter and bowed himself quicklyaway.

Fifi—thank heavens—was more interested in getting to the pastry and raspberries andjam before her than in looking abashed or chastising Mary or her abrasive servant. “Oh,come. Sit down here and serve me. I am famished. It’s been a horrid morning. Good,there now. Hmm, yes, that one. And that. Do not hesitate over any item. I shall enjoy all.Thank you. And now as I relish these lovely things, you will tell me your plan.”

Mary, for once, chose her words. “Well, next week, for three and half days, we are tobe in very good company.”

Fifi rolled her eyes and groaned the name of her nemesis. “Esme.”“And her parents. Who are delightful hosts. And we will do them proud as good

guests.”Fifi nodded, her mouth too full of layers of Cook’s choux pastry to comment.“We know that Ivy and Grace will attend.” Two of their other former school friends

always attended Lord and Lady Courtland’s May Day Frolic.“And Willa?”“Yes.” Willa Sheffield was the daughter of the Earl de Courcy and she loved the May

Day event. Occasionally, other school friends attended. Millicent Weaver, the shy butsparkling wit who was the daughter of a knight. Sandrine De Compiègne, whose parentswere emigres from the Terror in France. “Willa wrote me the other day to say she’ll comeif she’s recovered from her sniffles. The Frolic is always a wonderful reunion for us.”

Fifi gulped down her tea. Behind her tiny spectacles, a fire burned in her blue eyes.She could care less if Esme attended her own funeral, much less her parents’ party…orher own wedding. “And your point?”

“Your Aunt Courtland always ensures there are enough young gentlemen inattendance to partner with each unmarried lady.”

Fifi fingered her next delicacy. “Wallflowers.”“Hmm. Yes. But we ten at Miss Shipley’s were never that.”“No. Something to be thankful for, eh?”“So that means the numbers are always equal.”

Fifi picked up her serviette and wiped her mouth. “Always. And?” She carved animpatient circle in the air with one hand. “Come now. Fire, flood, men. You always have asolution to any problem.”

Any, it seems, save my own.Mary put on a confident tone. “You’ll pick one.”“Pick one what?”“Man.”“Who?” Fifi got a befuddled look on her face.“Anyone.”“Not one specific man?”“No. You must choose. Not I. I’ve not had much luck match-making lately.” The

disaster with Millicent Weaver was the mishap I wish to avoid.“I see. That bit with Millicent went awry. But then why am I choosing just any man? I

refuse to romp around the May Pole with Lord Hornsby or that Mister Weymouth.” Shemade a face.

“With someone who appeals!”“If they invite the same neighbors who’ve attended the past two years, my answer is

no. We’re in for a good snore.”“They won’t. They’ll invite new faces this year.”“How do you know?”She drew in a breath to gird her for the battle. “I had a letter from Esme this

morning.”“Oh! How could you not tell me? What did she say?”That she hopes you won’t be horridly mad at her. That she loves Northington and he

loves her. “That her mama has invited four more gentlemen in addition to the regularcoterie of past years.”

“Hunh! About time. Ivy and Grace threatened to leave last year after they got tied upin the May Pole ribbons. Trussed up like chickens, they said, with two local men.”

“In any case, there will be more gentlemen to chose from.”“Did Esme give any names?”“No. Because she wanted to surprise us.”“She’ll suitably surprise me if she breaks her engagement.”Mary set her gaze on Fifi. Before next Tuesday, Fee had to come round. Perk up. Make

an effort to have fun at this party.“I will. Don’t worry.”She’d spoken her thoughts aloud again? After Fifi left, Mary was going to sew her lips

shut with her tapestry needle.“So? That’s your plan? Dance with a new guest?” Fifi threw her a rueful look.“More than that.”Fifi squinted at her. “How much more?”“Smile. Laugh. Kiss him.”Fifi grimaced. “If I can find one with dry lips.”“Be serious, Fee!”

“I am. Have you ever kissed a man with wet lips?” She shuddered. “Like MisterWeymouth?”

Weymouth always appeared to have just kissed a slimy cod. “Did you kiss him?”“Absolutely not! He kissed me.” Fifi shivered.Oh, to get past this! “You must show Esme that you don’t care if she marries

Northington.”“What? That’s not true!”“Of course not.” But it is. If you loved the man, you would have come here with red

eyes, handkerchiefs wadded up in tiny sodden balls of grief. Instead, you came withanger glowing red hot and boiling. “You must prove to her that you don’t care forNorthington so that he will believe it.” And so will you.

Fifi put down her empty plate. “Good point. And I’ll do that by… I know.” She snappedher fingers. “Giving him the cut direct.”

“Forget Northington. Choose another man, someone kind and sweet. Allow him to payhis attentions to you. Smile. Dance. But at any cost, do not play cards with him!”

“Very funny.” Fifi shook her head. Her glasses slipped again. “I don’t always win, youknow. Last week, I lost—Never mind. In any case, I couldn’t pretend to like a man. I’mnot a good actress.”

“No acting involved. Just look appreciative. Interested. It’ll be easy, Fee.”“How?”“Keep to the fun of it. No kisses if you don’t want them. No disappearing into the

library. Or whatever one does. Just simpering and cow eyes.”“Cow eyes? I can’t see well enough to do that!”Mary burst into laughter.“I’m not kidding. I failed at flirting our first year out.” Fifi reached for another tiny

choux. “It doesn’t work.”“Oh, god, Fee! Pretend!”Fifi regarded her with a ruthless glee Mary had seen only once before. “I’ll pretend if

you will.”“Oh, I couldn’t.”“It would be easy. Isn’t that what you’re telling me?”“Well, I—”“Mary, it’s simple. Smile. Dance. Play cards!”“Now you’re being funny.”“I’m deadly serious, Mary. You do so many things to help others, but never yourself.

Do this. Just once. And have a bit of fun.”

Chapter 2

April 30, 1816

“A nother thirty minutes and we’re there,” Mary told Fifi, then dropped her father’s goldpocket watch back into her reticule. The trip from Bath to Chippenham usually took nearlythree hours. Once there, Lord Courtland would send his own traveling coach into the townto take Fifi and Mary the next three miles to the Hall.

Fifi smiled, settling into the public coach, a much different lady than the one who’dargued with Mary days ago. She had a determination about her that had always been oneof her hallmarks…and which had gone lacking in the past two years. Today, she wore anew redingote, a gorgeous sapphire corded silk that lit up her pearl-like complexion andcomplemented her blue eyes. Best of all, she wore a smile that was genuine. “I cannottell you how grateful I am that you thought of this little ploy. I haven’t had such a goodtime at my seamstress’s in years.”

“And she did well by you.” Mary relaxed, relieved that Fifi embraced their littlesolution to the Esme Problem, as they’d dubbed the next few days. But Fifi had alsoapologized twice for her outburst last Thursday. Two of her other characteristics werethat she never was angry for long, nor did she hold a grudge.

“I needed a few new gowns. To help me face the gentleman I’m to marry.” Shefluttered her lashes like a conspirator at Mary, then at Mary’s lady’s maid, Welles, who satacross from them. When they went to Courtland Hall each year, they could take only onemaid between them. And Fifi was not demanding, nor was Mary. So sturdy Welles easilycared for them both.

Mary took Fifi’s desire for new clothes as a sure sign Fifi would enjoy herself at theFrolic.

“So I didn’t mind the expense. Mama needs for nothing these days. Poor dear. Shealways loved a party. And she especially always adored this one. Yesterday, she had amoment of clarity and asked me what time of year it was and would I go to CourtlandHall. When I said I would, she beamed at me. ‘Dance, ma sirène,’ she said. So I humoredher and told her I would stand up for each one.”

“Really?” Mary squeezed Fifi’s gloved hand. Fifi perpetually claimed to have no senseof rhythm and longed to sit out. “You will dance? That means I’ll play cards.”

Fifi threw her a rueful glance. “You should dance. I’ll play cards!”“And rob the men blind?” Mary chuckled. But her hand went to her right thigh, the

very limb that prevented her from ever taking to a chalked floor with anyone. “Not theway to a man’s heart, Fifi.”

“I don’t want any man’s heart. Just his agreement to appear that I have it. For threedays only.” She wrinkled her dark brows. “I keep trying to figure out which man I shouldapproach.”

“What of Lord Marleigh? A polite young man. Eyes black as licorice. Dances well.”“Perhaps. But I’ve gone over all the regular guests and not one inspires me. You?”Mary pressed her lips together. “My usual problem.”“Shall I start my sermon?” Fifi pushed up her little spectacles and challenged her with

a toss of her head.“No. I know it by heart.” I’m too particular. I bore easily. But that’s because I don’t

wish to speak of the latest on dits or the dessert cakes or admire one’s new manner oftying one’s cravat.

“I think you need a new man. A Highlander.”“I canna decipher the brogue.”“Ha! How about an Army man! Someone who’s been to France and Belgium and—”Mary winced. “I don’t want to talk about the war.”“I don’t blame you.” Fifi sighed.They rode in silence for many minutes.“I’m glad we weren’t joined by any more passengers this morning,” Fifi said as the

rickety coach creaked and groaned over the road east. “Odd, don’t you think, that so feware traveling?”

“It’s a short distance. I’d say most would take the trip in their own conveyances.”Fifi touched a fingertip to the fraying leather upholstery near her window. “As would

we if I still owned mine and yours didn’t need repair.”“Your Aunt and Uncle Courtland will welcome us no matter how we arrive. They

always do each year.” Mary shifted in the lumpy squabs as the carriage jounced along.Her own had broken an axel and her groom, now working alone in her mews, had not hadtime to repair the vehicle before today’s journey.

“Before we arrive, let me say this about Esme.” Fifi looked about as if to find therainbow in the matter. “To be fair, she is not so rabid to rise in society that she wouldwed a man she didn’t care for. And Northington deserves to be loved.”

Mary rejoiced at this largesse from Fifi. It meant she was coming around to her usualbright self. That way, she’d catch a man not merely in jest, but in truth. Even Welles, whonormally showed no emotion, toyed with a grin over this.

“Oh, my dear, you deserve it too,” Mary said.“And you,” Fifi added, her normal cheer glowing in her blue eyes. She removed her

glasses, tucked them away in her reticule and rubbed the bridge of her nose.“Ahh, well!” Mary waved away Fifi’s belief. Only once had she felt the desire she heard

other women claim they bore one certain man. That was two years ago when Blake washome and the elation of a romance between them was so fleeting she had to discount itas fantasy. “I don’t think there is anyone for me.”

“You have much to share with a man. Besides, for this party, you promised me you

would flirt.”The coach lurched to one side.“What’s happen—?” Mary slid against Fifi as the coach shivered and shook.Welles yelped as she fell forward onto Mary. “Milady!”Horses neighed.The conveyance swayed one way, then shuddered…and stilled.Mary was crushed against Fifi.Welles was on the floor, blinking at her mistress.Outside the horses raised a ruckus.The coachman and his three footmen shouted at each other.Welles pushed backward, but gained no traction. The coach wobbled on an angle and

Welles fell to her knees once more. She clamored to one side to try to right herself. “I’llget help, milady.”

Fifi jiggled the handle of the door to try to open it. “Stuck.”Mary’s bonnet slid over her left ear, the ribbons strangling her. She tugged at them

and tore them away. She tried to push up from Fifi. “We could say that the famous Flying-Post Coaches from Bath to London, don’t fly at all.”

Welles fell upon the coach door and rammed her shoulder against it. The coachjostled at her thrust, but did not move. Still, at the precarious angle the coach hung, thismaneuver looked dangerous to Mary.

“Stop, Welles. Don’t risk your safety.”“Milady,” said Welles, “we must get out. I’ll try the door again.”“I won’t have you hurt, Welles. Let the men get us out.”More shouts met their ears.The horses added more of their objections to the din.“Look!” Welles pointed toward the road. “Another coach.”“Thank heavens.” Mary peered out but had not the same angle of visibility as her

maid. “More help, the better. Fifi, if you could not dig your nails into my—” She shot aglance at her friend who sat, her face pressed to the dingy leather upholstery. “What’swrong?”

“My…foot,” Fifi managed, her face ashen.“What’s wrong with it?”“Hurts.” She gulped.“Don’t move, Fee.” Alarm swept through Mary. The sounds of men shouting to their

horses gave her some comfort. “Stay still, both of you. We’re out of here in a thrice. You’llsee.”

She licked her lips and leaned toward Welles. Another coach, a private one, glisteningebony with gilded trim, pulled abreast of their damaged one. She stretched up to viewthe escutcheon of the owner and something about the standing, growling griffin set herstartled mind galloping. The shield sparkled in the sunlight, its field awash in tiny erminesymbols, covered by a huge griffin, rampant, claws out. She’d studied heraldry as a childand she’d once known the family who owned this shield. But in the chaos, the identityescaped her.

Two men, tall and dark and in the finest tailoring, jumped down from the blackcarriage and ran toward theirs. Their coachman, two footmen and a tiger followed. Treesobscured her full view.

But one man she knew. Shadows of the past told her this man was…oh my. One of theLindsey brothers. Not the oldest, Frederick Lindsey. No. Not Fred. Dead of fever. Threeyears ago. Not Fred’s younger brother either. Charles had died in Toulouse, in a battle ashot and ugly as Badajoz.

This was Blake! Her stomach did a thump. The youngest son of the Baron Lawton-Bridges was this large and dashing creature, not the lanky fifteen-year-old who’d lefthome for school in Woolwich. This man before her was no boy. But the older, bolder manwho led infantry into the terror of assaults upon enemies of Britain.

Her eyes scanned him. Her heart remembered him from that last time she’d seen him,laughed with him and kissed him. He was handsome then. Irresistible in his uniform,resplendent in gold, red and white. Taller, broader in the shoulder, more agile and fitthan she remembered him ever being. With wide, flat cheekbones, a Roman nose and ashock of golden brown hair that ruffled in the breeze, here before her was her childhoodfriend, her confidant, her correspondent. The one who no longer wished to be any of that.

It had been two years since she’d seen him after his father died. Two years sinceshe’d bid him adieu, to send him back to his post with Wellington in Paris. Many lonelymonths in which she eagerly awaited the mail. She’d found nothing there from him save anote of sympathy after her parents died. Oh, she could understand he was a busy man.He was one of the few Royal Engineers, a soldier responsible for so much success of theBritish Army on the Continent. He’d been away for more than a decade, packed off toWoolwich and Royal Military Academy at fifteen. He’d been awarded a position becausehe could add a column of numbers in his head in a blink. Could look at acreage and thehealth of a crop and estimate the yield.

Now Mary would bet her monthly allowance that if anyone could right a coach,precariously balanced on the side of …what? A ditch? A stream? It was Blake.

“He’ll get us out,” she told her companions.Blake Lindsey, home from the killing fields of Spain and France and Belgium, jumped

up, balanced precariously on a rock or the runner and caught her gaze.“My god,” he murmured.The jarvey jumped up and grabbed at his shoulder. “Milord! Milord! My reins broke.”“What?”“Not my fault, milord. Please, tell ‘em.”“Are you mad?” he barked to their hapless driver. He shook the man off. “Secure your

horses!”“The reins of the leaders broke!”“Well calm them all then, leaders and wheelers. Come on, Charlton. Grab this.”

Blake’s voice was a strident baritone. To hear the deeper notes sparked Mary’s memoriesof his younger pitch, their youthful escapades and silly, experimental, melting kisses.“Let’s get the ladies out of here.”

There was much cursing and ordering about among the coachmen and Blake’s and his

friend’s servants.When his handsome face once more appeared in the open window, she bubbled over

with joy. Memories washed over her in a flood—and she blurted her childhood greetingfor him. “Lawton-Bridges falling down!”

“Birdie!”This had always been his name for her, an endearment no one else had ever used.“God’s nightshirt! Don’t rock this carriage, my girl!”“Happy to—Whoa!”The carriage pitched up, then down like a ship at sea.And then it was still.Blake reached up and with his friend, the man of the escutcheon, Lord Charlton,

stopped the roll.Blake held her attention. “Birdie. Do not move. They free the horses.”She put a hand to Fifi’s, who whimpered, and one to Welles, who squeezed her own in

sympathy.He glanced away to check the doings with the horses—and of a sudden he was back.

Grinning, he seemed a force of nature, huge and in command, his brown hair burnishedgolden in the rays of the sun. “Good to see you, Birdie! But not here. Not like this! Andwhat in hell are you doing in a public coach?”

“Turning arse over tea kettle,” she replied.“Still telling a story much too baldly, I see,” he said, rueful.A man shouted at him.“Ah, horses secured. Let’s get you out of there, little finch!”

Chapter 3

Within minutes, she was tucked into Blake Lindsey’s embrace, carried to his coach like aprize of war. Being saved, dare she say treasured, gratified her as little else had in years.Beneath her hands, she felt his strength. Two years ago, she’d danced with him inLondon. But he had not held her in his arms like this since the day she’d fallen in thewoods near home. His embrace left her giddy and appreciative of his strength.

He deposited her on the supple black leather seat of Charlton’s travel coach. Allaround them was frantic activity. The coachmen and his footmen to secure their horses.Blake’s and Charlton’s men to take down the women’s trunks and strap them aboard.Charlton’s young tiger to clear the public coach of items in the cab.

Blake checked her eyes for signs of distress, her pulse too. As if he had a script, heasked her about the condition of her heads, arms, fingers, and legs. She was well?Unhurt? She was certain? He went on to do the same for Welles. Thankfully, her maidincurred no injuries either.

He and his friend had pulled Welles out first, because the maid was nearer the door.Mary came next because she was more mobile than Fifi.

But Fifi was injured. When the lead horses slipped their reins and the coach took acorner it did not manage well, Fifi had jammed her foot to the opposite bench. She was inpain, biting her lip against it. Blake and his friend had extracted her ever so carefully fromthe wreck. But she was unable to stand on her foot. Charlton—whom Blake had hastilyintroduced to all—caught Fifi up in his arms to carry her away and place her in his coach.

“Sprained your ankle. I know the signs,” Charlton told her. A strapping tall fellow ofsevere dark good looks, he had been adamant that he treat Fifi. There he sat oppositeher and raised her skirts.

“Stop!” She grabbed his wrist. She might be in pain, but she was also in her rightmind. “You can’t do that! It’s shocking!”

“I’ll tell you what’s really shocking.” Charlton had no patience for niceties and pointedat her foot. “You want to walk on this, Lady Fiona? Ever again?”

“Of course.”“Then I will see your ankle.”White with pain and pique, she slowly lifted her skirts. And glared at him.“More.”She fumed.He untied his cravat, slipped it off and said, “Your boot and stocking, too.”

“No.”“Fifi,” Mary pleaded with her.Blake put a hand to his friend’s wrist.Charlton was not deterred. “Three choices, my lady. One, you remove your boot and

stocking now. Two, I cut them off you myself. Three, we wait, in which case, you willnever get them off because your ankle will be too swollen. What then is your decision?”

“Are you such an ogre to everyone?” Fifi snapped.“Only to ladies who refuse proper treatment. Now. Shall I unlace your boot or do you

wish to be crippled for the rest of your life?”Fifi blustered but she bent over and unlaced her own boot. Then she thrust her foot

toward him.Charlton carefully secured it to his lap. “Good. Will you roll down your stocking

please?”“Turn away.”With a bark, he did.“Mary,” Blake turned her attention to him, “what were you doing in a public coach?”“Mine needs repairs and couldn’t be done before Lady Fiona and I were to leave.”“Allow me to convey my condolences about the death of your parents. In person this

time.” He looked repentant.The only letter she’d had from him, kind but curt as it was, had been one of sympathy

for the loss of her parents. She didn’t wish to mar their reunion so soon with apologies.“Please let’s not speak of it.”

“Agreed. I deplore discussions of it all. So.” He covered her hand with his own largewarm one—and twined his fingers in hers. “Where are you both off to?”

“Courtland Hall.”His dark blue eyes twinkled. “The Courtlands’ May Day Frolic? We are, too.”She grinned. The new recruits.“The what?” he asked.Where was her tapestry needle? “New visitors to the Frolic.”“We are!”Fifi yelped as Charlton wrapped his cravat around her ankle and pulled tight. “Be

careful, sir!”“I won’t kill you!”Mary doubted that, but focused on Blake. “Were you both in Bath?”“Yes. Visiting Charlton’s uncle. He was an instructor at Woolwich. Geometry and

algebra. I liked him tremendously. Retired now, he is not well.” Curiosity crossed hisfinely-boned features. “Why aren’t you living in your family’s cottage near Canterbury?”

“The new earl wanted that one for himself.”“I must speak to him. You loved that little house.”“I did and you must not talk to him on my behalf. I’m happy in Bath. It is small.

Society is intimate. Lady Fiona and I occupy ourselves there. But I had no idea you knewWinston.” Her cousin had inherited the Dalworthy title and lands upon her father’s death.

“I met him years ago. Delightful fellow. I’d expect he does the earldom proud.”

“He does. But tell me about you.” She ignored the question of why he’d not written toher, save for his note of condolence. Upbraiding him was no way to resume theirfriendship. Instead, she’d learn everything he’d done since last they met. Had he foughtat Waterloo? Was he with the Occupation forces now? Would he return abroad? “You’rehome to England. Since when? How? And have you taken up your duties of LawtonAbbey? Now that you are Baron Lawton-Bridges, will you resign your commission in theRoyal Engineers?”

“Good questions. I’ve not many answers yet. For one, I’m surprised that both Fred andCharles are gone. Third sons are never meant to inherit but to conquer the world in otherways. I only just arrived from the Continent two weeks ago and I debate what I’ll doabout my commission. In fact, one reason I wished to visit with my former instructor isbecause I wanted his advice.” Frustration on his brow, he glanced out the window andback. “Nonetheless, here I am. Going to a party, no less!”

“Have you been home?”Home. The word stuck in her throat. Home. She shut her eyes, remembering the

rambling red brick mansion along the Ouse. It stood across the river from the white stonePalladian of his own ancestral home, Lawton Abbey. She’d forgotten so much of her lifethere, her gaiety, her family. Him. She’d forced herself to forget. Told herself not to pinefor it. For him.

He cupped her cheek. “Oh, Birdie. You loved it so. Have you not returned since yourparents died? Did Winston not invite you? The bounder. I shall speak to him.”

She squeezed his arm. “Oh, don’t. To gain the earldom was a shock for him. He’scoming here to the Frolic and it’s the first time he’s invited. Be kind to him.”

“For you? I shall not take it up with him. But if he shows no honor to you here, I willhaul him down to the river, box his ears and throw him in.”

“Oh, thank you!” She rolled her eyes, happy to spar with him just as they were beforehe left to return to Paris in ‘fourteen. “That should set him right.”

He settled more comfortably against the squabs. Still he held her hand. “Tell me doyou still have your telescope?”

“I do.”“And in Bath do you grow beans or…radishes, was it?”“They’ve not come up this year. I have kale and cabbage sprouts, a few others.”“Flowers, too, as I recall.”“I’ve had problems with my garden. I’m worried. My roses are not budding as

profusely this year.”“Have you pruned them back already?”She smiled at him. How many men would talk about roses? “I have.”“Do you see green flies on them?”“No. It’s early for those to attack…but by the first of May I usually see more buds than

I have at the moment.”He was thoughtful. “We should talk about remedies for that.”“I’d like that. Might you return to Bath after the Frolic? You could come see my garden

and advise me.”

“I’d like to.” He paused in glum consideration of some issue.“Oh? What are your plans?” She brought herself up short. “I apologize. I intrude.”“You don’t. I have business in London. Then south to the estate to meet with the

manager and tenants. It’s a large enterprise and I must get on with familiarizing myselfwith the workings. Letters don’t paint the best picture. Plus, it seems like another lifetimesince I was there—and then I was not concerned with its operations. Only making anoccasional friend of a cow or two. Now I do wonder if I can live there.” He pursed his lipsas he considered that fact. “It’s going to be so different with all of them gone.”

She leaned closer to him, his loss so much like hers. The fragrance of lemon rose toher nostrils and the solace of his cologne was a sweet memory and a sudden newenticement. “I understand.”

His navy blue eyes locked on hers in communion. “I would say you do.”Her delight in his regard sparked a thirst for more from him. “One reason I like the

house in Bath is because there I see fewer ghosts.”“Birdie,” he said in that velvet voice that lured as smoothly as strong brandy. “We are

the survivors. We should be free of ghosts.”“Someday perhaps…”He let go of her hand, lifted his arm to curl around her and hugged her near. The

familiarity gave a jolt to her pulse. “We will go to this party and rid ourselves of them.Agreed?”

“I do.”“We shall laugh, you and I. You will play the piano and sing. I shall turn pages for

you.”“You will sing, dear sir.”He let out a laugh. “You still don’t?”“Only when I hear requests from those who are deaf.”He laughed. “And I will dance with you.”She bit her lip and glanced down at her lap.“Sweet girl, do not tell me you still do not dance.”“No, I do not.”He tipped up her chin, his fingertips gentle on her skin, his gaze compassionate. “You

coward.”She pressed her lips together. “My last dance was with you.”“In London.” He captured a wild tendril of her hair and slid his fingers along the long

curl. Then he pushed it behind her ear. “I remember.”She nearly wept with joy at his recollection.He was the one who’d been with her when she’d fallen in the woods. They were

playing hide and go seek and she’d tripped over a fallen log. An old rotten limb hadpierced her thigh. And it was he who had pulled it out, then carried her more than twomiles to home where her mother laid her on the settee, cleaned the gash and bound herup. For a week, she’d struggled with a fever and infection. The surgeon thought theymight have to amputate. Or worse, that she’d develop gangrene and die. Each day, Blakehad come to call. Each day, he brought something she loved. An acorn. A chess set. Him.

Always him.“We’ll all see to this new patient,” he said. “Then you and I will have hours together,

recalling who we were when we were young. I will sing. You will play the piano. Andtogether, we will dance.”

He sat back, his arm securely around her shoulders. Oh, he was well pleased withhimself.

And she?Oh, my. She was exhilarated. A nervous ninny hammer. A gay girl as she could not

recall she’d ever truly been. Because…oh, dare she think it, lest she blurt it out? She puttwo fingers to her lips to seal in the truth.

Yes, for the first time in two years, she felt the affection she’d missed, theendearments she’d forgotten, the sweetness of one who regarded her with totalacceptance.

* * *

He never thought he’d find Birdie like this. Of a sudden. In a coaching accident, no less.In need of help to set her to rights. But when she was jostled in an accident and in vastneed of his comfort, his life became more difficult.

She had been on his mind since he’d returned to England. Hell, he’d thought of herconstantly all the years he’d been away. More since his two older brothers died and hethought of home. Especially since he’d seen her in London in ‘fourteen. Then he hadenjoyed himself with her, played piano duets and given in to the temptation of decadesand kissed her. Numerous times. A meeting of lips and tongues and an ardor borne ofyears together and years apart.

For weeks after his return to Paris, he’d pondered how he could propose to her. Hisfuture was as uncertain then as it was now, despite his inheritance of the estate. To bethe Baron Lawton-Bridges was no small responsibility. To be Captain Lord Bridges at thesame time complicated the running of the estate and raised questions of his future in theCorps. But he’d had a peace to claim, and then when Bony returned to Paris from Elba,he’d had battles to fight, a war to win all over again. Whatever raptures he had foundwith Mary in those days at home, he had quickly abandoned. Not just because wanting awife was so impractical given his job, but because he’d learned something worse: Hecould not trust her. That shocked him and sobered him. And he threw himself into thechallenges of defeating Bonaparte with more vigor than ever. The memory of her whitemoon glow hair, the pale pink of her lips and the peal of her laughter diminished becausehe killed it. She was no longer the sweet sylph who could lure him to sleep.

As a boy he’d never called his regard for her love. Or infatuation. He’d known her asthe scamp who lived across the river. The one he fished with. Explored the forests with.

Rode with. Learned how to hunt with…or dance with…until she fell and nearly died. Afterthat, he learned how to walk more slowly with her. A minor concession to the knowledgethat she lived, whole, save for a limp that never marred her petite and fragile beauty orher jolly ways. If he persisted to cajole her to carry on, to learn how to walk again, if shecalled him a pest, it was a small price to rid her of self pity. To know she walked theearth, even without him beside her, as the girl who brought a smile to his lips and to hissoul, gave him abundant reasons to fight and prevail.

But no, he had not loved her. He could not. Not as other men proclaimed they lovedtheir intendeds or their wives. He had been graced or damned with a different social lifefrom many of his colleagues. Most were not of the upper one hundred; most RoyalEngineers came from lesser strata. Sons of merchants or bankers, clergy or military wentto school at Woolwich. To be admitted, they had to have shown some skills inmathematics or geometry and some knowledge of chemistry, geology or botany. Andthey had to have passed an examination to verify their abilities. As the third son of abaron, whose title and lands dated from William the Conqueror, Blake had neverentertained remaining on the land of his father. He’d always known he was more than‘The Spare’. He was ‘The Irrelevant’. To make a living, he must move on and outward.Moreover, he’d never considered himself a match for the only daughter of an earl, albeitthe one who was his dearest friend.

He did not permit himself to love her. Before that day two years ago in London whenhe’d kissed her and caressed her and yearned to make her his wife, he had not allowedhimself even to pine for her. To do so would have brought him heartache. And as amilitary man, he could not afford disabilities of any kind. His work, which he loved, washis life. His work, which absorbed him and fulfilled him, consumed his every wakingmoment. He could not make mistakes. A miscalculation in the length of road to betraveled, the depth of a river to be crossed or the height of a castle wall to be scaled orexploded could not only cost days and weeks or months of missed opportunities toengage the enemy. It could mean wagon trains of dynamite were inadequate to the job.Miners could dig to the wrong depth. Sappers could sit by the side of muddy roads insteadof digging the tunnels beneath Spanish and French fortifications that would blow a hole intheir works and let the victorious British through. Worse, men could starve because hefailed to clear a supply train efficiently. Men could lie wounded because he failed to repaira bridge to let in the medical team. Men could die because he had misread thetopography of the battlefield and the enemy had gained the high ground, theadvantage…and he had failed his duty.

But with the end of conflict, he faced a different set of circumstances, familial as wellas personal. He had come home because his work in France was done. The war was over,the peace treaty signed and Bonaparte safely tucked in the south Atlantic. It meant hisown future as a Royal Engineer would devolve to other duties, other tasks. Instead ofblowing bridges up, he would construct them to last a thousand years. Instead of drawinglandscapes to inform Wellington of battlefield topography, he might survey land here oracross the seas. Yes, change might mean he’d be ordered to other countries. He had anappointment next week with his commander to discuss his future assignments. But he

also had to impress upon that man the importance and urgency of his other newerresponsibility as heir to his father. He had responsibilities there. Not simply to the houseor the land. But more importantly to his father’s tenants. Just as he had regardedWellington’s soldiers as his responsibility to provide for, so too did he regard his father’speople as his own to raise up to the prosperity they deserved.

He had not predicted he would see Mary at all, let alone so soon. Not as the result ofan accident. Not in the road. In need of assistance. He had not hoped to visit with her orput his arms around her or comfort her. He’d wished to avoid any intimacy because hehad no rights to begin any relationship with her when he had no clear vision of his futureto offer her. Plus that other matter still rankled. She was assertive, that he’d alwaysknown. Her friends relied on her to help them. That too he understood because shethought in creative ways. But one time, she’d gone too far and a friend of his had sufferedfor it. Only the war and his need to devote his full attention to his job had taken his mindfrom his despair over her actions.

But he was to be three days in her company—and heaven help him, he did not wish tochange what stretched before him. Despite his uncertainty about his future and about hernature, he would not, could not push her away. He curled her closer, his one arm aroundher shoulders and his other hand holding hers. Whatever question he could ask about histomorrows, the contentment that fell over him was a peace he’d searched for as hesought sleep on countless battlefields and never found without her lovely face before him.

So it was with that he asked himself if now he might forget that niggling question ofher character. Could he not allow himself to proclaim he loved her?

Had he not for all his life?

Chapter 4

Charlton’s carriage pulled into the circular drive of Courtland Hall just behind another.Mary recognized the gold trim of their two friends’ ebony traveling coach.

Ivy and Grace Livingston were twins, the only daughters of the Earl of Seaford. They,along with Esme, Fifi and Mary and one other young lady Willa Sheffield, had formed acadre of good fellowship at Miss Shipley’s School. A few other girls, like Millicent andSandrine, had joined them for a year or two, as they came or went from school to theirdebuts. But the six had been the core. For seven years, they’d studied dance and piano,French and household management, along with the proprieties that the headmistressdeclared would make them spouses worthy of the best gentlemen in the land. Yet,considering the wars had taken many eligible young men away to the Navy and the Army,none of the six was yet married. Ranging in ages from twenty-three to twenty-five, thefriends—except now Esme—approached that most prickly of conditions, spinsterhood.

The one woman who stood at the door ready to receive them all with her parents wasyounger than the rest—and soon would no longer be part of their cohort. Esme hadgolden-brown hair, coffee brown eyes and a laugh hearty as red wine. She’d alwaystagged along with the other five. Aspired to be included in all they did. And constantlytried to do the right thing by them all, be fair-minded in card games, sharing her skills intapestry, but who constantly pushed herself forward, blatantly so. Despite her rabid needto be first in French, her preening with new fashions—and her attempt to charm everygirl’s brother who came to the school to visit, Esme was included in the girls’ festivities,but welcomed to them only because she was generous with her knowledge, her adviceand her empathy. Her passion to be first and foremost at every subject, every art withevery person, teacher or parent or brother, had created disharmony. Now that she wasfirst among them in the most coveted of any young woman’s aspirations—to marry anddo it well, Mary hoped that Esme’s pride of place would engender some humility in hersoul.

Indeed Esme greeted them at her front door with a most wholesome smile and kindwords. Her parents—Lord Courtland and his wife—were gracious, hailing each of the newarrivals with a warm-heartedness that spoke of true joy at seeing them all. But it was thesight of Fifi tightly bound in the strong arms of Lord Charlton who commanded everyone’sattentions.

Mary explained what had happened to their public conveyance and how the two menhad rescued them. Then it was Lord Courtland, who evidently had met Lord Charlton

before, who introduced him to his wife and his daughter Esme.Charlton did the same for Blake. “My friend, a famous fellow who saved many of us

from the wraths of the French. A fine engineer, Captain Lord Lawton-Bridges.”“Bridges will do,” Blake offered.“All of you must have had a terrible fright. Do go right up to rest.” Lady Courtland

fussed over the four of them, but worried over Fifi. She was her maternal aunt and mostcaring of her niece. “You look quite ashen, my dear girl.”

Lord Courtland summoned one of his footmen. “We’ll have Thomas here carry her upand relieve you, Lord Charlton.”

“Unnecessary, sir,” said Charlton with ease. “The lady is secure in my embrace.”“But you must be tired,” Fifi countermanded him, her lips stiff.He narrowed his gaze on her and a ghost of a smile curved his mouth. “Never. You are

light as a feather.”Fifi set her teeth. “You are too kind.”Charlton ignored her sarcasm and turned to the footman assigned to assist him.

“Thomas? Onward, man!”Befuddled, Lord Courtland glanced from the earl to his niece and back again. “Carry

on. Of course. We’ll send Fifi’s trunks up as soon as possible.”“Marvelous,” Fifi chirped, hooking her arms more tightly around her rescuer’s neck.

The smile she threw him—Mary could have bet—would tempt a thousand angels…if itwere for any other than this diabolically irritating earl. “Walk on, sir.”

That man was already headed up the main staircase when his lordship called to him.“I say, Lord Charlton, shall I send for a surgeon?”

“No,” both he and Fifi responded at once.Charlton paused, then slowly faced his host. “I’ve examined Lady Fiona’s ankle, sir,

and she needs rest, a compress and ice.”As ever, there was no brooking Charlton’s command of the situation.“Ice!” Lady Courtland said. “Of course!”“Perhaps, tea, too, Aunt?” Fifi asked over his shoulder as her chivalrous knight

resumed his assent of the stairs. “Cakes?”Mary stifled a chuckle. Fifi and her cakes!“You shall have it, dear girl. And you, Lord Charlton? May I send you tea as well?”“Tea would be splendid, Lady Courtland.” He did not stop but took the landing around.“Aunt?” Fifi called down. “Brandy is in order. For his lordship, you see.”Mary could have sworn Charlton winked at the woman in his arms. “Fine idea!”Lord Courtland rubbed his hands together. “Certainly! Should have said it myself. You

shall have it!”“Superb,” their guests answered in chorus as Charlton proceeded up the stairs with his

burden.Mary had never seen two people duel so verbally. Why were they so antagonistic to

each other?“I say, my dear,” Lord Courtland addressed his wife as he watched the two disappear.

“That is quite a jolt. Will she be able to enjoy herself?”

“I do hope so,” she fretted, then turned to her other guests. “Forgive me. We arequite undone, aren’t we? We have a full tea at the ready in the salon. Or perhaps youwish to retire? Refresh?”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Mary said, intent on looking in on Fifi before she did much else.“May I join you in half an hour, perhaps?”

Blake agreed he’d like to be settled into his rooms first.“Of course, you may. All of you. Come, William. Henry, too?” She summoned two

footmen who snapped to attention. “Do show Lady Mary to her room and Lord Bridges tohis.”

Blake and she excused themselves and took the stairs together.Mary leaned close to him. “Is Lord Charlton always so assertive?”“Comes with being an infantry man, I’d say.”Truly, a brave man, but brusque. “Fiona doesn’t need to be ordered about.”“I’m sure. Charlton does act oddly. Not certain why, but whatever it is, we must

forgive him. Men home from battlefields have challenges with the ordinariness of peace.”“Still,” she worried, “I wonder what he hopes to achieve.”Just as the footman stopped and indicated they were to separate, Blake to the east

wing, and Mary to the west, she caught his sleeve. “Will you ask him to apologize,please?”

“Frankly, I doubt I’ll have to. He’s a good man. He’ll come around to act more thegentleman.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t fret, Mary.”

She grew wistful of a sudden. “Am I not Birdie to you any longer?”“Birdie was the girl I knew. This Mary before me is older, lovelier.”She’d never thought of herself as lovely. Nor had he ever been so complimentary. “I’ve

not had anyone tell me that.”“I am pleased to be the only one.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Until

later. Mary.”Tickled, she sank in a curtsy. “Lord Bridges.”

* * *

What was he doing complimenting Mary so?Blake listened half-heartedly to the footman William as he pointed out the features of

his accommodations. The sitting room was large with a small settee and two chairs. Thebedroom, facing the parterre in the lee of the house, offered a chair, wardrobe and a bedwith heavy red and gold brocade hangings. The fittings brought a stab of nostalgia for hisfamily’s home on the river Ouse. Surprise at that wistful desire swept him as he had beenhonest with Mary that he held misgivings about living there permanently. Of course, itwas his family duty to take on the running of the estate. Yet he knew more about Spanish

coastal roads and French rivers than he did about the land and waterways of hischildhood home.

Seeing Mary had revived happy memories of his laughing parents and his twoprecocious brothers. Of her family, too, who were their fondest friends, sharingcelebrations of birthdays and Christmas. He hadn’t counted on the desires her presenceinspired. Not for home or hearth or kin—or her. She breathed and walked, more vividthan memory. She laughed, flesh and blood reminder of his childhood, his follies and hispranks. She sparkled, a kaleidoscope of dreams, the talisman who helped him to survivebarbaric nightmares of his dismemberment and death. She was sympathetic, worried forher friend. That commended her to him and made him ask himself the true depth of hismistrust of her.

She had hurt his friend and cohort, an infantry officer who was also friend to Charlton.Captain Lord Langdon had met Miss Weaver three years ago in London and found her sodelightful, he’d proposed within days of meeting her. But a friend of Millicent’s—Mary—had dissuaded her from accepting him. Langdon was stunned, furious and returned to hismen in France, a bewildered man. One who drank and gambled far too much and muchtoo rashly. Foxed to his gills day in and out, he sobered before he went before the Frenchat Quatre Bras. In the barrage, he’d received shot in his left arm. Though he’d not lost hislimb, he’d lost its use and he repaired to his country home a bitter man.

Blake could not discount that harm she’d done his friend two years ago. He’d knownMary as a girl saving his own life. Rescuing a dog from the river. Dragging him from it,too. Parting two people who cared for each other was quite another. Did she know howdamaging her involvement was? He’d ask her. He must. For how else could he trust her?Love demanded that. Lust required none.

He desired her, he had for years. But convention and status had barred her from him.Now, he was titled and astonishingly rich. He was the equal of the earl’s daughter.Dastardly, that now he had the means to court her, he suddenly met this road block. Itshould be easy to fix the problem. Yet he worried.

He ran a hand through his hair.“My lord?” One footman beckoned from the doorway.Two more footmen arrived carrying his trunk, and as they did, the doors to the hall

stood open. Charlton passed by, led on by the footman who’d been assigned to show himhis rooms. Another scurried behind them, a brandy decanter in hand.

“Yes? William, is it?”“It is, my lord. Shall I arrange your clothes?”Neither he nor Charlton employed valets, home in England too recently to hire

servants. “Take your time. ”“As you wish, my lord.”“I’ll return in a few minutes.” At that, he left to track down Charlton.The door to the next suite was open. He knocked for permission to enter.Charlton beckoned. “Ah, good. Do sit, if you wish.”He took the chair while Charlton busied himself with pouring brandy. “No. None for

me, thank you. Got Lady Fiona settled, did you?”

“I put her to a comfortable chair and propped her up with cushions. Warned her not tomove until I returned. I also asked for sturdier bandages with which to rewrap her ankle.I’ll go back in a minute to do that. Luckily for her, her injury is minor. Ankle’s sore now,but it will heal quickly if she’s careful.”

“Your efforts are appreciated, I’m certain,” he said with a wry grin.“Hmm. By many. But by this lady?” Charlton winced as he took the opposite chair and

a quick sip of his brandy. “I’d wager not in this decade.”Why so gruff toward this woman he’d just met? Charlton usually charmed a woman

out of her stockings with more ease than a matador tempting a bull. “The battlefieldteaches so many lessons.”

“Charm is not among them.” Charlton pursed his lips and nodded toward the twofootmen.

He was leery of the men overhearing. Gossip among the servants was a known terror.“Glad to hear she is not badly injured.”

“I hope so.” Charlton leaned toward him. “I was a bit of a prig, wasn’t I?”Blake arched both brows. “Do you think?”“No need to beard the goat. I was. And I did offer her an apology.”“Did you? Good of you. Did she accept?”“She did. And you?” Charlton sat back, a grin on his face as he tipped his head. “You

know Lady Mary well?”“I did once.”“And wish to again.”Blake smiled. “Obvious, is it?”“Like minds are not often discovered by accident in the middle of an abandoned road,”

Charlton said.But fate intervened. “I had no intention to become fast friends with her again. Not as

we once were.”“Why not?”He’d stick to the professional reason. “My future is so uncertain.”“Surely the Corps is headed by men who understand the normal desire to marry.”“It wouldn’t be fair to court any woman, not knowing what I must do or where I’ll go.”

Blake had explained to Charlton he had a choice to make and soon, too. As head of hisestate, he should remain home to run the barony. But to do that, he’d have to resign hiscommission. For a Royal Engineer to resign his commission was an unusual act. His yearsof training had been extensive and expensive to the Government. His years abroad, thefinest teacher. From what he’d heard from others who wished to learn their futures withthe Corps, those who had been in Spain and France were most prized for the service theycould give in the future to the Country by serving abroad.

The wars over, his fellow engineers expected to be posted far from home with greatregularity. The Empire, now protected, needed to be surveyed, mapped, affordedinfrastructure of roads and towns, government buildings, city halls, military barracks,fortresses with impregnable bastions and the thousand different accessories whichconquering nations must command. To court a lady, promising a hazy future traversing

the globe on meager salaries, was not a venture that boded well. Indeed, it would createmore problems than it might solve. What woman—especially a gently reared one—wasinclined to leave her home country in exchange for hardship, travel to jungles and desertsand for the prospect of savages upon her doorstep?

“Yet you knew she’d be here, didn’t you?”“I wasn’t certain. I know she is a distant relative to Northington and I accepted your

invitation to accompany you because I purposely came to see him. But I hoped I mightkeep my distance and let her enjoy her friends, Esme and Fifi and the others.”

Charlton’s grey eyes danced. “Fifi, is it?”Blake gave his friend a wistful glance. “Fifi is what her friends call her.”“It suits her.”Blake nodded, laughter on his lips. “And you, I see.”“Pardon my intrusion, sirs.” Another footman stood in the entrance.“Yes?” Charlton looked up.“The ice, the tea, more bandages and brandy await you in Lady Fiona’s rooms, my

lord.”“Well, then.” He rose. “I’m off to do my doctoring.”“Get to it, Charlton.” He got to his feet. “I’m off to join the party.”“To explore new possibilities, I do hope.”I’d like to hope. “We shall see.”

Chapter 5

“When you’re finished, Welles, I’m certain Lady Fiona would like your help sorting herwardrobe.” Though concerned about Fifi and her injury, Mary needed to discuss Blake’ssudden appearance. Just when she’d told herself she applauded the benefits ofspinsterhood, she was presented with the man she’d urged herself to forget.

Her maid nodded. “Yes, my lady. I’ll go in a few minutes.”Mary hurried down the hall to the next room where the door stood wide open.Inside, Lord Charlton bent over Fifi’s bare foot. Bare ankle. Bare leg…to her knee!No maid, no footman was in attendance.“There you are, Mary! Do come in. See what Lord Charlton is doing.” Fifi pointed to

her swollen foot. “He claims to be an expert at healing twisted ankles.”Mary took a position next to Fifi’s chair with full view of her injury, bruising like an

eggplant. “Is that so, sir?”He glanced up at her, a rueful arc to his brows, his hands stilled at his task. “We are—

I assure you, Lady Mary—perfectly respectable. Do note the door is open. I have notaccosted your friend. Have I, Lady Fifi?”

“Not in the least,” Fifi said, too absorbed in Charlton’s wrapping of her ankle in a stripof flannel to notice his use of her familiar little name.

“You’ve done this often?” Mary inquired of him.“Battlefield surgeons are few and far between, my lady. A commander must perform

as leader, confessor, scribe and doctor.”“Of course.” She had nothing for it but to join the reception of the rest of the guests

downstairs in the main salon. “Will you come downstairs, my lord, after you finish here?”“I will. So will Lady Fifi.”“Oh, no, I won’t. I’m not going down there like this.”“Why not?” He paused in his ministrations and scowled at her. “Does your ankle

prohibit you from laughing?”Fifi glared at him. “Never.”“Well then.”“You are irritating, my lord.” Fifi crossed her arms, then met Mary’s gaze. “We’ll

adjourn to the salon in a few minutes.”Charlton looked marginally relieved as he caught Mary’s frown. “A few more minutes,

then.”The man was a bear. Dismissing her, no less! Worse, Fifi was not asking for her to

remain.But Welles appeared. With a suitable chaperone at hand, Mary would have to discuss

her thoughts on the comforts of renewing old friendships another time.Plus she knew when to yield. “I’ll see you both downstairs.”

* * *

Blake found himself ambushed in one corner by two young ladies whom he was informedwere former school friends of Mary and Fifi. Lady Ivy or her twin sister, Lady GraceLivingstone, daughters of an earl whom he’d never met, were not only dressed in thesame white muslin but possessed the same features save for one. They had the sameround faces, the same dimples in their left cheeks, the same bright emerald eyes, sameheight and dulcet tone of voice. But Ivy had a halo of white blonde hair and Grace a riotof autumn red. Both were eager talkers.

“I know who you are now,” Lady Ivy informed him with self-satisfaction. “Mary spokeoften of you. Since the first day she came to Miss Shipley’s, she talked of the boy whowas her friend who lived across the river.”

“You,” said Lady Grace, “are the one who saved her when she fell and injured herleg.”

“Indeed,” said Ivy and put down her tea cup and saucer as the footman offered a tray.“You came each day with gifts.”

“Her most prized is her acorn,” said her sister.“An acorn?” He had no idea Mary would have kept it. The little brown bit was an

insignificant present, one he picked from the forest carpet when he was worried shewould die because he’d been foolish and competitive and allowed her to run ahead ofhim.

“Yes, the one you gave her,” Ivy said. “She keeps it as a talisman.”“Chivalry,” said Grace, “is not dead.”He took the compliments with ease but with greater gratification for the fact of Mary’s

acclaim for him. “I assure you I was no knight. I took full blame for her injury.”“Oh? But why?” Ivy checked her sister’s expression. “You weren’t responsible for her

falling.”“No, but I am older and should have been wiser not to let her run ahead.”“Ha!” said Grace with a wince. “As if you could deter Mary from doing anything.”“A point to the lady in white.” Ivy tipped her fan toward her sister.“Mary was always focused, determined.”“Do you speak of me?” She joined their little circle. Her hair ordered after the disarray

in the accident, she’d also changed her gown to a pink confection that flattered hercomplexion. If she seemed out of sorts, Blake thought it unusual and soon to pass.

“We do,” Blake admitted, wishing the other two ladies would drift off to other guests.“How is Fifi?” Ivy asked. “I assumed you checked before you came down.”“I did. She’s…better. In less pain, I think, but over the shock of the accident.”“Lord Charlton looked as if he had the situation in hand,” Ivy said widening her gaze

to imply what else the man might have tamed.Mary fixed her gaze on Blake’s. “I would say he does.”“Does?” Ivy pressed.“He applies a new bandage as we speak.”“His silk cravat,” Blake added, “was not the strongest wrap.”The twins chuckled.“Is that what it was?” Grace put a hand to her throat. “His cravat. Good thinking.”“Will she join us?” Ivy asked.Blake spied Charlton on the threshold. “She does.”“My, my,” Grace said as she fanned herself. “His lordship never tires, does he?”Blake grinned at the sight of his friend with the lady securely in his embrace. “Charlton

has had many long years of sleepless nights.”“You refer to the battlefield, I assume?” Grace offered, her gaze never leaving the

couple at the door.“I do. My friend is an infantry officer of the highest caliber. Responsible for many

victories, but also a man whose quick thinking afterward has saved many of his soldiersfrom certain death. Lady Fiona is his newest patient.”

“Will you excuse us?” Ivy asked him and Mary. “Grace and I have not seen Fifi inmonths.”

He and Mary turned aside to let them pass.“Do you think he’ll be kind to her?” Mary did not take her gaze from the couple.“He is, Mary. Always.” Her focus on her friend and his irritated him. “Come tell me

about your roses and why you think they are not thriving this year.”That brought her attention to him. “The leaves are brown. I’ve no idea why. I’ve

turned the soil twice since February and added in fresh manure I got from the Carperestate outside of town.”

“Perhaps you added too much?”“Not likely. Three cups is what I use each year in that garden frame.”“Then the weather is at fault. It is colder this spring.”“I’ve noticed.”“That calls for a wind screen. Have you tried that? Or a glass cover? Removable, of

course.”The light in her sea blue eyes turned to a radiance that paused his beating heart. He

wanted to put his lips to each one. Feel the fire in her gaze.“A marvelous solution!”“I’m pleased to help.”She clasped her hands. “You wonderful man! Oh, where have you been? I have

needed you for years.”Her acclaim filled him with the impulse to haul her near and drop kisses to her pretty

lips. His arms ached to do it. His fingers curled in restraint. Successfully enchanting Marycould be as simple as teaching her how to make all her flowers bloom. With the light inher eyes and the lure of her smile, he could grow flowers, ford rivers, build aqueducts torival the Romans’. How could he not?

She stepped near and put her fingers to his sleeve. Against the rules of contact, hecovered her hand and pressed her warmth to his. Her spontaneity was a boon to thedespair he’d suffered at the loss of so many of his friends in battle. Here in her own lovelybody was the one female whose smile could spark his own. Could her heart find solacewith his? Here at home or anywhere he might be sent? Had he not fought so she andothers might find peace and love and quiet contentment?

She moved ever so slightly. He knew it was so that others in the room might not seehow she kept her hand on his arm and looked into his eyes with a regard far beyond thefriendship they’d resurrected in the coach.

A primal sense told him the room was emptying.Someone noted that a buffet was available in the dining room.Mary watched those at the door and her happy blue gaze shot to his. “Alone,” she

mouthed the word.His opportunity to taste her arrived.He stepped scandalously close to her and cupped her cheeks. She nestled against

him, her lure the echo of that one which resonated in him ever since he’d kissed her twoyears ago. Fitting him so perfectly, she rose on her toes. Her hips met his, her breastsrubbed against his chest, her arms went around him and locked him to her. Her lips werea whisper away, his restraint fled in gay abandon.

He brushed his mouth over hers. The silken texture of her lips could provide dreamsfor decades to come.

She sighed and closed her eyes. “I’ve missed you so.”The dam of his resistance broke. He bent and took her lips in a feral urgency he could

contrast only to the madness of cannon fire and the hell of sabers and blood and menfalling in their tracks. But she was soft and yielding, sweet succor, her mouth as eager ashis to taste and nip and take.

Voices drifted in the air.He crushed her close and gave her one parting kiss, a benediction and a promise. “I

hate that we must stop.”She pressed her cheek to his chest and hugged him so dearly he thought angels must

embrace each other with just such adoration.He stepped back and offered his arm. “Refreshment.”She blushed, wild and red as berries, then laughed in that full-throated way that no

one could match. “I think you and I have just had ours.”

Chapter 6

A fter dinner, Mary shot from her chair and headed down the hall to the main salon whereLady Courtland had invited the guests to adjourn. At dinner Blake had been placedbetween Grace and Millicent Weaver. Grace had monopolized conversation with himoffering wide smiles and demure blushes. Jealousy, new and ugly, meant Mary had pickedat her meal.

She stood on the threshold scanning the room only to find Blake talking with Ivy. Thefeel of his lips on her own lingered even now and she required another taste to assureherself his need of her was not a delusion. Her desire warred with her envy and sheturned fidgety and restless. So much so that throughout supper, she’d not paid propercourteous attention to the men to each side of her. Lord Marleigh and Lord Greyson haddone their best to provide conversation, but she’d not been a good listener.

Meanwhile, to add frustration to her battlefield, Fifi and Charlton, who’d sat next toeach other at table, continued to spar. That man’s attentions to her friend meant Fifi hadlittle time to engage the gentleman on her other side, let alone find a suitor, real orimagined.

Well! Mary had a plan for that. If she couldn’t enjoy Blake’s company, she’d help herfriend. Mary’s cousin Winston, the Earl of Dalworthy, would be a perfect choice for Fifi.Handsome and witty, a scholar of Greek and Latin writers, he had been working inLondon recently with the Secretary of War’s office. After Napoleon was sent off to St.Helena, Winston had retired home to Dalworthy Manor.

She spotted Winston excusing himself from a brief conversation with anothergentleman, Lord Collingswood. Mary hurried to put herself in her cousin’s path.

“I’m glad to see you here, Mary. How are you?”“I’m well. Thank you.” They had not seen each other since she had last been in

London in the autumn. Always cordial to her, Winston had been especially kind after herfather died two years ago. That had been soon after her mother’s demise and she wasnot herself. As the seventh earl of Dalworthy, Winston was solicitous of her feelings abouthis assumption of her home and her father’s place in the world. He’d generously offeredher the ability to remain in Dalworthy Manor until she deemed herself ready to movepermanently to the house in Bath. He had resided in London, diligently employed roundthe clock with winning the war. “I’m pleased to see you here, too. You’ve worked veryhard to aid the war effort and deserve a rest.”

“Time to do what I should with the estate. I’ve examined the books and surveyed the

land and it is,” he said with frankness in his grey eyes, “a daunting task.”“I’m sure Mister Hawthorn is an asset to you.” Hawthorn had been her father’s estate

manager for more than a decade, as had Hawthorn’s father before him for three timesthat many years.

“He’s ill, Mary. Very ill. His breathing becomes more difficult.”“No! That’s terrible to hear. I shall write to him. Send him a new wool shawl. He

favors a special lamb’s wool from the Highlands.”“Kind of you. His son takes good care of him and learns the estate in the meantime.

He means to take over for his father when it becomes necessary.”“You have no problems with that, I assume? The Hawthorns are a fixture on the

Dalworthy estate.”“No problems at all. I think both men well suited to their job.”“And how is your mother?” Mrs. Ralston Finch was Mary’s second cousin by marriage

on her father’s side. Tall, with hair the color of snow, she was jovial but very much likeLady Courtland in that she could push her offspring often and in public, too. “I wonderedif she would come to this party this year.”

“Past her seventieth birthday now, she declares she’ll take prerogatives of age. Shecannot sit for long periods so she prefers not to travel too far. But the truth is, she mindscoming into such rarified society. It makes her nervous and she makes faux pas. Sheknows it and dislikes her impetuosity to do so.”

Mary let a smile escape at his frankness. “Does she still demand you eat morevegetables?”

He grinned. “She does. Only now she has a new goal for me.”“Oh?” His mother often talked of her great marital ambitions for her only child,

especially now that he was an earl.He took a glass of brandy from a passing footman. “I’m sure you know what it is.”Refusing the servant’s offer of sherry, she beamed at her hope they might discuss a

topic she liked. “Marriage?”“Precisely.”“Any candidates?”“Not any in London.” His gaze strayed around the room.“Here?” This conversation did march her way.“I confess I tire of Mama’s incessant harping on the matter. Then too, I am aware that

my father died at thirty-six.”“Very young.”“Disturbingly so.” He frowned.She sought to lift his spirits. “You look quite healthy to me, Winston.”“I am. I think. But with only three more years to meet my father’s mark, I must

devote myself to the task of finding a wife and getting an heir. The alternative is notappealing to me, my mother or either of the Hawthorns.”

“You refer to the family scoundrel.” Gerald Finch was the next in line to the Dalworthytitle if Winston failed to provide an heir. Gerald, the son of the third son of the fifth earl,was known as a spendthrift, a drunk and, some said, a coward, too.

“I say, might I offer a suggestion of a lady you could pursue with ease and find herenjoyable company?” She was not proposing Fifi as a ruse, either. No, Winston deserveda real chance at happiness with a good woman. Fifi was that.

“You might indeed.”“Lady Fiona Chastain is a good friend of mine of many long years.”“I met her briefly. She is charming.”But he said it as if Fifi’s loveliness were insignificant compared to others. Mary

wondered to whom he might contrast Fifi, but the idea vanished in the need to affirm herfriend’s value. “I assure you she is kind, intelligent and—”

He laughed politely and put up a hand. “I am certain she is.”He was refusing her? “But I will happily take you to her.”“Good of you, but that lady seems well occupied with Lord Charlton.” He nodded

toward the two who suddenly appeared on the threshold. Once more, Lord Charlton, everattentive to Fifi, carried his patient in his arms. Does he never give over?

“No,” said Winston on a chuckle. “I hear you! And I don’t think the man does. Infantry.Understandable, wouldn’t you say?”

“Do you like her?” She was flummoxed.“I’m sorry. What?”“Do you? I mean, could you like her?”“Well, yes, of course. But Colonel Lord Charlton allows for little advance of an enemy.”“But he doesn’t like her. Not at all. Don’t you see?”Winston trained his attention on the couple who now sat on a settee together. “I

don’t.”“They argue.”He narrowed his gaze. “Not in earnest.”Was she missing that? She had to talk with Fifi alone somehow.Blake appeared before them.“Bridges!” Winston greeted him. “Where’ve you been? I need to talk to you.”“About that meeting you and I want with Northington? He just arrived. I asked to be

told as soon as he had. We’ve spoken and arranged one.”“When?”“Tomorrow after the May Pole frolic.”“You told him about our request?”“Not entirely. I said it was vital to you and me and his land values. That intrigued

him.”“Good. I’ll be ready. Where is it to be? Here?”“I asked Lord Courtland to give us the library. Two o’clock.”“Splendid. I’ll be there.” Winston backed away. “If you’ll pardon me, I’d like to talk to

Lady Ivy.”He hurried away. Had she missed Winston’s interest in Ivy? She felt her face flush.

She had lost her touch at this match-making thing. Even fake match-making.“What’s wrong?” Blake asked her. “You look like you ate a mouse.”“I think I made a mistake.” Then she glanced at Fifi and Charlton who scowled at each

other. Not with them, clearly. But I’ve been wrong about Winston.“Wrong about Winston?” Blake followed her line of vision. “I don’t understand.”“I’ve made a mistake. My apologies.” She smiled up at him. “So you have business

with Lord Northington?”“We do. I’ve had correspondence with my estate manager at Lawton Abbey and we

have a problem, Winston and I, to repair the footpath along the river and shore up thebanks.”

“At its northern bend?” She remembered the sharp curve in the river and how it couldoverflow its banks, flooding the farmland on either side.

“Yes. It’s in need of repair, has been for years, I understand. I know how to do it, do itquickly and for a fair cost. But of course, I need Northington to recommend it to hisfather. We need Brentford’s approval because it’s no use to repair Wintston’s and mysection if the Duke won’t.”

She pictured the way the river could run its banks so quickly that those who lived incottages nearby could see their homes, their possessions, their loved ones and cropswashed away in the deluge. “My father appealed to his for many years to let him build adam.”

“Did he? A dam! I had no idea.”“A good one too. But the duke would refuse.”“Why?” Blake shook his head. “Better to repair it than to watch crop land go to ruin or

see people die.”“Papa always said the duke hated the cost of repairs.”“Silly thinking.”“I hope you can persuade Northington.” She recalled the many times her father

complained of the duke’s short-sightedness. An aspect of it skirted the edges of hermemory.

“What is it?” Blake considered with a sweep of his luminous eyes that swelled insideher like a tide of yearning.

“I’m trying to remember something about my father’s correspondence with the duke,but…it eludes me.”

“Tell you what we’ll do to elicit those memories?” He wiggled his brows in enticement.“What?”“You and I will play a duet.”“Ho, oh, no!” she said as he grabbed her hand.“We will!” He tugged her forward.“We haven’t played together in years!” She tagged behind him as he wove them

through the guests. “We’ll horrify them!”He stood before the huge yellow and green pianoforte and put his hands on her

shoulders. “Would you rather I take you to the card room and demand you play a roundof vingt-et-un?”

“God, no! I’d lose my corset!”He grinned. “Right. Sit.”She shook her head.

He pointed to the bench. “I’ve dreamed of this. For years and years. You were mytreble. I your base. Now we’ll do a simple number. Five-fingered exercise.”

She recalled sitting beside him in radiant sunlight in his parlor or hers as dust motesdanced around them like tiny gilded fairies. “Can we manage to remember it?”

“You don’t forget something like that. I didn’t. It got me through the nights when all Iheard were the cries of men in pain and the howl of wolves.”

His recollections of what they’d done together astonished her. “Blake—”“I heard us, hell, saw us as we were children, too young to know the savagery that lay

before us. I wanted the sounds of notes. Little songs that only children play. And we weregood, so good our families applauded us at Christmases and May Days. Please. Sit down.And be my partner.”

She sat. She began, stopped, nibbled her lip and started once more.He followed.They played. Picked was really what they did, but then a flow began. Together, they

were good, not expert. Their camaraderie brought solace…and curiosity.At the end in the silence, she was determined to ask for clarity about his feelings for

her. “You imply you value what we were as friends. When we danced in London andkissed, I thought we’d become more than friends. Yet you stopped writing to me. Why?”

He met her gaze frankly, but he frowned . “I cannot address this issue in a fewminutes. Nor even here among all these people.”

“But you must give me an idea. I cannot continue to enjoy you as I do and not knowwhat you think we are to each other.”

“Yes. I owe you that.” He inhaled as he looked around marking that no one came tooclose to overhear. “After my brothers died, I knew that when I came home I would haveto decide what to do about my future. If I lived that long.”

She grabbed his hand and wrung it. Blast what those in the room might say about herforwardness. “But you are here, hearty and whole.”

“There was no guarantee of that. Not then. Even after Napoleon abdicated in‘fourteen, we had much to do to administer the land we won. War is grisly work on abattlefield. Restoring it is just as hard.”

“I wanted to hear from you,” she blurted. “What you did. How you did. I missed yourletters.”

“I could not write. Not to anyone.” He broke off and gazed toward the garden. “Aswell as losing my brothers, I had also recently lost a friend. He was severely woundedand was sent home. Grief ate me alive. I didn’t wish to speak, nor write. Only after Iheard your parents died. I apologize that I failed you.”

He turned toward her, his face a panoply of sorrow and demand. “I need to talk to youmore privately. Not in a drawing room where others will overhear.”

“Name the hour.”“Tomorrow morning?”“Before we go to the village?”“Yes. Here. Ten o’clock. Bring your maid. We’ll say we practice our musical talents and

I will explain more fully why I did not write.”

“Thank you.”He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers with such ardor that her doubts he cared for

her fled.“Come, you two!” Ivy appeared at her side. “We are to do charades!”“Tomorrow,” he said to her after they got to their feet to join the others.“I’ll be here.”

Chapter 7

T he next day at ten, Mary sailed into the salon alone. “Good morning,” she greeted himwith a wide and winning smile. “Welles arrives soon. She does a few tasks for Fifi.”

Blake stood by the garden doors and took her in as she walked toward him. Aglow inthe sunshine, she seemed to have blossomed in the past day. Had their kisses broughtout her radiance? God knew, it brought out a lust in him. “You still like lace, I see.”

She cocked a brow. “Mama always said I looked like a doily.”“Your mother was built differently. Tall and robust. Lace marks you as intricate.” His

sentiments were no fluff. She was lovely in her delicate sky blue gown with tiny whitelace adornments. He particularly liked the tiny frills at her full and very appealing bodice.“I think you should continue and wear what you wish.”

“One good thing is that at this rate, I keep the lacemakers of Honiton well employed.”He tugged her along to the piano. Most of the night, he’d thought of playing this piano

with her. The endless blather at this event irritated him and he was not certain why saveto say he thought it pointless noise. He was most used to men barking orders, roar andthunder that had purpose, destructive of towns and castles and civilians. Drawing roomniceties, polite as they seemed, bored him. More than dispensing with the chatter—hewanted to court Mary as she deserved. That meant he had to discuss his uncertain futureand confront her about what had happened with his friend Langdon.

He extended a hand to have her take the bench and sat down beside her.She rubbed her palms together. “All through the night in my mind, I played all our

duets. We’ll be superb.”She danced her fingers over the keys in a trill and tossed him a happy grin. “I chose

this piece.” She offered up a few more chords. “Last night, I sneaked down here to lookfor the score, but the Courtlands don’t have it. I remember it, although not very well sinceI haven’t played it without you.”

Beside her, he stilled.“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You must recall this.”“I’m surprised you haven’t played it by yourself.”“It was ours,” she blurted, her confession burning her cheeks bright pink. “I couldn’t

bear to play it alone.”He caught his breath on a dawn of remembrance. “This piece is the one we practiced

for my mother.”“A birthday present for her.”

“She was shocked.”“Really? Why?”“She wondered what would become of me. Her gangly, awkward, bookish third son.

The one who was irrelevant, no use to the family. The one who could do maths in hishead and was suited best to become some aristo’s estate manager.”

“She loved you!” Mary recoiled.“That I never doubted. Yet to her and to my father, I was the odd duck. The son they

did not need. The one who was not interested in breeding Arabians, sitting in Lords orlearning cards. The one who preferred to grow plants, till the soil with the tenants orrepair old tack.” He stared at her but saw the past. “After you and I performed this, shesuddenly had hopes I might acquire culture. Become a gentleman, if indeed I would beone who never owned a thing but what I earned.”

She took both his hands in hers. His fingers twined with hers in rough urgency. “If theycould see you now, they’d know how wrong they were.”

He tried to brush that off with a shake of his head and a dose of humility.“It’s true, Blake. If they thought you gangly, you were taller than either of your

brothers. If they thought you awkward, most youths are, boys and girls. If they declaredyou bookish, well, they did the right thing and sent you off to the engineers. And lookwhat you did for them, the military, Wellington. For us all.”

“You give me more credit than I deserve.”“I doubt it. How often did you calculate precisely where a fortress wall should be

breached? How well did you plot the shortest and best path for a road meant to carryhundreds of caissons and thousands of tramping men?”

“Others did, too.”“That does not diminish your service or your excellence.”“I failed, too.”She shrugged. “One must often fail to learn how to perfect a task.”He noted that with a twitch of a brow. But it did not sway him either.She mashed her lips together. “How often did you fail? Tell me. Where?”He lifted a shoulder and gazed off to consider a hideous hole in Spain. “I did not do

well at Badajoz.”As if he’d punched her, she sat taller. “You must not take all blame for that battle.”“We numbered twenty-one engineers leading infantry. Teaching them as we fought

hand-to-hand down into the trenches. A nightmare to climb out. My god.” He raked ahand through his tousled hair. “Over our own wounded and dead. The French raineddown artillery upon us like a million devils.”

“But in the end, you won that city.”“I cannot claim success.”“Then I claim it for you. And praise you for it. Your parents would commend you for

what you learned and what you built and what you endured.”He considered the keyboard, but finally raised his head. “I am proud of what we did,

but more of what we learned. After Badajoz, we knew our weak points and how to correctthem.”

“And that,” she said as she squeezed his hands, “is what we celebrate the most.”“Until this moment,” he said as he took in her hair, her eyes, her mouth, “when you

and I celebrate what we were and what we can become.”He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her.“I say! Good morning!” Lady Courtland greeted them from the doorway. Behind her

came two of her friends and all three took chairs across the room.“So much for privacy.”He silently cursed. His agenda would have to wait. To the music then.Mary cleared her throat as she scooted away from him. “We had a repertoire, as I

recall. A very good one.”“I know.” Hip to hip, he winked at her. “Let’s do the simple Mozart first.”“Our lullaby.” She brightened as once she did as a mischievous child.“Ours, yes.” As children they’d chosen one of Mozart’s simpler piano pieces and

dubbed it their own. Cooperating at first for their own amusement, they’d adapted hisworks for four hands. They became so good at their innovations that they performed fortheir families and for larger gatherings. “Try the first chords. I’ll follow.”

She flexed her fingers as she examined the keys. Then she grinned at him. “A simpleround first?”

He nodded, thinking she spoke of their renewed relationship more than of music. “Westart slowly.”

Her blue eyes rested in his. “I never thought to see you again…or play the piano withyou.”

“We correct that now.” He tore his gaze from hers and focused on the keys. “Begin.”She started off slowly and simply, but as she approached the second refrain, he set his

fingers to begin his own accompaniment. He felt, rather than saw her laugh, and theyboth approached the next with more confidence. The third round was more elaborate,she with the theme, adding as she could, and he creating a new digression. By the fourthround, they played with enthusiasm and an audience of two gathered round. Anotherapproached and yet one more. By the end, they gained hearty applause.

He stood to extend a hand toward her for the guests’ approbation. She rose, curtsiedand he led her toward the garden doors. They stood together, perhaps too close,secluded from prying eyes at least partially by heavy drapes. “You were wonderful, Mary.”

“I never would have thought to try it.” Her cheeks were pink, the twinkle in her eyeshis reward. “Thank you.”

“Shall we play tonight?”“During the ball? Oh, no,” she said. “You must dance.”He could not contain his need of her. “With you, I will.”“Oh, Blake, I won’t embarrass myself.”“Let me hold you.”He heard the breath leave her lungs.“I need to dance with you, darling.”She worked at words, blinking.He chuckled. “Did you think I would not wish it?”

“I—no. I told you I still do not dance. I haven’t had a partner. Not before you. Notafter you.” She put two hands to her cheeks. “Oh, I am flustered. You terrible man.”

He caught her wrists and lifted both to his lips. And on each warm and tender pulse,he placed a tender kiss.

She stood, her mouth open.“I don’t care who sees us, Mary. I want you. In my arms. To dance. To kiss on the

wrist and on your pretty lips. I want you. Tonight on the floor. Dance. With me.”Her lips pursed as if she coveted his proposition. “You make it sound so—”“Scandalous?” He arched a brow.A wide smile graced her lovely face. “Delicious.”Victory! “Good then. Done. Now leave here. Quickly, lest I scoop you up in front of all

these curious people and carry you off.”The lazy sweep of her eyes over his features had him thinking she might agree to let

him do that, too.“One more thing,” he held her back before she left him, stiff and throbbing with need

of her.“Anything.”“Hmmm. May you always say that.”“To what?” she asked, part imp, part wayward angel.“Do not come near me in the village.”“No?” She swayed closer as if he mesmerized her. That he had that ability filled him

with pride. “Not to dance round the pole and wish each other good harvests?”“No dances round any pole, Mary. Our harvests together will always be bountiful.”Her lively blue eyes went limpid. “Blake, you are a devil.”“Go,” he said, a glance at others in the room who took notice of their conversation.

“Tonight is ours.”

* * *

He waited a good five minutes before he turned to leave. Just as he would have gone,Millicent Weaver strolled into the salon.

“Good morning, Miss Weaver.” He’d had a few minutes of conversation with her lastnight during dinner. But he’d wished for more privacy than the table allowed. This wasthe finest opportunity to speak about a topic that was dear to him.

She had a book under her arm, her reading spectacles in her hand. “Good morning,Captain. Or should I now address you as Lord Bridges?”

“In truth, my status is not confirmed. I may leave the service, but have no firm ideayet of my future. Bridges will do, Miss Weaver.” He extended a hand toward two chairs.“May we sit and talk?”

“Yes, of course.” She was a willow in form, tall and lithe. Her hair, the color of goldwith bold sun-bleached streaks around her heart-shaped face. He could see how hisfriend Langdon would be drawn to her beauty. From what he’d said of her, she had a shydemureness to her character as well. Save for the last unwise business which had tornthem apart.

“I understand this is your second time here at the Frolic.”“Oh?” She looked curious as to who might have told him that, but she did not ask.

“No. Really, it is my third. My last visit was in May of ‘fourteen.”The opening he’d hoped for. “Might I assume you are then the same Miss Weaver who

met a friend of mine here that year?”Suspicion clouded her hazel eyes. “Who is that, my lord?”“The Earl of Langdon.”She sucked in a breath. “Yes, I know him.”“He spoke of you with high regard.”“Did he?” she asked, but clearly did not believe him.“I assure you, he did. He was most unhappy that he had to return to his duties before

he could pursue his friendship with you.”“Was he?” That, too, sounded skeptical. She smoothed her hand over her book. “I

wonder if you could tell me if you are still in communication with him?”“I was. Until a few weeks ago. Only lately have I returned to England and so my mail,

I am certain, sits in Paris.”“I see.” She did not know where to look to escape the riot of emotions that ran over

her delicate features. “Might you…? Would you please tell me how he is? I heard of hisinjuries and I am most distressed about him.”

“He recovers, though slowly.”“I’d understood he returned home to Cranfield Haven last summer. I remember how

he loved it and I hoped he’d recover quickly there.”“I understand he does.”“But his arm… Has he regained use of it?”She knew quite a bit about him and that indicated her continuing interest in Langdon.

“Not completely, no.”She shot backward in her chair. Pain drained away her curiosity. “I am very sorry to

hear that.”“Miss Weaver, I hope you will forgive my forwardness if I tell you that—”She put up a hand. “Do not criticize me, please. I do that enough myself.”“He cares for you, Miss Weaver. If you could find it in your heart to write to him, he—”“I have written, sir. So many letters. So many… He does not reply.”That saddened him. “I’m sorry. I did not know.”Her gaze snapped to his, bold and hard. “What happened between us was my fault,

Lord Bridges. I was silly, and asked a friend of mine to help me make James jealous. Itake full responsibility for it. It turns out that I did a very good job of it. So good, Idestroyed what fine opinion he had of me. I shall forever regret it.” She got to her feet.“So if you’ll excuse me?”

And without waiting for a reply, she left him where he sat.

* * *

T he guests strolled the country lane to the small village of Ablemore. Mary craned herneck to try to spot Blake in the crowd but did not see him. Nor did she spot Lord Charlton.Worry beset her as she wondered if Charlton had stayed at the Hall with Fifi. That wouldcause tongues to wag.

“Are you looking for Lord Bridges?” Ivy came abreast of her. “He’s gone ahead withLord Collingswood.”

She nodded.“No need to keep it a secret. We know you like each other. Quite well, I add.”“I do.”“Ah. I see. We will not speak of it lest we jinx it. Fine, fine. Another subject then?

Good. I hoped Fifi might join us.” Before Mary had dressed to walk to the village, she’dgone to Fifi’s door and knocked. Welles had answered and told her that Fifi met withEsme in the orangery at Esme’s request. That sparked alarm in Mary because the cousinsalways quibbled. This time, if Fifi still clung to her belief that she should have Northingtonas beau and husband, the two women had much to argue over.

“I understand Fifi is to take the pony cart here in a few minutes.”Ivy leaned closer. “Did you know she and Esme talked just now?”Mary felt a frisson of apprehension. “I do. I hope it was peaceful.”“For once, you mean?” Ivy looked skeptical. “Esme told me last night she wished to

make amends with Fifi.”“Do you think she means it?” Mary had her doubts. Esme never seemed to regret

anything she did in regard to charming men. Any man.“Grace says so. She’s always been closer than the rest of us to Esme, closer than you

to her, too. Grace believes love and marriage has made a woman of our capricious girl.”“I hope you’re right.”“Someone who manipulates others is not a person you want to call friend.”Ivy’s remark stung. Not only because Mary had never been so critical of Esme, but also

because she worried that hers and Fifi’s charade was silly. Pretense interfered too muchin the normal course of relationships and she should not have suggested a charade to Fifi.Even at that, she failed so far. She’d failed two years ago when Millicent Weaver askedfor her help to make Lord Langdon jealous. She should have known then to stop. Millicenthad cared for the earl more than she’d known. After their quarrel, he’d returned to theArmy and been wounded, badly. Millicent faulted herself for that. She attended hereagain this year, looking like a ghost of her former self. “Do you think of Esme ascontrolling?”

Ivy’s bright emerald eyes lit upon her, hard as stone. “Don’t you?”Mary’s heart clamped. Ivy had never been so pointed with her. Did she know what I’d

done to separate Millicent and Langdon? “I thought of her as…peculiar.”“I always used the term ‘coy’.” Ivy frowned and yanked at her gloves. “It’s true. Call

me judgmental and unforgiving, but Esme was cruel when she was younger. I didn’t likeher. Grace claimed what she wanted was attention. Needed it.”

Mary shook her head. “Odd. Her mother gave her enough to cosset ten girls.”“Exactly. She learned to crave it. Plus she’s beautiful. Men always thought her a

diamond. Even when she was twelve. And she invited them to admire her. As if she’d flirtwith any man. I didn’t like that in her. It felt…unsafe.”

“She hasn’t done that for years.”“No.” Ivy said the word as if it were a minor concession. “But don’t you wonder if she

loves Northington?”“She does. I had a letter from her the other day. She’s never been so frank with me. I

believe she truly wants to be friends with Fifi and show her that she does care forNorthington.”

“Let’s hope he returns the sentiment.”“What do you mean?”Ivy searched her gaze as she fought some inner battle. “Ugh. All right. I’ll tell you.

Grace told me the other day that Esme fears he marries her for her dowry.”Mary’s mouth fell open.“I know,” Ivy said with no satisfaction. “That worries me too.”“Esme believes he loves her.”“Wouldn’t every bride want to believe that?” Ivy asked, but didn’t sound as if she were

convinced.“Why would she think he wants her money more than her?” Mary halted in her tracks.But her father’s words about the Duke of Brentford rang in her ears. Years ago when

her father wanted to improve the land above the river, he and Brentford had had a fallingout. “Brentford will spend a fortune to live like a king, but won’t spend a penny on hisown coffin,” her father had complained. “He’d rather rot in the earth in his shroud andleave his creditors to bankruptcy.”

“Look at that.” Ivy nodded toward Northington. The marquess stood before the MayPole and there in broad afternoon sun, Northington—dark and gruff and angry—arguedwith his future father-in-law, Lord Courtland.

“I don’t know,” Ivy speculated and opened her parasol with a whoosh. “Perhaps if weknew what that altercation is about, we might have insight. But frankly, I don’t want tolearn.”

“Esme must have had reason to believe he did love her. She wouldn’t have agreed tomarry him otherwise.”

“Not even if her mother demanded it of her?”“No.” Mary was certain of that. “Esme would not marry for a title.”“I hope you’re right. Because if he doesn’t love her and she does not love him, they

may both have more problems than they do at the moment.”

“Oh, Esme would never commit…” Mary could not finish.“It happens. You know it does, Mary. And if he doesn’t love her, do you think he’ll stay

committed to his vows?”Mary could not bear to answer.

Chapter 8

How she got through the afternoon, Mary had no idea. She smiled and applauded theyoung village girls who pranced about the green in their pretty pale gowns, their colorfulhair ribbons a trail of rainbows. When they took the ends of the wide ribbons attached tothe top of the rough-hewn pole, a ten-foot tall oak the men had cut down from thenearby copse, they were sprites of spring. The smaller children sang simple songswelcoming bright hope of coming harvests, and took their own turns winding the ribbonsround the trunk while minstrels played in the streets. Men of the village followed in aparade, bells sewn on their padded shins, in rhythm to the music of drummers andflutists. The music was gay, some of it—said many villagers in the lanes—old as QueenBess. The beer and ale flowed.

The sky opened now and again in a downpour, straight as needles to the ground. Andstopped in a minute only to return a third time. The rain was enough to refresh everyonebut not to discourage them all to return home.

The clock in the tower headed for half one o’clock when Blake appeared at her side.They’d stood side by side for a few minutes as the mummers danced past them, but thenBlake had gone off to talk to Lord Courtland and she, to talk with Grace. Still she kept himin view. In his navy frock coat and green waistcoat and buff breeches, he wasmouthwateringly handsome. She pondered what it would feel like to dance in hisembrace again. And forever more. To dance as other women did with confidence in theirstyle. With confidence that the man who held her wanted her there for all the days tocome. Tonight, might she risk believing in those possibilities?

“I’m returning to the Hall,” he said, his voice low. “I’d love for you to come with me,but we would set everyone to talk.”

“Our conversation this morning at the piano was enough.”“Not for me,” he said and wiggled his brows.“Go!”She counted the minutes after he’d gone. She had to follow soon, because she

worried. Not about him. No, never. But Fifi had never arrived. Nor had Esme. Or Charlton.“I’m returning to the Hall.” She told Ivy and Grace.“I’ll go with you,” Ivy said. When they were on the path, she offered her apologies. “I

didn’t intend to be so mean. Forgive me.”“I will admit I found your views…interesting.”“You think me a witch.”

“Never.”“I say, may I join you ladies?” Winston was upon them, a smile for Mary and a grin for

Ivy.“We’d like that,” she said to her cousin. And though she knew he returned to the Hall

to have the meeting with Northington and Blake, she joked, “Do you return to take a nap,dear sir? You must be rested to dance with us tonight.”

“I plan on many dances. With each of you, I hope.”

* * *

Mary descended the grand staircase, her new ball gown of thin India muslin, flouncedwith rich Chantilly lace and satin tucks, swishing round her new white kid shoes. Tonightshe imagined herself appealing. Never had she done so before. Blake was responsible forthat and her fluttering heart picked up a pace as she reached the bottom of the stairs andcaught appreciative looks from a few gentlemen. If Blake insisted she dance with him,she was prepared to show off her flair for contemporary fashion, if not her agility on thefloor.

Her anticipation battled with her fears for Fifi. Welles had assured her as she dressedMary’s hair that Fifi was well, but wanted no visits from Mary. She honored her friend’swishes, but worried that Fifi was cutting herself off from friendship in an hour of need.Unable to contain her curiosity, she’d asked if Welles knew anything about Esme after hermeeting with Fifi. Welles told her that neither young lady had appeared downstairs sincetheir meeting this morning.

“But Fifi comes to the ball, doesn’t she?” Mary feared she’d sit in her room all night.Alone, too.

“She does. She says I am to see to all your needs first.”“Kind of her.”“It is.” Welles avoided Mary’s gaze.“She doesn’t want you to talk about her, does she?”“No, my lady.”Mary nodded, unhappy at that. Did Fifi not trust her? Millicent didn’t and with good

reason. “I won’t attempt to change her mind.”Welles gave her a small smile that revealed vast relief.Mary had left her room, having told herself she’d done what she could for her friend.

And now, she must focus on what to do about her own desires for Blake Lindsey.

* * *

T onight the guests in the house gathered for champagne before the footmen openedthe ballroom doors. Lady Courtland had come round to each of them during the villagecelebrations to tell them that they’d hold no receiving line. “We shall not be so formal todo that. But my husband and I will open the ball ourselves with a few of our friends. Acountry dance for four, I think. Do join in. We shall introduce our Esme and her fiancé forthe next set.”

Mary took a flute of bubbling wine and drank heartily. Courage—and hopefullydexterity on the floor—came in a wine glass. Tonight she needed all she might get. Herfriends from school felt the same as they clustered together, each one emptying her glasswith a grin. Ivy and Grace were deep in debate with Willa Sheffield, who’d arrived just asMary had returned from the village. Esme spoke with Millicent Weaver. Both of themlooked far too involved with some topic to welcome another in their midst, so Marystrolled toward their hostess, Lady Courtland. In the far corner on the dais, the orchestraplayed a sedate little tune. Mozart. Soothing, too.

“You look charming, my dear Mary,” Esme’s mother was always gracious to her. “Anew ensemble?”

“Do you like it?”“Your signature lace. Your mother would approve.”Mary regarded the lady with a rueful laugh. Her mother and Esme’s had been such

good friends that one knew the other’s thoughts without uttering them. Truth was notfragile between them and since her mother’s death, neither had it been between LadyCourtland and her. “You don’t really think that.”

Lady Courtland chuckled and took a sip of her champagne. “She regarded your love oflace as one you should’ve outgrown.”

Mary sighed theatrically. “She’d be so disappointed.”“Not in your choice of men.”Mary’s gaze strayed to the sight of Blake who appeared on the threshold. Tonight, in

his black evening clothes and elaborate white stock, he upheld the ideal of a man to beclaimed. Across the expanse he saw her, held her gaze with his own blue fires andacknowledged her with a discreet nod.

“He does steal one’s breath,” the lady confided with an elegant lift to her delicatebrows.

“He was even more devastating in his Army uniform.”“I might well imagine.”Northington appeared beside Blake. As dashing in a darker, more menacing way, the

marquess spoke with Blake as he scanned the ballroom and locked on the vision behindMary. That was Esme. She did hope he sought out Esme.

“You are pleased with this marriage, aren’t you, my lady?” No sooner were the wordsfrom Mary’s lips than she wished them back.

“I am,” she admitted without guile or forethought. That she had stated it so promptlyshocked Mary as much as her own spontaneous question. “She loves him. And wouldhave him. I wanted a different man for her.”

That took Mary aback and she drained her glass to counter her surprise.“Are you as stunned as I?” The lady faced her, a blank expression ruling her features.“That she loves him?”“That she takes him to husband all of her own volition. You know me and Esme too

well. All of you girls know me. How I pushed her. But in the past few years, I cannot anylonger move her. I wanted the Duke of St. Martin for her. He is much more agreeable.”

Mary’s mind ran with a thousand warring possibilities. Esme wanted Northington.Loved him. Had not been pushed by her mama to snare him. The opposite was true. LadyCourtland had wanted a more biddable man for her daughter. So what now ofNorthington’s affections? Had he any for Esme? Or was it her dowry, rich beyond thoseheld by any other young woman in this room, that he coveted?

“Oh, my.” Lady Courtland voiced Mary’s desperation. “Here he comes. Angry still. He’shad a row with my husband earlier. I hope not now with Esme. She’ll faint if he makes ascene.”

“No she won’t.”Lady Courtland snapped around to examine Mary. “You’re sure?”She gave one nod. “Esme has more mettle than any of us warrants.”“I see,” said Esme’s mother. “Good to know.”Whatever Northington’s emotion, he greeted his future mother-in-law with polite if

chilly words. She took his greeting and reminded him that if he and Esme were ready, sheand her husband would soon take the floor. He agreed, then excused himself to make hisway toward his intended.

Paces behind him waited Blake. Hands behind his back, rising now and again on histoes, he looked impatient as a boy.

When he stepped forward, Lady Courtland had a grin for him. “How did you enjoy thevillage frolic, Lord Bridges?”

“Very much so, my lady. I am grateful for your acceptance of my intrusion to thisparty. I’ve not had many occasions in past years to laugh…or to dance.” His blue eyessailed toward Mary’s.

“I do hope you will take advantage of this opportunity, my lord, to do both.”“I will,” he answered her. “I sincerely hope one young lady is willing.”Mary rolled her eyes to the ceiling.“She but needs encouragement, dear sir. And if you will excuse me, I have much to do

to see that you dance quite often.”“By all means,” He swept aside to allow her to pass. As he came back to face Mary, he

spoke in that subdued tone rough as gravel. “You are stunning in that gown.”She let out a laugh. “Am I blushing?”“Burning, I would say.”

She put one hand to her cheek. “You’re right. I don’t know what one does to stop it.”“One dances,” he crooned.“And laughs.”“And plays duets.”“And hopes for many more of the same.” She put a hand to her cheek. “Oh, I am

forward.”“Be forward with me always.”The orchestra struck forth. A tune of simple but dramatic chords meant for the

opening of a grand ball. The music lifted her from her ordinary self and buoyed her up onwings of hope and sweet desire for him.

“I never thought I’d ever laugh with you again.” She couldn’t help herself. She cuppedhis cheek. “Let alone dance.”

He covered her hand with his own. “Dance with me now.”In one sharp move, he put her from him. He stared at her, a new man, controlled but

ardent. “Take my arm.” He jutted it out.“At the moment, I don’t think it wise to touch you.”He hooted in laughter and curled her arm in his, then steered her toward the center of

the chalked floor. “Tonight we will do this.”“If I embarrass you, we stop.”“My darling girl, if one can scale walls one hundred feet high, if one can claim

fortresses one hundred years old, or fell emperors upstart and new, then you can dance,and do it with me. One for the past. A second for tonight. And afterward, you will tell meif you will dance with me for all our tomorrows.”

Chapter 9

He’d not intended to declare himself so quickly to Mary. He was running ahead, thinkingwith his errant body not his head. All afternoon, he’d mulled his conversation withMillicent Weaver who blamed herself for the split between herself and his friend,Langdon. Millicent regretted she’d asked Mary to interfere. More importantly, she caredfor Langdon. She’d tried to contact him, perhaps even to make amends, but he hadrefused her. If there was hope they might resume their relationship, he’d learn. He’d visitLangdon as soon as his business in London concluded and explore his friend’s feelings forthe young woman.

Millicent’s acceptance did not absolve what Mary had done to drive them apart.Though Mary considered herself a reliable friend, one anyone could count on for help inany crisis, this kind of action had destroyed a relationship. As for Mary, he could notimagine she did not know the disastrous effect of her actions. Surely she no longerengaged in this kind of mischief. He’d known her to be creative, helpful, never deceitful.

With hope in his heart for a resolution, he led her to the floor.

* * *

She knew the steps. She always had. Studied them at every ball she’d attended, enviedall who ventured upon the boards and seemed to float in time, in place, in a grace shecould not achieve. Oh, yes, she had danced at home in her bedroom or in her own parlor,usually alone or in front of her mother who nagged at her to “Try, my angel. Try.”

She took Blake’s hand, vowing to try for him…and for herself. Why be coy about it, eh?She’d always wanted to be that young girl others praised for her style, her execution.Tonight, she thanked heaven above the piece that opened the ball was a simple one, afew repeated steps for four that then broke into a line of two partners who then peeledoff and returned to the end of that line. She could hobble quickly behind everyone andtake up her spot once more in front of Blake to bow and do a few pretties, then end theentire caper.

He beamed at her with pride. “You see. You can do very well.”

“You are very kind but I must sit now.” She would have stepped away.But he caught her elbow. “No. I mean to dance with you again.”Bluntness would do best here. “Twice? You know that is an invitation to gossip.”He drew near, his low bass voice an enticement and a warning. “You cannot desert

me. Unless you wish to go.”“I don’t, but—”“I know what two dances means, Mary. I was not playing the friend when I said I

wanted three.” His features were drawn tight in earnest appeal.If she refused him, she would not ever see him again. Let alone have the sublime

opportunity to hope for more thrilling declarations, more kisses…and…how had he put it?All our tomorrows.

“Another, then.” She put her hand in his and he led her back to the edge of the floor.This time, Esme and Northington were introduced and led the dance. More couples

took to the center. This configuration required more rhythm and dexterity. Blake did itwell. She followed, serving up what elegance she could.

At tune’s end, he grinned. “You see. You do this well.”Grateful for his praise, she knew her limited capabilities. “Meanwhile, I stand in awe of

you, sir. How do you know these intricate steps?”“At ‘The Shop’, every engineer learned how to draw maps, build dams or bomb a ten-

foot wall. At the end of class each day, the dancing master arrived. We were required tobe as agile there as in the field. We would, declared the commandant, be officers. Wetherefore must also be gentlemen.”

“You achieved that quite well.”“So you will dance with me again?”She tipped her head to listen to the music and her heart. A waltz. If she dared that

with him, what else could she aspire to in life, besides the bliss to live with him? “Oh,Blake, if I do—”

“You’ll have to marry me.”Suddenly, he took her arm and marched her to the hall. There in a niche, he pressed

her to the wall and brushed his warm lips on hers. “Will you?”Tears sprang to her eyes.“Will you marry me?”The most delightful question she’d ever been asked and she could not blurt out the

very answer she’d always known?He threw back his head to laugh, grabbed her hand and made for the orangery. There

he flung wide the door and pulled her inside. The room was dark, lit only by moonlightthrough the expanse of glass garden doors. In the silence of the night, the fragrance oforange trees and roses mingled in a humid brew. He drew her into a secluded nook madeof giant potted palms.

And there he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her against him. “I’ve littleto give you in way of predictability.”

Expecting words of love, this confused her. “What?”He whirled her around and pressed her to the wall, her body igniting like a flame in

his embrace. “I do a poor job of this.”“I think you do very well!” She beamed at him. “I enjoy it. Continue, do!”He hugged her even closer. “I love you, my Mary. I love you.”“Oh, that’s much better.”“Imp!” He pressed her to the wall and there he bent low to place kisses on her cheek,

her ear and all down her throat. “I’ve wanted to do this forever.”“Really?” She was enjoying this tremendously.And when she would have opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, he raised her

chin and put his burning lips to hers. Melted in the assault, she enjoyed the fervid heat ofhis attention. And in her foggy reasoning, she knew this that he did was no blithe caress,no friendly peck, no careless accident.

It was fire and might. Possession and bliss. Madness and brilliance that robbed hermind and seized her breath.

“That,” she said when he broke off so they both could pant for air.“Is what?” he asked while he trailed little kisses down her temple across her cheek

down to her lips. There, once more, he claimed her, his mouth hard against her, histongue invading, giving and taking. Until he broke away and stared at the ceiling.

“I have no words,” she murmured, stunned, when he began to chuckle.“A good thing, my lady. You have too many words far too often. Best to enjoy this,

silently, eh?”At that, he cupped her jaw with one hand and ravished her mouth. The devastation

was glorious, her whole body tingling with a rash new need to have him, his mouth, hisarms, his everything again and again. “How many times I wanted to do this.”

“Me, too,” she confessed.He squeezed her tightly. “But I had no right.”“Why would you say that?”“Everyone told me I was not your equal.”She shook her head. “But I never thought that.”“I knew it. That’s why we were friends.”She stared at him, wistful. “And now?”“Now there is this.” He ran his hands up her back and curled her near so that her

breasts brushed his frock coat. He was delectably warm, his muscles rippling beneath herfingertips. “When I was nineteen and came home one summer, I knew I wanted you in anew and intriguing way. When I returned again one Christmas, I saw you as the lovelywoman you were becoming,” he said and trailed little kisses up across her chin to hoverover her lips. “I’ve loved you since we were children, I’d say. And you were a scamp.Precious to me.”

“I learned courage from you. Always you urged me on.” Her declaration gave himpause, as if he marveled at her words. She laughed and brushed her lips on his. “Oh.Don’t stop. I’ve wanted a thousand kisses from you, and you’ve hundreds more to go.”

He cupped her cheek, his gaze a smoldering black in the dim garden room. “I’d like todeliver them all as your husband. Tell me I can.”

She wound her arms around him, never to let him go.

The doors from the hall banged open against the walls. A woman marched in, scoldingsomeone.

Mary startled.Blake tensed.The woman’s shoes clacked on the tiles as she argued.Blake pressed Mary and himself further to the wall and the fronds of the palms closed

around them.“I told you that’s not true.”Mary stared up at Blake. The woman who’d entered was Fifi and she was positively

irate.“But I understand this is what you do,” declared an angry man. “Pretend to care for

someone.”“I don’t. I haven’t,” Fifi fumed.“Six years ago in London, you didn’t pretend to care for me?”Mary’s mouth fell open. The man fighting with Fifi was Charlton.Blake frowned and cocked an ear.“Pretend? No! I thought you the most charming creature. But clearly,” Fifi ranted, “I

was wrong.”“You promised to meet me in Green Park the next afternoon.”“I was there!”Charlton snorted. “I never saw you.”“Of course you didn’t!”“Now you make no sense, Fifi.”“Ohhh! You stubborn man! I thought you were another man.”“Who?” he demanded.“That does not matter!”But it had mattered a great deal, because Fifi always thought the man she sought was

Northington.“It matters to me,” Charlton said.“Oh! You wore a mask that night. A rather large one! I remembered your hair and

your mouth. But it was dark in that ballroom.”“And in the card room too where you won my two hundred pounds!”“Fairly!” she shouted. “I won that fairly. You are an incompetent card player.”“I know that!” He sounded loathe to confess that.“Oh, I must sit down,” she complained and clomped across the tiled floor. “Ahh.

There.” She panted. “Better. Yes, that night I did not have a clear view of you.”“We sat across from each other. I kissed you!”“Yes! And I wear glasses for a reason, sir!”“Really?” He snorted. “When?”“Often!”“You’re blind?”Fifi grumbled. “Not entirely. But…yes!”“How can you play cards if you can’t see?”

“Oh! I can count cards, calculate who has what and estimate my odds without donningmy ugly spectacles!”

“Oh, Fifi. Sweetheart. I am so sorry.”“I am, too, you terrible man.”The sounds of Charlton’s steps across the floor were followed by a gasp by Fifi.

“Charlton…”“Darling,” he crooned.And Mary buried her face in Blake’s chest to chuckle as the other couple rustled about.“Fee, I love you.”“Oh, Charlton. I’m so sorry. Say that again, would you?”“You’re deaf as well as blind?” he asked on a laugh.“No. I just need you to say it again.” Little sounds of kisses followed.“I love you, Fee. I do. I was so afraid you had played me for a fool.”“Why would you think that?”“I spoke with Millicent Weaver earlier today. She told me that Lady Mary helped her

fool a friend on mine into thinking she did not care for him.”In horror, Mary lifted her head.“That’s true. But Mary regrets it.”“She should. Does she do that often?”“No, no.”“What’s the matter?” he asked her.“I just worry.”“About what?”“That she’s pretending to care for Lord Bridges.”Beneath Mary’s hands, every muscle in Blake’s body went hard as rock.“Why would she do that?” Charlton asked, incredulity in every word.“Because she and I made a pact to do that here.”“What? Why?”“A long story.”Fear told Mary not look up at Blake. But the sooner, the better.Oh, no. No. He glared at her, then blinked away any confusion.She shook her head, clutched at his lapels, but he backed away.Turned and parted the palms with a crisp rustle of the foliage.“Pardon me,” she heard him say to the others. He strode away, the clack of his heels

on the tiles a death knell to her hope.She stepped out of the shadows to face her startled friend and Charlton. Without a

word to excuse herself, she fled.Grief followed like a ghost.

Chapter 10

T he next morning, Mary hobbled down the hall as the clock struck seven bells. In thewee hours, she’d packed. Surprising Welles when the maid appeared after six, Mary hadexplained that she would return home as soon as possible but that Welles should stay toserve Fifi.

“My lady, you cannot travel by yourself.”“I’ve no fears of it, Welles. The journey is short to Bath. And Lord Courtland will, I

hope, allow me to go into Chippenham in the pony cart. They won’t use that this morningfor the wedding.”

“Oh, ma’am, stay! This is your friend who marries. You’ll regret it if you go. You love awedding so!”

“I do.” I did.“Miss Esme will miss you.”“I’ve written a note to her. Please take it to her this afternoon, will you?”“Your regrets?”“They are. I have…many.” So very many. “Tell me. Do you know where Millicent

Weaver’s rooms are?”

Mary gathered her courage as she stood before the third door in the ladies’ wing.Knocking once, she prayed that Millicent would allow her in. Millicent had never beenvindictive about what Mary had done. In fact, she’d accepted full blame for the prank, aresponsibility that Mary had demanded she claim herself. Her argument with her friendhad fallen on deaf ears.

Mary raised her hand to knock again when the door swung open. Millicent’s little maidstared at her with disbelieving eyes. “Ma’am?”

“Is your lady up? I apologize for the hour but I must speak with her. Please.”The young girl blinked, doubt lining her pretty face. “Come in.” She scurried through

the sitting room into the bedroom. A conversation of low tones and surprise flowed out toMary.

“Miss Weaver will see you in a minute.” The girl indicated one of the chairs. “There, ifyou like.”

Mary nodded her thanks.Within minutes, Millicent walked out to meet her. Her hair, flowing over her shoulder

in a long golden hair in a waterfall to her waist, her oval face scrubbed and pink, she held

her muslin wrapper close to her throat and padded toward her in bare feet. “Mary? What’samiss?”

“I am.”“I’m sorry.” She sank into the matching boudoir chair, concern lining her hazel eyes.

“Are you ill?”“No. Not physically. But I am distressed by what I have become.”“I am confused. What do you mean?”“I wanted to tell you that I know full well the damage I’ve done you.”“If you’re talking about that incident with the earl of Langdon, of course you do. We’ve

been over it. Done with it. It was long ago, Mary.”“But you still suffer for it.”“Mary,” she said and reached across to take her hand, “you apologized to me years

ago. I accepted it. Remember please, I was the one who came to you to ask for help.One of your ‘plans’ to help me keep the earl’s interest. You did as I asked. I blamemyself.”

“Good of you, but the awful thing I did lives on.”“If you mean that Langdon’s friends here—Lords Charlton and Bridges—have asked

me about it, then yes, they know of it. I wish everyone would let it go. Accept it for whatit was. A mistake. A horrid prank that turned so very wrong.”

“But you wish it never happened,” she bemoaned.“Oh, Mary. Of course, I do. I’ve found no other man to love. None as funny or wise.

I’ve written to him often. Too often, I’d say.” She got a wistful expression to her delicatefeatures.

“And? What does he reply?” Mary hoped the end of the wars might change manypeople’s lives.

“Nothing.”“But he…he lives! He was wounded.” Mary had heard that from someone.“Badly. Yes. But he does not wish to correspond with me, Mary. I understand.” She

winced and curled her fingers into the white fabric of her gown. Her knuckles went whitewith strain. “I don’t agree. But then, I must allow him to live as he chooses. Soon, Ifervently hope, he’ll find another lady to take to wife.”

This was another ending Mary abhorred. Another she must accept.She struggled to her feet. “I should never have meddled. I was so used to

volunteering to be of help. But I never understood my actions as malevolent. I shouldhave.”

“Mary, listen to me.” Millicent followed her to the door. “You are not wicked.”She paused with an inkling of what her motives were to help fix her friends’

challenges. “No, but I saw myself as right. And the biggest question is why. Why?”“Don’t torment yourself. It’s over.”Hot tears scalded her cheeks. For Millicent, it was not. She pined for a man she had

lost. For Mary, it wasn’t, either. She too would pine for a man she lost and do it for yearsto come. So, yes, her remedies—her ‘plans’—were done.

She’d never do another.

* * *

T wo mornings later, she stomped inside from her garden and yanked off her boots. Theywere so old the soles came away at the seams. It did no good to coddle and croon to herlittle seedlings anyway. The weather was so cold, so dreary that her plants werestruggling, pale and feeble. Her talents at nurturing anything, anyone, had all gone bad.

She shrugged out of her father’s frayed frock coat, looped it over the hook by the backdoor and headed for the parlor.

When Thompson appeared with her tea, she’d made one firm decision. She had to geton with her life. Here. With those friends she might still enjoy if she were wise andretiring.

“Ma’am?”“I’ll serve myself, Thompson.” She turned from the window. Her leg ached in this

miserable chilly weather and she took her time to make for her favorite chair. “I’vedecided to go to London. The coach is repaired. Please tell Wilkins we leave day aftertomorrow. Early. I’ll stay with my Aunt Georgiana in Brook Street. Not for long. Four daysat most. Then I’ll return home.”

Her mother’s sister was a canny lady who would poke and tickle her for news of Bath,the Northington wedding and gossip of the event. She’d endure her aunt’s queriesbecause she had few other good choices of accommodations in town. She’d keep abuttoned lip and hope her aunt would tire of the chase.

“Shall I tell callers the purpose of your visit to London?” The poor man was probing tolearn what had happened at Courtland Hall that sent her scrambling home.

She would not tell him the calls she planned to make. “Simply say I see my aunt. Longoverdue.”

“Even Lady Fiona gets no news?”That gave her pause. She’d had a note from Fifi last night, saying she’d returned home

yesterday. Welles had come with her, both of them brought to Bath by Lord Charlton inhis coach. Fifi was concerned about Mary, that she’d left Courtland Hall without farewelland she wished to call. Fifi announced that she and Charlton were to be wed and soon,too. Welles, who took up her position with Mary once more, was aflutter with theprospect.

But the other news that Fifi conveyed—and Welles repeated—disturbed her more.Esme had fled before the wedding. Upon the discovery, her mother fainted. Minutesafterward, her father announced the painful news in the chapel. Esme had forsaken herfiancé. God only knew where she’d gone. Her father left in search of her. So hadNorthington. As previously planned, the wedding guests had dined in the house and theparishioners on the lawn that morning. Later all had dispersed to their homes. Amongthem were Fifi and Charlton.

Mary was just as upset to learn that Blake had left Courtland Hall early as well. Likeshe, he’d been undone by the revelations of her misconduct.

She sighed. She had so much to do to repair the damage she’d done.She gave her butler a consoling half smile. “I must complete my business in London

before I dare discuss my issues with Fifi. If she calls here while I’m away, be certain tofeed her cake and—”

“Caesar wants cake!”“And cover Caesar so he makes less a fuss.”“If I may say, my lady, you should…ahem…take some care before you leave for your

Aunt Georgiana’s.”“Why?” She faced him, her long hair a tangle over shoulders.“Your aunt will want to feed you.”“I look famished?”He looked startled as an owl. “And clothe you.”She sighed. Her aunt was a stickler for perfection of hair and dress. “I look unkempt?”“Shall we say, you are not in the pink, ma’am.”She mashed her lips together. The man meant well. “You have suggestions, I

assume?”“That you stop walking the floor at night. Take a brandy or two, three if you must.

Rest. And stop arguing with yourself.”She did do that. Had to. “Often?”“All day long, ma’am. Nighttime, too.”“Anything that I say aloud?” God forbid!He rolled his eyes. “You know.”She crossed her arms and tapped a toe on the wooden floor. She did know. But she’d

hear him utter the words. She could not bear to. “Well. What?”“‘I have one more problem to fix.’”I do.“‘Me.’”

Chapter 11

He jogged down the front steps of ‘The Shop’. The school he had loved, that had givenhim so much integrity and purpose, would always live in his heart as his salvation. Buttoday, his commanding officer gave him no orders. He remained in limbo.

What was he to do now?Without resolution to his status in the Corps, he could not make any final decisions

about his future. Each day must come as it would. With decisions that he could make ingood conscience. About his home. His land. His tenants.

His coachman pulled alongside, his footman jumping down at the ready to the door.Inside, he sat and brushed his hand down his uniform. He hated to part with it, but he

might have to. He’d have to choose a priority and live by it. Home or profession? Hedoubted he could do both and do them well.

His commander had discussed possible assignments. Soon the Corps would receivenew orders for work abroad. Settlements in Quebec, relations with natives in Kathmandu,Delhi and expeditions to Algiers were all possible assignments for any engineer. One ofhis friends was soon to be appointed adjutant of the Royal Sappers and Miners inWoolwich, a good post at home. But Blake could not and should not count on anassignment here in Britain. A few of his comrades hoped to be placed on half-pay. Thatseemed a half life of uncertainty and he would not request it. One alternative to give himultimate freedom was for him to sell his commission. To part from the service grievedhim. The Corps had given him purpose, education and fulfillment. It had nurtured anexcitement to create useful structures—roads and dams and maps to chart the paths forothers. How could he leave it?

Without firm direction as a soldier, he had two goals now. To see to his duties asbaron at home. And to see to his friend, Langdon. The first he could address with money,skill and delight. The second, he had no goal other than renewing a relationship he’dvalued for years.

After those two were accomplished, he could address himself to the task of sorting hispersonal life. He’d have it out with Mary, as he should have done at Courtland Hall. Buthe’d walked the floor most of the night after the ugly revelations in the orangery andwhen he’d knocked upon her door the next morning, Welles told him she’d departedalready for home. Try as he might, he never thought Mary mean-spirited. But this childishbusiness had gone awry. He’d have this out with her to settle the issue once and for all.

Next week, he’d journey to Bath.

* * *

She returned to her aunt’s house late in the day, handing over her hat and her pelissewith a polite smile for the family butler.

“Tea, Lady Mary? Your aunt awaits you in the yellow salon.”“Thank you, Jenkins. I will go.” Though she’ll ask me a thousand questions. Gossip of

much ado at the Courtlands’ May Day frolic had met her aunt’s ears and she waspersistent in requiring details. Mary girded herself for the foray.

“Good afternoon, Aunt. Lovely day, isn’t it?” Mary had not seen the lady before sheleft. Her aunt took her breakfast in her bed each day until noon. Mary had enjoyed asolitary meal.

“I say, my dear girl, you look pale.” Her aunt was of substantial figure, awash in anapple green silk sarsnet that suited her parchment complexion which she famouslytreated with lemons. Four of them. Sliced. Every day. “Cold outside, wouldn’t you say?”

“Unusual.”“You look suited for it, I’m pleased to say.” Her aunt waggled a finger at her wool

walking dress with benevolent approval. “Your mama would worry over you, with yourhead in your plants and your eyes on your telescope.”

Mary considered what that posture would look like and surrendered to a laugh. It washer first in many days. “She would.”

“Come sit here beside me.” She tapped the cushion of the old Queen Anne settee.Proximity to Aunt Georgina always meant a storm was coming. “Now. Where’ve youbeen? Visiting one of your school friends?”

“No.” She hesitated to give all the details.“You’ve been gone all afternoon.”“Indeed.”“You might as well tell me, my dear.” She fiddled with the the tea service. “My friends

will be about me like flies to honey with their questions and conclusions. Dare I arguewith them without facts, hmm?”

“I called upon Lord Langdon. Afterward, upon Lord Lawton-Bridges.”“Dear me.” Aunt paused, her hand on the Meissen tea pot aloft in mid-pour and

surprise. “Two gentlemen. I applaud you, sweet girl. Courage is your middle name.”More like arrogance.“Not that, at all!”Mary sighed at her bluntness. “I might as well think nothing, simply speak every

thought I’ve ever had aloud.”“Your Grandmother Dayton was like that. You’ve inherited the trait.”“No consolation, Aunt.”“You’ll live and do it well.”

“I’m not so sure.”“You are not malicious, my darling girl. You speak truth. For yourself. Perhaps

embarrassing now and again, but well, we each have our wrinkles, don’t we? Hmm. Yes.Glum is not a pretty color on you. So. Tell me why call upon Langdon.”

“I owe him an apology.”Her aunt narrowed rheumy eyes upon her and huffed. “Not that old business with Sir

Henry Weaver’s daughter!”How many people knew about that fiasco? Mary wanted to be done with the agony of

this. “Yes. Millicent.”“Langdon should have recovered from that by now. I hope he was civil. What did he

say when you said you were sorry?”“He didn’t. He’s in the country at Cranford Haven.”“Dear me. Is that why you’re sulking? Sulking is not good for the posture.”Or anything else, for that matter. “I’m sad because of that and because after I left

Langdon’s house, I called upon Lord Lawton-Bridges.”“Oh? He attended the Courtlands’ affair. Why go to see him? Not proper for you to call

upon him by yourself. Even if he was a childhood friend. But all is not lost! You wore asuitable color to complement your eyes.”

The peacock blue of her new outfit had given Mary courage that she could deliver herspeech to Blake without faltering. But her preparation was for naught. “Yes, I thought itpretty. Appropriate for the afternoon.”

“And for…what else?” The lady offered Mary a cup and saucer.Everyone in town must’ve seen my coach stop before his door. They’ll know too when

I ride off to Lawton Abbey in pursuit of him.“Why go to Lawton Abbey?” Her aunt stood on the precipice between curiosity and

condemnation.Mary had once more spoken her thoughts aloud. She sighed, unable to contain her

distress. She would learn to manage this other frustrating characteristic of herself.“Mary!?”“Yes, ma’am. I must go down to the Abbey. I owe Lord Bridges an explanation and an

apology.”“Most improper for you to go.”“I’ll have Welles.” She put her tea aside.“A maid cannot keep you from scandal.”“Oh, Aunt, I assure you that Lord Bridges has no intention of accosting my person.”“That I do doubt. He loved you. Probably still does.”That her aunt would know this was one surprise, but that she’d assume he still did

was utterly wrong. “No. I hurt him. Not intentionally but there was a misunderstanding atthe May Day event. I’m to blame.”

“I see. Caused by your old ways?”She clasped her hands together and nodded.“Fixing everyone and everything. Always about it since your accident.”Mary considered her aunt with new perspective. Since she’d fallen, she did this?

“Not good, my dear. Not at all when you have your own life to fix. As it were.” Shecleared her throat. “Come now. Eat. You are too thin. Men do not like ladies whodisappear into the plaster. You need food to think clearly. So do I.” She availed herself ofanother iced cake. Her aunt’s hunger reminded Mary of Fifi who ate anything set beforeher.

She took the plate her aunt offered, filled with creme this and jelly that.“You must seek strength, dear girl. It’s not often a woman should apologize to a

man.”She gulped. “Do others know what happened at the Courtlands’ event?”The lady examined her features in minute detail. “You must hear it?”“Yes.” I have to know how badly my reputation has suffered. I may have to retire to

Bath and never leave the house!“Tut, tut. Bath? That goes too far, dear girl.”She winced. A tapestry needle would not keep her lips sealed. She needed glue!“My friends are very reliable. I appreciate their…shall we say, attention to detail?”Mary withered in her skin.“Not the worst story I’ve heard, certainly. But it does you no justice. You have helped

to marry off quite a few of your friends. My thought was why not marry yourself off, eh?But yes, well. Difficult that.”

“What have you heard, Aunt?”“You kissed him. Played with him. The piano. But also…in some other way, not terribly

kind of you. Why, I want to know.”She explained as best she could the terrible events at the Courtlands’. “I would not

hurt him for the world! He has always been the only man I wanted. And after he washome two years ago, I thought he was to be mine. But he heard about Langdon andMillicent and concluded me…a meddler.”

“Your attempts to order a few of your friends’ lives has been misconstrued as, shall wesay,…unnecessary?”

“Damnable is more like it.”The word did not shock her aunt. Instead, she reached over and patted Mary’s cheek.

“No, my sweet girl. Not that. But a practice borne of desire—”“For order.” She shot to her feet. “And control.”

Chapter 12

Cranfield Haven near Maidstone was a manor house built to emulate the finest ininterpretations of Palladian architectural style. Pristine in Portland stone, The Earl ofLangdon’s house resembled an elegant box fronted by a pebbled circular drive.

As Mary’s coachman pulled to the entrance, the earl’s butler appeared before thedoor. She’d sent a letter yesterday that she wished to call and Langdon’s man knew whoshe was. Officious, he was young and quick about his work to usher her inside and takeher pelisse. When he extended his hand for her walking stick, she demurred.

“I will keep this, thank you.” She refused use of it for much too long and now was thetime to reclaim the wooden prop she’d shunned to her own discomfort. “The weather isnot the best.”

“For old injuries, no,” he said with an understanding of such in his voice. “This way,my lady.”

At a set of doors, he opened both to reveal a large library that smelled of old leatherand fine wood. “His lordship will be with you in a few minutes,” he said and closed herinside.

Langdon’s collection was extensive, old copies of law books and Latin references. Afew novels, Defoe and Swift, a few folios of criticism of Donne and Milton. Diderot. Atreasure trove.

“Good afternoon, my lady.”She turned to find Langdon quite hale and hearty, save for the arm that he bound in a

black sling close to his chest. Millicent who had a quiet golden mien to her had matchedthis man well. With his thick brown hair and silver eyes, he put Mary in mind of anavenging angel. Please heaven, he wished no vengeance on her.

“Please do come sit with me. I gave instructions for tea.”“Thank you, sir. I do not wish to stay long.”“But I insist.”She could be polite, but she wished to be brief—and to be gone.“Brandy, then?” He baited her.She had more gumption than he assumed. “Excellent.”He made no face, but marched across the room to a table where she would have

sworn maps should be instead of an exquisitely cut glass brandy bottle and matchingglasses. He poured. Liberally.

If she drank all that, she’d never live to leave the room.

With two tumblers of umber liquor in his hands, he motioned toward the floor-lengthwindows. “Shall we sit in the sun?”

What there was of it, yes. The weather had not improved, the chill of spring an oddunsettling that kept her in a quiet panic to survive this challenge she faced.

He strode across the room beside her, his expression hospitable but his posture rigid.When he stood before two wide winged chairs upon which rays of weak sun did shine, hecocked a brow at her.

She joined him. Settled, she met his gaze. The dark flash of his eyes was likequicksilver, fluid, curious and unnerving. She cleared her throat. “I’ve come for a task,long overdue.”

“I assumed so.” He took a long draught. “Drink up. I think you need it.”One thing she was not was a mouse about alcohol. She liked her brandy, as any

discerning woman should. So she took a delightful drink of what was—she knew by richnotes upon her tongue—quite excellent brandy.

“I’ve come, sir, to ask your pardon.”He stared at her, his glass dangling from his fingertips, one leg crossed over the other.Very well. She shifted. “I owe you an apology for what was a very bad mistake on my

part.”“She asked you to do it, did she not?”“Not come to you, no. This is my effort.”“I meant the act. The charade.”“Yes. But—”“You had done this sort of thing before?”“Yes and quite well, too. That’s not what I mean, sir. What I do mean is that my

actions were done with the best intentions.”“Though not the best results.”“No. Millicent regretted the entire thing immediately. She disliked the folly of it and

wished it never had happened.”“As did we all.” He took a quick sip. “So? Why are you here? Really?”“Millicent tells me she has written to you but you do not reply.”He scoffed. “Ah. So you apologize but then wish to move me to your ends? Isn’t that

the very thing you say you apologize for?”“It is. But my intentions are good. Very well, as good—no, better than before! Yes. If

you care for her. If you wish to be free of the past, then yes. Write to her. Set her free.”“She has always been free to do as she wished.”“No, she has not. She wishes to make amends to you. Wishes that you might allow it.”“I bear her no ill will.”“If so, please write and tell her so. She does not look for any other suitor. If you might

find it in your heart to tell her you have moved on with your life, she might be able to aswell.”

“You are aggressive, my lady.”She had to swallow that insult, but state her case as best she might. “I fear I cannot

change it, at least not for this request. I have wronged you, sir. And Millicent, too. I

apologized to her years ago. Once more the other day. I should have done the same toyou then, but had not realized the fullness of my mistake until recently.”

“The Courtlands’ event?”“Yes.” That news had traveled far and wide.“This visit was…unexpected of you. Thank you for coming.”So he would give her no inkling of his actions. Very well. She would not belabor her

point but picked up her walking stick and got to her feet. “You are welcome. I appreciateyou receiving me.”

A smile flickered over his handsome mouth as he focused on her stick. “Is youraffliction a treasure?”

She recognized his words as variation on a famous phrase of John Donne’s. “Never.”He indicated his wounded arm. “I’ve had enough of mine.”“I made mistakes because of mine. Interfering in others’ lives was one.”“You won’t do it more?”“Never.”“Tell that to Lord Bridges, will you?”That made her blink. “What?”“I suggest you go to the Abbey soon.”“I do. I planned it but…”“He called here this morning. He needs to hear that you’ve been here and talked with

me. Will you go?”“I will.”He grinned at her.“Marvelous.” He stood. “So then, will you sit again for a few minutes? If you do, I’ll fill

your glass and tell you what I plan to do now.”

* * *

A s her coach passed her childhood home of ochre and red brick, she tingled withyearning to visit. She’d sent a letter to her cousin yesterday that she might be alongtoday or tomorrow and she hoped she might prevail upon him to visit with him a night ortwo. Without any expectations that Blake would receive her, she thought to plan wellbefore she returned to Bath. The carriage took her along the straight path to the frontdoor of Lawton Abbey and her pulse picked up a pace. Unlike her other visits, she’d notsent advance notice to Blake she would arrive.

But it was late afternoon and the winds of dusk buffeted the coach and chilled herhopes of reconciliation.

“Good afternoon, Lady Mary!” The family butler helped her alight. He was a manwho’d served as long as Mary could remember. Though he spotted her walking stick, he

made no reference. A good thing. “Welcome to Lawton Abbey. We did not know youwould visit.”

“Still I hope I might be received. Very good to see you, Walters.”His brown eyes sparkled in greeting. “Right this way, my lady. May I say,” he told her

as they strode into the hall that shown serene in shades of palest blues, “you look well.”“You are kind. Is Lord Bridges at home, I hope?”“Do allow me to see if he can receive you.” Off he trotted with such good cheer, she

worried he might be dismayed when Blake rejected her.She distracted herself by considering the facial expressions of reliefs of tiny putti who

pranced upon the plaster lintels and cornices. As children, she and Blake had made facesat them to entice them to respond.

Two men approached, their footfalls on the wooden floors announcing her imminentfate.

“My lady?” The velvet baritone was Blake’s.“Good afternoon, my lord. I hope I might have a few minutes of your time?”“Join me.” Casually attired in shirt and waistcoat, he looked tired and pensive as he

stepped to one side. “The main salon. Will you have tea?”“None.”“Please.” He extended a hand toward the room.Walters frowned at his master, then backed away to the far stairs.She walked ahead, knowing well the way, her stick clicking on the age-old wooden

floor.“You’ve adopted your stick? A new affliction?” he asked, his tone impersonal, nigh

unto cool.“My old one. I thought it time I took it up. Claimed it as I should have long ago.”He indicated the settee for her, while he took a post beside the wide white Adams

mantel. “Do you visit Dalworthy?”He meant her cousin. “Afterward, I will go.” She sank to the cushions. He did look

weary, unsettled. That worried her, but she rushed onward. “My purpose is to talk withyou and apologize. I should have sought you out immediately after that incident in theorangery at Courtland Hall but…to be honest, words failed me. It seems I have couragefor much, but not the right things. I intend to change that. But in the meantime, I comehere to say I am sorry for it all.”

“I bear my own regret for leaving you as I did,” he said with sadness. “I should havecome to your rooms to talk, but I was shocked.”

“I understand.” Nerves eating her, she removed her gloves, finger by finger andclasped her hands together. “I have taken days to come to terms with my failures. Manyof them over the years. I want you to know that I attempt to remedy them.”

“I am sorry for believing so badly of you. I was caught up with the problems of MissWeaver and my friend, Langdon. I was wrong to blame you for the end of thatrelationship. You had a part, not all. They could have—should have—cured itthemselves.”

Shocked at his confession, she dare not tell him she agreed with him lest she sound as

if she pardoned herself.But Blake continued, “I went to see Langdon yesterday and told him so.”“I know.”He startled. “How?”“I visited him this morning and he told me you’d called.”“Did he tell you he’s decided to visit Millicent?”“Yes. It’s wonderful,” she said, but wanted wonders of her own to savor and feared

there were none.“They may have a future together.” His expression softened to what she dared to

name as compassion.But she had others to speak of how she’d failed them and herself. “Then there is the

matter of what you heard from Fiona. It’s true that before she and I went to CourtlandHall, we did talk about her feigning an attraction to a man who would attend. She wishedto show Esme and Northington that she had directed her affections elsewhere. Thinkingof it now, I know she didn’t need to do that, but I encouraged her in the ruse. That waswrong, unnecessary.”

She paused at the part she hated but must admit. “I agreed to fake affection for aguest, as well. If Fifi thought that was what was happening between you and me, it wasprimarily because I’d never spoken of my affection for you. Not to anyone. My feelings foryou were too…fond, too intimate to share with anyone. The only reason she believed Imight feign my affection for you was my agreement. Not my actions with you there. Iwould never do that. Could not. Not to you.”

He took that in silent contemplation. “Thank you for that. For coming here, too. Iappreciate your care to do so.”

“I’ve come to realize why I even thought it useful for me to interfere in other people’slives. Painful to admit, but I must. I thought, after my accident, that I was less thananyone else. Useless. Ungainly. That wasn’t so awful as a child, but when I grew older, Iwas supposed to be a lady. Delicate, fine-boned, I might be in stature and form. But ingrace? Never. Able to walk into a room? To glide? To dance? No. I struggled, hobbled, aspectacle. So I must have some redeeming feature, mustn’t I?

“I cannot say I actively thought of myself that way. But in some secret parts of myhead, yes, I did. Oh, no one ever called me names. Or made fun of me. Most in our setare too polite to do such a thing. But I felt it. And so to be knowledgeable about others,to be helpful was to be in control. That is powerful. I could do positive things for others.And they would like me. Love me. Want me to be their ally. Their friend. And so, Icontinued.”

“Mary, sweetheart, I knew you were hurt. That you wanted to be whole. And to meyou were.”

Whole? To him. Wonderful. But not enough.She shot up. Unsteady on her feet, she bent to grab her stick and poke it into the

Axminster for support. “I want you to know that I care for you too much to ever havedone anything so reprehensible as to pretend I love you. I do love you. I did as a child, asa friend. But two years ago, I came to love you as more. Much more. I was so thrilled you

cared for me. Your letters were my comfort and my hope you’d return to me. And whenyou stopped writing, I would re-read the old ones to hear your voice and hope that…”

She swallowed, words like stones in her throat. Then she dug in the pocket in herskirts and brought forth the item that had symbolized what he was to her. “For all theseyears, I kept this as a talisman that every day could be better than the last. After youstopped writing to me, I looked at it and vowed that some day we might find adventureand growth and love, together. I see now I invested it with too much wishful fantasy. Iwas wrong.”

She strode forward and put the small brown acorn on the deal table near him.He stared at it, astonished, then met her gaze. “What I gave you after you fell?”She nodded.The first smile she’d seen on his face in what seemed like years dawned, bright and

glorious. “Oh, Mary.”But his smile was not enough. She needed love from him, a man’s for a woman—and

could not, would not lure it from him.She turned abruptly for the door, hot tears on her lashes, sorrow crushing her heart.He caught her before she made it to the hall. An arm around her waist, he pressed

himself against her, his lips in her hair. “Don’t go. I was wrong, too. Wrong to believe youcould be arrogant. To me you have always been perfect. Perfect.”

She gasped for air and logic. “But I’m not perfect. I’ve done horrible things.”He walked around her, never letting go. “No. You’ve made mistakes. Mistakes, Mary.

Like any of us imperfect beings.”She couldn’t believe he could exonerate her.He brushed his fingers through her hair. “I want us to have a future together, Mary.”“Friends?” she asked him as if she stood upon a sinking ship.“More than that. Mary, I love you. I have for many years. And for most of them, I’ve

thought myself unworthy to even ask you. And now, now—” He pulled her close, his armsurgent around her. “I have this title and this land. I have money.”

She leaned back to view the agony on his handsome face. “But what?”“I have no confirmation of my status with the Corps. Am I on duty? Am I to be on half-

pay? And if I separate, if I sell my commission, how much will I regret that I’ve left thevery profession that gave me dignity, fulfillment and purpose? I have nothing butuncertainty to offer you, my darling. Still, I want you.” He caught a tendril of her hair andbrushed it behind her ear. “I want you as my wife.”

His proposal was more than she’d expected, everything she yearned for. “I could wantnothing else from life than to be yours.”

He crushed her near. “Even if I cannot offer stability?”“The stability you speak of is but change of venue. Geography. What is that to the

constancy of love as Mrs. Lindsey?”He gave a laugh. “Or Countess London-Bridges falling down.”“I wouldn’t want to be Birdie to you.” She shook her head. “I’d wish to be scandalously

more than that.”“My lover?”

“Oh, yes,” she whispered. “I want to be that. Wherever you go, I want to be withyou.”

“In the wilderness of Canada?”“Or the jungles of India.”“The bedroom upstairs?”“Now.”He hugged her close and picked her up in his arms. “Leave that stick here.”“I’m staying?” she asked with a chuckle.“Don’t you want to marry me tomorrow?”Alive in every nerve of her body, she ran her gaze over how delightful it would be to

be naked with this man. “I do.”“Then it’s convenient you remain the night, don’t you think?”“Certainly.”“You’ll promise to remain with me all our nights to come?”“I will. Every night. Because I love you.”“And I have always loved you.”

Epilogue

March, 1820Lawton Abbey

Mary placed her two-month old baby to his cradle and tip-toed from the nursery. Withdeliberate care, she pulled the door shut, then ran along the hall to the master suite.

“I kept the bed warm for you.” Her husband lifted the sheets for her to climb in andshe snuggled against his warm length. “Harry learns quickly to allow his mother to gether rest, too.”

She sighed, contented, and curled an arm around his waist. “He’s his father’s son inthat kind regard.”

Their second child, the Lawton-Bridges heir, was an accommodating soul, who sleptmore than their first child ever had. Their daughter Collette was two, a bright imp,running everywhere, eager to touch every living creature in the forest and the river.Caesar, Mary’s talkative bird, encouraged her, having transferred his love from Fifi to thelittle blonde creature who fed him tidbits from the kitchens.

“As our first-born is her mother’s shadow in all things.” Blake swept her closer to himin the cozy comfort of their bed. “She asked me this afternoon if we could plant the acornon your dressing table.”

“Ambitious girl.” Mary pulled back to stare at her smiling husband in the refracted raysof moonlight. “She’s proud her kale has sprouted. I can imagine she itches to grow a tree.What did you tell her?”

“I said she must ask you.” He cupped her cheek and thumbed the fullness of her lowerlip. “That acorn is yours.”

“Ours, you mean.” She shook her head. “But I doubt it would grow. It’s been many ayear in a warm and shady house. I wouldn’t want her discouraged.”

Blake toyed with the lace ties at the throat of her nightgown. “She must learn that noteverything bends to her will.”

Mary studied her husband in the shadows of early morn. His face, a spectrum of grey,was so dear to her that she could draw his handsome features were she blind. Earlier thepreceding afternoon, he’d received word from the Corps that his request to sell hiscommission had been approved. For many months, he’d been on half-pay due to thereduction in force of the Army. The year before, he’d served briefly in Quebec as adviseron a new project and been away from her and their daughter. The experience abroad

was professionally invigorating, he said, but he’d longed for the peace of his wife andchild. With his future now set as the lord of his manor, he’d seemed alternatively happyand pensive all through the day.

Mary trailed her fingers through his thick soft hair. “You have made much bend to yourwill. For that you must be proud.”

“Our tenants thrive,” he said.“The crops multiply as do our profits.”He grinned, proud of that. “You and I have also perfected a much better Mozart.”“The man would be delighted,” she offered and they smiled at each other. “Plus the

collapsible pontoon bridge you built to reach from Winston’s land to ours is a marvel thatallows us the joy of their company at a moment’s whim.” Her cousin Winston and his wifeIvy kept the old custom between the families to visit. They crossed the bridge mostSundays with their oldest who was a fast friend of Collette.

“That bridge would not have been possible had you not remembered that strip of landwhich Northington’s father owned was one that was not entailed to the duke’s estate.”Blake placed a tender kiss on her lips.

“Northington persuaded his father to sell it for a fair price.”“Do not forget that he told his father he’d get an annual percentage of the profit from

the sale of the crops raised there.”She grinned at her husband. “Northington is a wise man.”“So says a wise woman.”She grimaced.“Like so much else you have done, my darling, you’ve made improvements to our

lives. All our lives. You’ve made this house a home. This land prosperous. I loved youbefore, but I did fear I could not live here without my parents and my brothers. I love youmore now for all you give me each day. You have kept the delights of the house alive bykeeping me as your own.”

“As you have enchanted me, my love.”“As simple as helping you make all your flowers blossom.” He arched a wicked brow.She chuckled. Her husband could be firm, charming, demanding or witty. But when he

was risqué, she loved him best. “You have made all my dreams bloom.”He sent one hot hard hand along her torso and caught up the hem of her gown. “Shall

we try for another?”“Now?” She caught her breath in wild anticipation of the ecstasy he always brought

her. “Why not?”

Miss Harvey’s Horribly LovableFiancé

Four Weddings and a Frolic, Book 3, Excerpt

April 30, 1816Courtland Hall

A t dawn two mornings before her wedding, Miss Esme Harvey vowed she would makeher marriage a union of which she would be proud. She would bury her eccentricities ofchildhood, first among them, her competitive behavior with her old friends.

But she would do more. Two things well-born ladies never did…or if they had, theynever breathed a word to others about it. With care that no one in the house know of hermusings before thirty-two house guests arrived this afternoon, she screwed up hercourage for her plan.

First, she took one look at her new gown upon the seamstress’s form—a concoction ofpale rose silk, ivory sarsnet roses and a dash of Chantilly lace—and declared it toodelicate, too anemic, too inappropriate to her wish to project strength. “I will not wearthat to the church.” (She’d not wear her breeches, of course. A lady—one soon to be amarchioness and later, a duchess—could not be caught alive or dead wearing them.)

Secondly and promptly after her first declaration, she tied up her long brown hair intothe best knot possible in light of her haste, pulled on her snug doeskin breeches, man’sshirt, (no corset), old wool vest and hunting jacket. Those last three had been Papa’s, buthe’d discarded them last Fall—or so he thought. Esme had acquired them from the bagdestined to go to Vicar Charles Compton’s donations for the poor. (Charlie had neverknown what his parishioners missed.)

“Whereas I would cry my eyes out should anyone take them from me.” (And besides,Esme had atoned for her theft by giving three months of her allowance to Charlie to useto pay the wages of the new parish teacher.)

She sniffed. Who else had done that, eh?Few.Right.She pulled on her cotton stockings, didn’t bother with garters and then slid on her own

riding boots and tied the laces.She scribbled a note for her maid, Jane. Best not to frighten the girl to death. After all,

Jane had been with her only a month. She had no idea who Esme really was.Papa did know her. Perhaps. Other than that? Not her fiancé. Not well at any rate. And

aside from that?Hmmm. Not a matter to ponder at the moment.No indeed. Time to go!She ever-so-carefully opened her bedroom door. (Nonetheless, it squeaked.) She

peered up the hall…and down. No one strode the corridor yet. But soon, they would tolight fires and such.

Now’s the time, Ezzie!And so she dashed for the far end of the hall and scampered down the servants’ stairs

to the garden door.She paused outside on the stoop. The sun crept through a haze over the horizon.

When a sharp breeze swept a few curls from her ribbons, she shivered at theunseasonably cold weather and turned up the collar of her father’s old jacket. “Fie onanyone or anything who tries to deter me.”

Few did. Ever. Not here at home. And none in her father’s stables either.Why would they?

* * *

“Now, Miss? I’ll saddle ‘im up. He finished his nighttime hay so he’s ready to go with you!”“He’s swishing his tail.” She grinned at her father’s fine stallion. Loving the dawn rides

as much as she, the horse always showed his eagerness to go with her this way.“Will ye want me with you, Miss?” Samuel was her father’s man, always had been

since before she was born. He, as well as all the Courtland stable hands, had seen to itshe was an expert rider. As a result, she’d never had an accident. Nonetheless, Samuelalways asked if she wished company.

“I ride alone today, Samuel.”“Much to think of, eh?” he teased. Though old as Papa, Samuel had more grey hair

and wizened lines than his master. He also understood her as well, often better than herfather. The groom had excellent knowledge of horse flesh and her father often tookSamuel with him to every race and every auction. Much thanks to Samuel, Papa’s line ofthoroughbreds was well known and much sought-after. Her father’s purse was fat fromthose who had purchased the good stock he was known to breed.

Would that Papa had bred as many human children—and as many male offspring—ashe had horses.

She shook her head. “If he had, I would not be in this quandary.”

“Miss?” The old groom stopped as he cinched the straps on Admiral. “What will ye?”“No matter, Samuel. Talking to myself.”He smiled. But not happily. Samuel had always possessed the uncanny ability to

detect if she ran at dawn for renewal—or refection. The latter never thrilled him. He’d ofttold her so, too.

“Do not worry, Samuel. I promise to be home before Papa appears for his breakfast.”“Aye, Miss. Or I come out to find ye.” He cocked his head, wanting details.She relented. “To the river’s edge and back. Not far. Three miles today should set me

straight.” Give me the peace to decide…She frowned.To decide not only what to wear to her marriage to the inscrutable, irresistible

creature who set her heart to pound and her body to burn.But also…She put her hand to her forehead.Yes, that too.To decide if indeed she should give herself away to Giles Wilfred Charles Beauchamp,

the Marquess of Northington, the Earl of Down, the Baron Apsleigh, heir to the Duke ofBrentford. Twenty-nine years old, a man of the ton. A man of some repute, most of itsuggesting that he had some hand in the settlements at Vienna and others with the newBourbon King Louis. His saltier reputation was the stuff of gossip that he’d had a fewaffairs.

What man had not, eh?Today, her challenge was to decide if she should focus on marrying him for the way he

made her laugh or the way he applauded her desire for freedom or should she…Admit it, Ezzie!Marry him for his titles?And would he—after their solicitors’ interminable negotiations over dowry and land

and widow’s portions and rights to inherit Papa’s stud—marry her for her beauty? Or herwit? Or her grace?

Which left two other possibilities. Did he want her because he loved her? In fact, he’dnever said the words.

Or does he simply want my money?

She dismounted and threw the reins to Admiral over the fat branch of the ancient oak.Papa’s elegant black stallion nickered in acceptance. He knew her desire on suchmornings as this to climb down, seek the far rock and let him graze. A small promontoryover the Avon, this position gave her a view that brought her solitude, a rare commodityat her home where her Mama was a magpie and her Papa was a jocular fellow. Usuallyhere, Esme also found peace and soon after that, answers.

Today, she needed them. Quickly, too. Barring a new answer which would kill her dearmother and send her father into early decline, she would marry her fiancé.

Of course she would.She just had to think it all through. Rationally.

She spread her tidy blanket on the limestone rock, sat, crossed her legs and took herplace of contemplation.

The sun climbed higher in the sky. So she had perhaps an hour before hell broke looseand her father sent the world looking for her.

Northington.Northington.She’d met her future husband one evening last December at Lady Wimple’s Christmas

Ball. Esme had become bored of the vapid creatures she’d danced with. So she had hiedherself off to a small (thankfully empty) salon at the end of the main corridor.

Having drunk two glasses of bitter ratafia, she absconded with a glass of champagne(generously poured by a sympathetic footman). She sat down before the crackling fireand kicked off her slippers to settle in and enjoy her alcohol.

It was then a man, meticulously attired and damn comely too, emerged from the farcorner near the piano and surveyed her with large eyes lit by the silvery moon. Hismanner was louche, his smile genuine but secretive. She liked him instantly though shehad no idea who he was nor why she didn’t know him. (She’d been out in society for fiveseasons and a gel had to know who was available for the picking.)

“Wishing for solitude?” he asked, pointing at her with his own snifter of somethinginebriating.

She raised her glass in salute. “You too, I see.” Then she drank and smiled.My, how she liked the cut of him. Appealingly taller than most men, shoulders

handsomely encased in a form-fitting coat, he stepped into more light from the moon.And she caught her breath. Surely she’d never met him. If she had, she would haverecalled the cocky brows, the shock of brown curls, the swagger. Yes, that especially.

“I am in need of peace, regrettable as it is for my sudden desire to know you better.”He lifted his glass toward the door. “Would you mind taking your champagne and movingto the library?”

“Ah. But wouldn’t a map table serve your purposes better than that tiny settee?” Shemotioned across the room toward the prim little two-seater.

He gave a silent chuckle and took another step closer to her. “You assume the risquénature of my need.”

“Am I wrong?” Please say I am, she pleaded with him silently. Challenging menalways was such fun. Papa enjoyed her repartee. Not too many others did, however.

The stranger swirled the liquor in his glass and admired her, toes to curls, thenfocused on her lips. “Of course not.”

She shrugged in that dramatic little way she’d seen older ladies amuse a man. “Queldommage.”

“A shame?” He snorted, surprised. “Pourquoi?”“I should have liked to be that woman.”“I doubt you could be.”She tipped her head. “Why not?”“You don’t look the type.”“Ah, so much for appearance. Well then. Bon chance, Monsieur.” That was the gayest

she could manage because she didn’t know if she were insulted or complimented. So sherose, picked up her glass and made for the door.

“Wait!” he called.She spun, longing shooting through her that he’d ask her to stay and talk and do other

imaginably delightful acts.He sailed forward, grinning at her with appealingly firm lips and dancing hazel eyes,

and lifting her slippers high in the air. “Allow me,” he said as he went to one knee, soughtout one of her feet, wrapped his warm fingers around her ankle and slid her shoe on,then did the other. “Cendrillon cannot forget her shoes.”

“Merci, Monsieur. Adieu ,” she told him, every fiber of her being conscious of his longfingers still circling her ankles.

“Au revoir.”Hopeful, his goodbye, wasn’t it? After all, she had not met him before. Had no name

to put to his face. He was English, clearly from his diction. But she had no additionalcharacteristics to identify him, other than his enticing good looks, his superbly cut clothesand his intriguing nature. She did not see him in the ballroom after that and had nomeans to ask her friends about him. Therefore, she had no expectations to see himagain.

But she had.The next night she’d learned his formal name. Marquess of Northington.By the next, she’d investigated his credentials. Oxford. Friend of Her Grace, Charlotte,

Duchess of Richmond. A frequent visitor to the Home Office.By their fourth meeting—another ball—he’d been introduced to her by a mutual friend.

As he took her hand to lead her in a quadrille, he revealed that he’d come only becausehe’d learned she would attend.

“I’m complimented,” she said, as a challenge to cover her admission of delight.“Good. Shall I ask you to call me by my given name?”“You could.”“Giles. Will you use it?”“When it’s suitable.”“You are careful.” He grinned. “I like that about you.”“Evidently not careful enough. When we met, you found me alone in a most

unsuitable place.”“As you found me.”She could not help the appeal of his charming mouth. “Did she find you?”“He did.”She rolled her eyes at him.“You should believe me.”Time to admit the truth. “I want to.”He inhaled, frustration ripe on his brow. “Let me talk to you in the hall.”“Why?”“Esme—I hope I may address you that way. The hall, behind the marble statue of our

host, affords more privacy than here.”

Hope of being naughty with him made her tingle. “My lord, why would we needprivacy?”

“Because Esme, I’d like to kiss you.”She licked her lips.“I see that idea appeals to you.”“Are you always so bold with women?”“Only you.”Caution was a practice she rarely employed. With him, she should apply it. “I think

we’ll wait.”“Not long, Esme. Not too damn long,” he whispered as he devoted himself to

perfection in the rest of the dance.That evening, she’d learned from her friends that in the past two years, he’d had two

lovers, both wealthy widows. Now he was free of both.So when he returned to sit beside her, he murmured, “Esme, darling, look at me.”She’d given in. With such endearments, who could deny him?His hazel eyes faceted into shades of desire. “I want to become friends.”“We are.”“More than friends, Esme.”She shook her head. She mustn’t lose it. “You’re a marquess.”“True.”“Not considered appropriate for me, a viscount’s daughter.” Furthermore, his father

was an old roué. That man, it was said aloud and in gossip sheets, wanted a gloriousmatch for his only son. Specifically, ‘glorious’ translated into rich as Midas. That criteriashe fit.

“Will you count me out of your life because of my status?” He joked, appearingamused as well as seriously dismayed.

“You’re twenty-nine,” she said in accusation.“I am. You are six years younger. Is there a problem?”“You’ve waited rather a long time to—” Well, why not say the obvious? “A long time to

look for a bride.”“I’ve had other occupations.”She harrumphed. Yes, she knew two of them, too. “Aren’t you getting long in the

tooth?”He chuckled, looked about and leaned closer. “Do you think me so doddering that I

might be incapable of begetting—?”“No!” She burned with the power of her blush. “No. I do not.”He laughed whole-heartedly. “I am in want of a wife. And I have looked for one for

many years.”“With any results?”“None. Until lately.”So by their fifth meeting (at Lady Elsworth’s tea), they were jovial friends who

appeared to one and all to sit and discuss the cartoonist Rowlandson’s ability to portraythe ironies of the Royals.

“May I call on you, Miss Harvey?” he had asked her when those in the room finally leftthem alone in their cozy corner.

“Why?” she’d been bold enough to inquire.“I find I need your company.”She stared at him and dared not believe it. The way he made her breath hitch just by

gazing at her told her that if he pressed his magnificent mouth to hers, if he touched herarm or (please, God) her breast or (yesss) her quivering thigh, she could dissolve intolittle puddles of goo. And that was no way to maintain one’s reputation, especially if oneliked to ride out at dawn or drink three glasses of champagne without comment orcensure.

“Have dull friends, do you, sir?” She challenged him. Had to.“Too many.”“What of the lady you met in the small salon at Lady Wimple’s?” She had to know

from his lips if he was engaged in a new affair with anyone. She wouldn’t stand for himhaving mistresses. She couldn’t bear the competition. She was no Diamond, noIncomparable. But she had her assets. Good hair. A straight nose. Abundant breasts. Soshe’d brook no competition. Never. If he wished to marry her, he had to be hers, allhers…or not at all.

“Esme, listen to me.” In that crowded drawing room with dozens of the ton chattingon and noting every eye that drifted to every heaving bosom, he put a hand to hers andheld it tightly. “That was no lady.”

Oh, how she wished to believe him.“May I call?” he asked once more, his face full of earnest hope.“Yes.” She wanted him, as she’d wanted no other. “Tomorrow.”And so he had.For three days in succession.By the fourth day, her Mama (reading the air, Esme supposed) left them alone on

some flimsy excuse.He moved to Esme’s side on the settee and took her hands. Into both palms, he’d

placed hot little kisses. Her nipples had beaded. Her belly had swelled. And her head hadswum as he threaded his fingers into her coiffure and placed his firm lips on her own. Andoh, he felt like heaven.

“Darling, I want to marry you,” he whispered. His mouth traveled her cheek and he bither earlobe.

She sank her fingers into his thick soft curls and kissed him back with an ardor that(afterward) frankly shocked her.

“That’s yes,” he stated with finality. “I know it is.” He stood up so fast she thoughthe’d been shot. He left her there, aching to have his hands on her everywhere. But to hiscredit, he went in search of a footman and asked for her father. Straight away, he askedPapa who gave his immediate approval.

And then, quick as you please, Northington had disappeared.The man who had rushed her into courtship, who had teased and bantered and lured

her to fantasies of lying abed with him naked, had simply vanished.

Then two weeks ago, he had reappeared at Courtland Hall with a special license inhand. He apologized for his absence, but gave no explanations. Then he had promptlytaken her out into her mother’s parterre and had kissed her senseless.

“May second, I want us to wed, darling.”Not a question. A statement.And she—twenty-three and aglow from head to heart to breasts to quivering belly—

was in lust with him. She marveled, for she was no twit. No foolish woman whosedaydreams ruled her life. No. She’d entertained numerous swains over the years. Afterall, she was a wealthy catch. She’d refused six gentlemen in marriage. She hadn’t foundany of those fellows—titled, well-healed and accomplished in their own rights—interesting or even vaguely exciting.

But this man, this Northington, mesmerized her.Truth be bald and bold, she pulsed to feel him wholly devoted to her. And soon, all

things to her, dear and vital, tender and lusty, sacred and nakedly profane.That, she concluded, or she was going to run off with him without benefit of marriage

and allow him all sorts of liberties.But that was two weeks ago.And this morning as she looked out upon the rolling meadow, rosy in the rays of a

rising sun, she questioned if her unmaidenly ardor to have him was enough to bind him toher for the next thirty or forty years.

Or did she need much more?

Who is Cerise DeLand?

Cerise DeLand

Cerise DeLand loves to write about dashing heroes and the sassy women they adore.Whether she’s penning historical romances or contemporaries, she has received praise forher poetic elegance and accuracy of detail.

An award-winning author of more than 50 novels, she’s been published since 1991 byPocket Books, St. Martin’s Press, Kensington and independent presses. Her books havebeen monthly selections of the Doubleday Book Club and the Mystery Guild. Plus she’swon nominations and awards for Best Historical of the Year, Best Regency and scores ofrave reviews from Romantic Times, Affair de Coeur, Publisher’s Weekly and more.

To research, she’s dived into the oldest texts and dustiest library shelves. She’s alsotraveled abroad, trusty notebook and pen in hand, to visit the chateaux and countryhomes she loves to people with her own imaginary characters.

And at home every day? She loves to cook, hates to dust, goes swimming at leastonce a week and tries (desperately) to grow vegetables in her arid backyard in southTexas!

Also by Cerise DeLand

RegenciesLady Starling’s Stockings

The Stanhope Challenge, Regency Quartet, box set

Regency Romp Series:Lady Varney’s Risque Business, #1

Rendezvous with a Duke, #2Masquerade with a Marquess, #3

Interlude with a Baron, #4

Christmas Belles, Romantic Comedy Series:The Earl’s Wagered Bride, #1The Viscount’s Only Love, #2

The Duke’s Impetuous Darling, #3The Marquess’s Final Fling, #4

The Butler’s Forbidden Fancy, #5Aunt Gertrude’s Red Hot Christmas Beau, #6

Delightful Doings in Dudley Crescent, Romantic Comedy Series:Her Beguiling Butler, #1

His Tempting Governess, #2His Naughty Maid, #3

Her Enticing Stableboy, #4, Coming Soon!

Four Weddings and a Frolic, Romantic Comedy Series:Lady Fiona’s Tall, Dark Folly, #1

Lady Mary’s May Day Mischief, #2, August 2020Miss Harvey’s Horribly Lovable Fiancé, #3, August 2020

Lady Willa’s Divinely Wicked Vicar, #4, October 2020Miss Weaver’s Last Handsome Frolic, #5, November 2020

Box sets, Historical romances:When You’re Mine, A Medieval, Regency & Victorian Romance Collection, 4 complete novels of 4 different series

Erotic Regency Romances:His Delectable CookSense and Sensibility

Victorian RomancesThose Notorious Americans Series:

Wild Lily, #1Daring Widow, #2Sweet Siren, #3

Scandalous Heiress, #4Ravishing Camille, #5, Winter 2020

Medieval erotic romances:Knights of Passion Series: Re-releasing soon!

At Her Service, #1, currently in When You’re Mine, box setFor Her Honor, #2With Her Kiss, #3

* * *Military Romances

7 Brides for 7 SEALs Series:You Were Always Mine, #1No Getting Over You, #2

SEALs Going Hot, box setBurning for NeroConquering Zeus

A Long Time Comin’ (erotic romance)Hard Drivin’ Man (erotic romance)

ContemporariesIs That a Gun in Your Pocket? (erotic comedic suspense)

Tall, Hard and Trouble, box setTall, Hard and Mine, box set, Coming Soon!Tall, Hard and Fierce, box set, Coming Soon!

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