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Chapter One

It was mid-April and the time of day when anyone of fashion should have been parading in the Park, had it not been for a storm lashing London. The still-bare trees were shaking violently, with some tiles smashing down from houses, and rain swept along in vile, gusting sheets. Accordingly, the Park was deserted, and nobody felt like paying any afternoon calls to start the season either, with the ladies having fires lit in salons and staying firmly put. Only a fool would go out in such weather.

One such fool, a tall gentleman in a heavy grey coat, clearly lacked any common sense, for he had walked from Brook Street all the way to Curzon Street; nor had he bothered to run, but had strolled along at his usual pace as though it were a glorious summer's day. He had thus arrived at Sir Henry Wanstead's house with his visible parts soaked through, bidding the butler a cheery good afternoon as his godfather came towards him crying, "Ally, you madman, you'll catch your death!"

"Pooh." Ally Lavenham dismissed this with a grin and wiped the water from his face. "A bit of rain won't kill me. How are you, sir? It's been too long."

They exchanged a hearty handshake before the host took his guest into the library, where a welcome fire was blazing. Sir Henry, a stocky, grizzled man in his fifties, lifted a decanter. "You'll take a glass?" This seen to, he sat down, saying impatiently, "Sit down, lad, sit down! You've never been on ceremony here, and I beg you not to start. How was Scotland? Everything all right with the estates?"

Mr. Lavenham took the seat opposite him and gave a sigh of appreciation for the fire. He provided an interesting contrast to Sir Henry; in his mid-twenties, he was a head taller than his host, his build the broad-shouldered yet light frame of an athlete. He had the swarthy colouring of the black Celt with a keen pair of hazel eyes and a natural expression that verged on the mischievous. This was heightened by an unfortunate incident some years before involving a cricket ball that had broken Ally's nose. It now swung to the left below the bridge, so that when he smiled he tended to look Puckish. Not being a vain man, however, he had resisted all calls to have it broken and set straight again, saying he had better things to do with his time. His brother Richard liked to cut jokes about Ally's lost beauty; most of the ladies in London, however, agreed that this irregularity in his features actually lent him a distinct, quirky charm. That charm to some was probably due to his having his mother's fortune, but his own natural liveliness and temperament guaranteed him popularity.

"Estates all in order, sir, unlike the roads. I ended up coming back along the coast--nearly got stuck in the snow at Carter Bar."

"I don't know why your grandmother chooses to live up there. She's got a perfectly decent house in London. How is she, by the way?"

"She's as terrifying as ever, thank you. She says town is a haven of vice and milk-water misses, which makes no sense to me, but I'm glad of it. Even from Jedburgh she can interfere in my affairs, so heaven forbid she should move back down here!"

Sir Henry gave a bark of laughter, for he remembered the Dowager Lady Lavenham very well. His family and hers had always been close; he and Ally's father had been brought up as brothers, and this was repeated with Sir Henry's own sons, Ally and Richard, now Viscount Lavenham himself. Richard, whose wife was expecting their fourth child, had been unwilling to travel to Scotland for his furthest-flung estate and had been relieved when his brother had volunteered. Ally's own land, inherited from his heiress mother, lay in Lincolnshire, so he had at least been able to spend a week there on his way back to London. He mentioned this and a conversation ensued about stewardry, which lasted only a few minutes until he asked abruptly, "Are you feeling the thing, sir? You don't seem quite yourself," with such obvious concern that Sir Henry made a rueful face of acknowledgement.

"Things on my mind."

"Anything I can help with?" offered his godson, to which the older man looked tempted before shaking his head and uttering one word. "Kate."

"Ah." He did not need to say any more, but his expression grew markedly sympathetic. Ally understood exactly why Sir Henry appeared harassed under his courteous demeanour, for his niece, Lady Katherine Fitzlynn, could at best be described as a trial.

It had not always been so. Ten years before, when the Marquis had died and Kate had gone to her mother's brother, she had been a sweet nine-year-old child, eager to please if a trifle over-indulged. Unfortunately, the intervening decade had seen her come-out, which had made it very plain that a marquis' daughter with her looks and fortune could do no wrong. Kate had taken this lesson to heart and taken delight in testing it with increasingly outrageous behaviour that her gentle relatives were wholly unable to prevent. Somewhere along the line, she had made the transition from indulged to spoilt; her tempers were the bane of Curzon Street, and Sir Henry lived in despair of ever marrying her off. This was not for want of suitors, since she always had dozens, but for her own pride. She had no hesitation in openly mocking those she considered substandard, whilst even earls could not rely on escaping her satirical tongue as she haughtily refused them. Sir Henry's sons, all of whom had left London, regularly wrote begging their father to take her in hand for she was notorious, but this Sir Henry could not do. He pleaded clemency on the grounds that Kate had suffered greatly from her father's death and her mother's utter selfishness, Lady Fitzlynn having abandoned her to enjoy herself in Naples. He would have pleaded clemency now except that Ally had heard it all before, and his only advice would be to spank the brat with a hairbrush.

"She is aiming for Yeovil," stated her uncle dolefully. Lavenham's brows rose.

"What, that old bore? Marrying Kate? Hah!"

"Precisely, but for some reason she has it fixed in her head, and I must admit that since we came back to town he has already shown her a decided partiality. Indeed, I have almost begun to wonder whether or not she is right."

Ally began to laugh. "If he's done so much as step out of doors without his mother's consent then he must be truly besotted! Lord, but I'd not have expected it of him. He's terrified of any breath of scandal, and Kate...creating it seems to occupy her entire waking hours. Surely he knows that? He's extremely stupid, but he's not blind."

"He left London early last autumn. Said he had the ‘flu." Sir Henry's morose tone told Ally exactly what he thought of men who left town with ‘flu. "Missed all that uproar over Claverton winning her necklace. And her race to Newmarket with the Berwick harpy."

"And, presumably, her visit to a St James's gaming hell?"

"Indeed," Henry agreed, wincing at this reminder. "The little baggage has somehow persuaded him that it is all vile rumour. He's been haunting the house, and she's been growing steadily more unbearable!"

"But if you marry her off, does it matter? Oh, she'll lead him a merry dance, but being a duchess would satisfy even Kate's pride, surely."

"In the absence of a handsome prince, yes, but you know her, Ally! Reeling in a duke isn't enough for my niece. Oh no! She must do it and keep kicking up public to-dos, so everyone can see he adores her so much, he'd take her anyway. She's already started. Galloped in the Park yesterday, and last Saturday sneaked out of the house to go to Vauxhall with Yolanda de St. Cyr. Vauxhall! Nothing but debauched nobodies!"

Ally enquired how Sir Henry could be so sure, to which Wanstead replied that Kate would not have wanted to go else. He added bitterly that he need not have feared for her safety, however, since she had come back in the early hours dressed as a man. "Her maid caught her and fell into hysterics. And all she would do was laugh and say she was bored and had done it for a lark. A lark! What am I to do with her? If she keeps this up, Yeovil will run a mile from her, and God knows she's frightened off or disgusted almost everyone else worth having. Let alone anyone who could bring her to heel." He stared into his glass, was struck by an idea and continued, "I don't suppose you'd take her?"

Mr. Lavenham choked over his wine. "Me!"

"You'd be better than most. You know her far too well to let her pull the wool over your eyes, for a start, and you've never let her play off her tricks on you. I still remember when you threw her into the duck pond at Yexham." He sounded wistful.

"So does Kate. Which is probably why she wouldn't have me even if Yeovil threw her over. Even if I weren't a younger son with no title, as she delights in reminding me, and no more than passable even before this"--pointing to his nose--"happened."

His godfather groaned and held his head in his hands, but Ally continued cheerfully, "Plus my fortune is not large enough to tempt her; she wants Golden Ball or his equivalent. My estate is too small and too far from town, Brook Street is not to her taste. I treat her like a scrubby schoolgirl, I make fun of her and it's undignified...what else was there? Yes, and I'm a stupid dandy with as much brains as your dog Bess."

"How on earth...when did you ask her to marry you?"

"I didn't." He grinned. "She just tells me anyway. Maybe she lives in fear of my actually proposing to her and thinks to ward it off, since she repeats all this whenever I see her."

"My dear Ally, I don't know how to apologize enough. I will have words with Kate!"

"Don't regard it! I have no wish to marry the brat anyway--sorry, sir!--but it's much more fun not telling her that. I like to assume a heart-broken expression and declare that I'll die at her feet. I can see her struggle between her sense of humour and her pride; she doesn't know which to believe. Pride seems to be winning. Still, that'll do her no harm with Yeovil, since he's puffed up more than she is."

"If she doesn't do anything outrageous before he offers for her!"

Since Ally suspected that Kate's last escapade had been her final one--even she wasn't silly enough to lose a duke for a prank--he reassured Sir Henry of this unlikelihood, adding with a flippant grin, "If she's that much of a fool, give her to me to deal with; I'd knock her into shape before the season's out!"

"I suppose that would be better than nothing. Are you sure you don't want to marry her?"

"Positive," he answered firmly, and Sir Henry did not press him. It was well-known that Ally was not interested in marriage. Such had not always been the case; when he was twenty-two he had offered for the beautiful Clarissa Mowbray but been rejected for the Earl of Carnforth, and in the four years since he had shown no desire to repeat the attempt with anyone else. To any suggestions that he should find himself a wife and start a family, he retorted that Richard had enough heirs for both of them. To the more pushing mothers in the marriage mart (who did not mind the lack of title where his large fortune was concerned), he was frustrating. He would ignore the most blatant hints and dodge any snares set for him like quicksilver whilst still being a highly entertaining companion.

Free from any concerns over his duty or the need to continue his line, Ally thus was in no hurry at all, and indeed, seldom bothered to consider whether a girl was a suitable wife or not. He had made the exception for Kate Fitzlynn, but only after the spoilt heiress had pointed out his own shortcomings as a potential husband. His melodramatic responses to her derision would have done justice to the great actor Kean; much though they annoyed Kate, they were kinder than his assessment of her as a mate. Having grown up running through Sir Henry's house with her three cousins, he had known her since she had first set foot in Curzon Street, but he was not blind to her increasing faults. She was haughty, spoilt, demanding and selfish; she could be shockingly rude to anyone she considered beneath her. She was also a hypocrite, since much of her own behaviour was appalling. A girl who went to gaming hells in man's attire had little right to sneer at anyone else for being lowly, and her lack of care over the effect this had on her relatives disgusted the easy-going Mr. Lavenham. Having never wanted to play Petruchio, he could only be glad that this particular shrew would never be his for the taming.

The sad aspect of the situation was that Kate had used to be much more fun when she was younger, and had seemed a great deal happier. She had always had excessive energy, but she used to be as quick to laugh at herself as at others. That had long gone, although on occasion Ally still caught her biting her lip to keep her haughty expression. Nor was she completely bad. She was fiercely loyal to her friends and usually sensitive to the feelings of those girls who lacked her attractions. She was generous, quick in understanding and knew how to please. If she were in the mood, any evening was a success where she was present. It was therefore a constant puzzle to Ally that she could be so foolish as to fall for the shallow flattery of the ton. Then again, he admitted reluctantly, the Wansteads bore partial blame. They had never made more than a momentary effort to nip her growing arrogance in the bud, nor to discipline her excesses. Her cousin Robbie opined that Kate did these things because she wanted attention; Ally reckoned that she was simply bored. She had always had everything she wanted, and she had plenty of attention, adoration and love.

This mental train was derailed when the door opened, and in came the subject of it, not looking at all like a scandalous, spoilt heiress. Kate was nearly twenty, and nobody in London could deny that she was beautiful. She did not resemble her mother, a famously red-haired beauty, in colouring; her eyes were a clear dark blue, her skin more creamy than white, and her hair a rich chestnut. But in features she had inherited Esther Fitzlynn's classical proportions in a heart-shaped face, along with dazzlingly white teeth. She was of average height and less dainty than compact. Only her hands lessened her perfection--they were long and rather thin, which helped her performance on the pianoforte but allowed her critics an easy target. To most people, however, she was a very beautiful girl. Dressed in a plain dark blue dress, she appeared demure and modest, and the smile she gave her uncle clearly made Sir Henry's anger melt. It did not have the same effect on his visitor, who greeted her with the politeness she always suspected of being mocking. She said ungraciously, "I thought you were in Scotland," and then wondered why she was never as polished with Ally as with anyone else. He put her off by smirking at her, she decided. Sure enough, he gave his wolfish grin and responded, "I came back early to watch the fun. I hear you're planning to be a duchess."

Sir Henry moaned, realizing that Lavenham and his niece were off again, but Kate's smile widened brightly at him. "Yes, I think I am."

"Kate!"

"Oh, Uncle Henry, do let's not pretend. Yeovil's mad for me; see if he doesn't ask me within a sennight." She then tripped to a chair as her uncle fought down the urge to shake her for this conceitedness. Meanwhile, his godson opened his hazel eyes in wide innocence. "Really? Perhaps you'd better stop running around London in men's clothing then."

Her eyes narrowed, but she managed airily, "Always so amusing, Alastair," in a voice that showed no signs of diversion.

"I daresay he'd be grateful for the name of your tailor."

Since Yeovil was notoriously ill-dressed, Kate's mouth twitched before she controlled herself. "So long as he does not patronize yours!"

Once again Sir Henry expostulated, but this shaft had gone wide. As an undisputed Corinthian, Ally wore exactly what he pleased without worrying if anyone thought him a dandy. Since he never needed more than three attempts when tying his neckcloth, could turn his head and didn't use a quizzing glass, he shrugged his immaculately clad broad shoulders and told her that he had heard men's corsetry could work wonders, to which the heiress said with a pitying laugh that he should try and hide his jealousy, for it was unbecoming. Ally looked down at his long legs regretfully. "Unfair, Kitty! I'll own I'm on the thin side, but I assure you I don't hold it against any man who's more generously endowed."

Kate's colour began to rise ominously, the more so since somewhere in her she knew that she should have laughed at Yeovil. A small voice in her head told her that he was a fat, pompous bore who would drive her to screaming distraction within a week. The small voice was ruthlessly crushed. Marrying the Duke would be her ultimate triumph, after two years of lording it over the ton as its unrivalled queen. He was the top prize in the marriage mart, she his female equivalent; to have settled for less would mean humiliation, public pity and secret contempt. She could not accept it. Yeovil had to be hers, and she was within fingers' reach of her goal.

The only problem that she had with this was an unaccountable restlessness that had plagued ever since she had made her come-out. For all the balls and parties, and adoration, fulsome compliments, poetry, proposals and gifts, she knew a constant, gnawing need for something she could not recognize--a dissatisfaction with the well-ordered, predictable life she had chosen in which she married the duke and lived happily ever after. This strange emotion found its outlet in the pranks that so upset Sir Henry, which would sate it for a time. As the duke grew closer to her grasp, however, this restlessness was increasing in power. Used to, by now, lying to herself, Kate forced the small voice to accept that it was simply pre-betrothal nerves, or the silliness of a very young girl. Of course, once she was a duchess they would stop at once. Of course they would! And the last thing she needed was Ally Lavenham giving her that crooked grin of his as he mocked her. Faced with him, she usually acknowledged only two reactions: anger and contempt. Since anger meant that he must have hit upon the truth in laughing at her, she more frequently admitted to contempt. She did so now.

"Of course, how could a bachelor understand? Perhaps when you get married you will. If you ever find anyone to accept you."

"Kate! That's enough!"

"You're not married yet, sweetheart," said Lavenham genially, at which Sir Henry, reasoning that they had often spent time alone together, cravenly pretended he could hear his wife call, and fled. Ally indicated the board on a table. "Chess?"

"I'd hate to beat you."

"I wish I could say the same." His voice was so satirical that she could not mistake his meaning, and flushed with annoyance. Before she could speak, he continued, using her childhood nickname, "Be careful whom you crow to before you have your prize snared, Kitty! Yeovil isn't yours yet. And he'll never be yours if you carry on with your escapades. Perhaps that thought will work where concern for your uncle and aunt has not."

The heiress made a choking sound. "How dare you?"

"Very easily. Tell me, has it ever occurred to you that your behaviour heaps shame upon Sir Henry?"

"Hardly anyone knows about Vauxhall," she scoffed.

"I meant your behaviour every single day." Ally's deep voice was calm and measured, but his brother would have known at once that his anger was kindling. "Your pride--your boundless conceit and arrogance--the way you sneer at any man unfortunate enough to be duped into seeing your beauty rather than your character!"

Kate leapt to her feet, but she was not a coward and refused to leave the battlefield. "Is that what lies behind it? I knew you were jealous! This is just the bitterness of a crook-nosed nobody!"

He stood up also, which was somewhat unfair since he was over a head taller than she was. "If we only had a duck pond--if I only had the right to treat you exactly as you deserve! You spoilt, heartless, scheming little brat! If Yeovil knew what he had hold of, he'd run for his life."

"Well, he doesn't know," snarled Kate brazenly. "And I will be a duchess! I will! See if I don't!"

Ally, a good natured man in general, recovered himself. "You'd better hope so, sweetheart. If he doesn't, your uncle's promised me a free rein all season to get you under control."

Sadly, the heiress' temper was more persistent; she gave a scornful crack of laughter. "If he doesn't, you can have me!"

Chapter Two

Lady Katherine was not at home. So said Watson, the butler, to the stream of avid if not concerned visitors who pounded the Curzon Street knocker all day. Unfortunately, the response to this was generally somewhat insulting. Eyebrows were raised, and knowing looks exchanged. Secret smiles were glimpsed, and then the callers would depart whispering frantically to each other. Not that there was much need for secrecy, since what had occurred was known to the entire ton.

All possibility of Kate Fitzlynn becoming Duchess of Yeovil was over. The Duke, far from offering for her, was already in his carriage bolting to his country house and thanking his stars for his lucky escape. London was in uproar. The Curzon Street house was in disarray. And at the centre of it lay Kate, shut up in her bedroom screaming at anyone who dared enquire to leave her alone. Two floors below her, Sir Henry was shredding his quill in a mixture of guilt, incredulity and white-hot rage.

She had tried to run off to Gretna Green. The silly, stupid, idiotic chit had actually tried to go to Gretna--and not with the Duke either! Oh no, she could not elope with the Duke! No, she had chosen a Mr. Lucius Sommers, who was betrothed in reality to a Miss Tillman. Their carriage and four had left town at a hideously early hour, and it was only Kate's nervous maid, who had been wakeful and discovered her disappearance, who had led to her recapture shortly after Welwyn on the Great North Road.

For Miss Tillman's sake Sir Henry had allowed Sommers to melt anonymously into the morning mist, but the same had not been true of his niece. What he had said to her in the carriage home nobody knew, but she had bolted out at Curzon Street white to the lips and barricaded herself in her room. Her excuse had been fantastic to his ears; Mr. Sommers had made a nuisance of himself to the beauty, pressing his suit upon her. Kate had thus pretended to be madly in love with him and agreed to elope. She had planned to leave him after lunchtime and make her own way home, rendering him ridiculous. Sir Henry, hearing this ludicrous tale, had roared at her that by God, he would thrash her when she got home, which had terrified her into the barricading. But even had he done so, the evil could not be stopped. She was severely damaged. Her reputation lay in shreds, and the arrogance she had displayed since her come-out meant that nobody in London would be rushing to rehabilitate her. The ton, in fact, was quite happy to see the spoilt heiress get her comeuppance, and meant to prolong her humiliation for as long as possible. Hence the queue of concerned callers, all dying to catch a glimpse of her, and then exchanging niceties with Lady Wanstead which carefully did not refer to what everyone knew.

It was widely believed that the thwarted Lady Kate was sulking, but this was untrue; Kate's temper was of the hasty kind that could not stay angry long enough to sulk. In addition, she was far too aware that the fault was entirely hers. She knew well enough that the only person she should be angry with was herself, and since this was unpalatable to her, she remained overwrought with mortification, crushed pride and a dread of the reaction from her family and the ton. That of the latter she could guess, but it was Sir Henry's inevitable punishment that she most feared. Even someone as gentle as he was could not let this pass without severe disciplinary action taken against her; for the three days in which he did not come near her room, Kate's imagination tortured her with possibilities until she suffered far more than if he'd come in and whipped her. Compared to that, the sneers and laughter of society paled into nothing. She had faced the ton down several times before, and she could do it again. After all, it could scarcely be difficult to convince everyone that she had not really wanted someone as dull and unattractive as Yeovil.

Mr. Lavenham, had he been able to read Kate's mind, would have rolled his eyes and advised Sir Henry to find the nearest duck pond. She was not contrite, not ashamed and still refused to grasp the enormity of her conduct. This had been made plain to her uncle in the carriage on the way back to London, and had caused his explosive loss of temper. On the other hand, Wanstead was not blind to his own role in the debacle, as he said to Ally when the latter called. Relieved to have a visitor whose concern was genuine and for him and Julia rather than the heiress, the older man revealed the depth of his guilt and distress. "I have never been as hard on her as I should have. What with losing her father so young, and my sister being only ever interested in herself, I couldn't do it. Julia and I tried to give her what she lacked in affection, but we overdid it, it seems. Now I find we are in such straits, and no Yeovil to take her off my hands; I have not only to punish her, but to drive it into her head that she has to change! How am I even to start?"

"Possibly the shock of her disgrace will prevent a repeat of her behaviour?" Ally ventured unconvincingly, to which Sir Henry snorted.

"She! I do not believe it! Oh, she had a fright on the way home when I shouted at her, but...she doesn't understand, Ally! There was no regret there, no sorrow, no shame. All she was upset about was having lost Yeovil and the unavoidable unpleasantness ahead. I could have boxed her ears! I still could!" He sighed heavily. "Or perhaps I couldn't. I've failed to drum sense into her, and she knows she can get 'round me. She's skulked in her room for three days because she's afraid of what I'll do to her and she thinks giving me time to calm down will lessen the punishment. And what punishment is there?"

"You could send her to Cumberland to stay with Maud."

"Maud! Lord, she could never control Kate! Not to mention she thinks the girl is the very devil and would probably refuse to have her. Julia's family I wouldn't even ask, and Will doesn't have room. Which is a shame, because he said he'd have locked her in the cellar and I was quite tempted. There isn't anybody else." This much was true. The rest of the Fitzlynn relatives had long since distanced themselves from responsibility for their wayward namesake, fortune or no, whilst Esther Fitzlynn, now Lady St. Columb, was sunning herself in Naples and didn't give a fig for her daughter making herself notorious. Of Sir Henry's sons, Will was the only one married, with Robbie in the army and Dom currently running the Yexham estate. This left Henry himself, who unlike his niece could own his weaknesses. His black eyes met Ally's and he said simply, "I just can't do it. God help me."

Ally betrayed no emotions on hearing the older man's confession, which held no surprise for him, and he would not condemn the kind-hearted Wanstead. Sir Henry had done his best, but he was not the man to tame someone like Kate, and never had been. The person for whom Mr. Lavenham reserved his contempt in that regard was Esther St Columb; a selfish, self-obsessed woman who had abandoned her parental duties without a second thought when pleasure beckoned and Kate was in the way. Nor had she ever bothered with her daughter's upbringing--she had laid no foundations in the girl's character to stop her going the way she had. Yet even Esther could not take all the blame away from Kate herself. Ally could not understand her. She was not stupid--she had a very lively intelligence, she knew right from wrong and yet she had acted like a half-wit. A depraved, selfish half-wit, to make matters worse. It took a lot to make Lavenham angry, but it infuriated him that Wanstead should feel so painfully over a choice Kate had deliberately made. It was probably that anger that led him to say what he did next. "Then you can give her to me, sir, as you offered to do last week."

Sir Henry's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "What, you'd marry Kate? Are you insane?" He hastily moved the Madeira bottle out of his guest's reach and stared at him in grave concern. Ally flashed his teeth.

"I have no wish to marry Kate. On the other hand, I have every wish to stop her causing you and Julia any more suffering. She needs to be brought to heel, and I lack your reasons for being unable to do so."

"That is a quite...er...remarkable offer, but I cannot accept it. Marry a girl you don't even like just to discipline her? You'd be touched in your attic!"

"As I said, I wouldn't marry her. She'd be more wretched than even she deserves to be with me for a husband, and I'm not that unkind." His eyes shot to meet Sir Henry's, and a wicked grin lit up his features. "She doesn't know that though."

"I'm not sure I follow you."

Now entirely enthusiastic for his plan, Mr. Lavenham leaned forward and began to wave his hands in an energetic proposition. "There are two choices. The first one is that you tell Kate she has ruined herself entirely--"

"She has!" interjected Sir Henry with feeling.

"...but that fortunately I'm so tender-hearted I am saving her from permanent ruin by marrying her myself. You have accepted on her behalf. She'll scream a bit, but she'll have no choice but to give in. I then have carte blanche to get her to come to her senses, and once that happens I'll repent of my cruelty in forcing her into marriage and let her break it off."

"She'd never agree to it!"

"Then in that case, sir, you tell her that in the absence of your own sons you're letting me step in to keep her in line. We've been brought up almost in the same house; few people would think it odd if I exerted brotherly privileges over her."

"But my dear Ally, I couldn't possibly let you take on Kate! She's a nightmare. You have no idea!"

"I have every idea, I assure you. Remember the duck pond."

This last swayed Sir Henry, but it was his wife's opinion that clinched the matter. Ally having left to await Wanstead's decision, Julia was entirely behind him. It was, she admitted, unorthodox, but orthodox ways would not work in this situation. "You know that neither of us has been successful with her, dear. We have never been strong enough; we give in to our affection for her far too easily. And what else can we do with her except take her out of London, which won't work? I cannot get her to understand how very wrong she is at heart...not just in her actions...and I confess I dread trying with something of this magnitude. Ally's always been better at handling her, and he's not afraid of her. He's the only one who ever dares to laugh at her, after all, and he's right; he has been brought up almost as a brother to her, so nobody would wonder if he intervened. And he won't hurt her, which is the main thing."

Sir Henry repeated that he could not like the idea of Ally taking on such a task, but Julia pooh-poohed this. "If Robbie were here, I would give Kate over to him, but in his absence Ally is the next best. Will hasn't the time, and Dom was always soft-hearted. Besides, even Robbie wouldn't be as good. He'd probably just box her ears and make everything worse. Leave it up to Ally. If he wants to do it I'd let him."

"She'll never agree to marry him!"

"No, she won't, but I suspect he'll ask her anyway," said Lady Wanstead.

* * *

Ally did in fact ask Kate to marry him. Since he must have known perfectly well what her reaction would be, this was an irrational step and one which Kate herself recognized as such. Nor was it a particularly graceful refusal, for the heiress was still in a far from calm state five days after her thwarted elopement. Lady Wanstead had forced her to go to Almacks the night before, where she had endured a miserable evening. The whispering, snide giggling, cold-shouldering and cutting comments she had expected, facing them all down with her haughtiest glare, but nothing could take away the humiliation of a half-empty dance card. Those on the list she would rather not have stood up with at all, but even she could not endure an entire evening sitting out. Her close friends rallied around her to dilute the ordeal, but they too could not forbear voicing their shock at her actions, nor their condemnation. When Harriet Glossop said tentatively, "Do think a little more of those who love you, dearest...and of yourself," she could have burst into tears. Yolanda de St. Cyr, by contrast, told her that if this companion's identity was still not known then he was a nobody and Kate a fool. "For heaven's sake, run off with someone worth it, at least! You are not a lovesick schoolgirl, all this was for nothing!" Too proud to feign a headache, Kate grimly sat out this and everyone else's disgust, only to find her head pounding for real. Rising the next morning in the knowledge that she must endure it all over again that evening at Mrs Holland's, she was in a brittle mood when she received Ally's request for her presence. She thus swept into the library and snapped, "What do you want?"

He rose and looked her over, not a whit abashed by this rude greeting and prepared to enjoy himself. He wished momentarily that he had brought a quizzing glass just to annoy her, although he didn't need one to read her feelings. She was clearly aiming to project a demure image in an immaculate white gown with only a small silver cross around her neck, her hair dressed lower than was the height of fashion. Unfortunately, she had not been able to scrub off the effect of Almacks--she was paler than usual (probably with rage, Ally uncharitably reflected) and there were distinct shadows around her eyes. Her long fingers were already twitching; he gave her a slow, lazy smile and noted with interest that they immediately started to twist around each other. Kate was nervous. He meanly took full advantage, investing his voice with a sinister undertone as he greeted her, "You are too good to spare me some time; I have something very important to say to you."

She was nervous. Her eyes widened at this and he saw the flicker of fear that she hastily suppressed, over-compensating for it by her contemptuous answer, "I hope you've not come to insult me with a proposal of marriage!"

"You know, you really are atrociously bad-mannered, Kate. Is that any way to greet a prospective husband?"

Since the heiress had only half believed that Ally could possibly want to see her for this, she still did not think him serious, and lifted her shoulder. "I'm sure many find you amusing, Ally; forgive me for not being one of them. Did you really want anything or were you at a loose end for entertainment?"

"I'm quite serious." He let the levity go out of his tone then and watched its effect on her. It was fortunate that he had little vanity, since the mingled astonishment, suspicion and horror on her face would have wounded a man who wasn't trying not to laugh. "I would never marry someone like you!"

"Oh, come now, let's not pretend Yeovil was really to your taste."

"At least he wasn't an empty-headed dandy!"

"He wasn't a dandy, at any rate."

She gripped her hands together so tightly that her knuckles shone white. "Nor would he have insulted me with this--this intolerable attitude! How dare you try to make fun of me?"

"Spare me the tragedy airs. You've done more than enough to make fun of yourself."

"I haven't! I have not!"

Revolted by her expression of haughty outrage, Ally mimicked her voice with unkind precision. "See if he doesn't ask me within a sennight!" and watched the revulsion shrink into crimsoned embarrassment.

Kate, whose pride was not always unhealthy, had not expected to be rendered at so complete a disadvantage, and tried to scrape back some dignity. Unfortunately, when she opened her mouth all that came out was an incoherent stammer as she cringed at her words. She was also conscious of having had the rug pulled from beneath her feet by a man she affected to despise. Ally frequently laughed at her, but he was never malicious towards her, and his frequent pretence at being in love with her led her to believe he was fond of her, at least. Whilst not expecting his approval, she had not anticipated that he would deride her by pretending to propose and then throwing her boastfulness in her face; she felt the treacherous lump begin to rise in her throat and tried to smother it by stoking herself to anger. He watched her, not deceived. "You can spare me your tantrums as well. Come now, let's not waste any more time bickering. Will you have me?"

She glared at him and then gasped, "I will not!"

Ally shrugged. "You're a fool, Kitty; nobody else will have you now. And you needn't look daggers at me; you've brought this on yourself. Oh, you may still have access to Almacks and all the hallowed halls, but your reputation is mud. You won't see any of your suitors for dust this season, except the gazetted fortune hunters. How do you plan to rehabilitate yourself--with good works and maidenly behaviour? Do you really think you could stand that for longer than a fortnight?" He moved then as she dashed towards the door, leaning his broad shoulders against it to bar her way. The heiress turned stormy eyes on him and briefly considered whether she could smash the ormolu clock over his head before she exploded with rage, but he gave her a steelier grin than usual. "I wouldn't attempt it, sweetheart."

There was something horribly disorientating about all this, Kate thought. She suddenly seemed to be watching him from a long way off. Certainly something had gone very wrong with her world. She was the darling of the ton, admired and envied, on the brink of a brilliant match that would seal her superiority as Duchess of Yeovil. Surely she was not really ruined and disgraced? This couldn't be happening. She wasn't trapped in the library with that dim-witted dandy tearing her to shreds and then offering to marry her. "I must be dreaming," she muttered faintly, then pushed at him to unblock the door. He didn't move. "I must be dreaming!"

"I'm afraid not."

She wasn't dreaming. She really was ruined, had lost Yeovil and was stuck in the library with Ally. It was hard to know which was worst. She pulled at the door again and hissed, "Let me out of here," but at that he took her by the shoulders. "You and I need to have a talk. Or rather, I need to talk to you. I don't think you understand the situation." He tightened his grip as she squirmed beneath it, by now alarmed at his implacable manner. She could feel his eyes on her and forced herself to glower back. This intensified when he steered her to the chair behind the desk and pushed her into it. He took the other facing her, saying, "You can take your longing eyes from the door; I'll get there before you do. And that paperweight." He removed the heavy, ugly item from her grasp and played with it idly before darting a piercing look at her.

"I'll be frank."

"Unlike previously?" Her tone was acid.

"More so, I trust. Kate, you have a choice ahead of you. You can accept my proposal and be my wife."

"I'd rather go and stay with Aunt Maud," she snarled, confident that this oft-threatened punishment was the alternative.

"As if she'd have you," he said crushingly. "No, you still have me, only this time with your uncle's full blessing to treat you exactly as I used to when you were a brattish little schoolgirl. Exactly as I used to," he added with peculiar emphasis. The relish in his tone was not lost on Kate, who had a horrible flashback to the time he'd picked her up and thrown her into the duck pond after a tantrum. She had been fifteen and the awful ease with which he had tossed her into the water was still branded on her memory. So too was the hilarity of Ally, Dom and Robbie as she had floundered out dripping green slime and howling furious epithets at them. The idea that he might do the equivalent in London struck her with stunning force, and she sprang to her feet.

"You would not dare!"

"Really? You're very welcome to try me," he offered kindly, amused at her outrage.

"You have no right!"

"Your uncle's given me every right I need."

"That's not a choice!"

"Of course it is. Either I make you fit for someone else to marry or you marry me. You should be more grateful; you're ruined and nobody wants you; the best you can hope for in marriage otherwise is with someone like Colley, or Dennis O'Callaghan. Oh, I know you think I'm a stupid dandy with a crooked nose but I'm still a far better match than either of them. "

If anything, this genial explanation staggered her further. She dropped back into her seat like she had been felled, and regarded him as though he had two heads. "You'd ask me to marry you out of pity?"

"Hardly! I've no pity for you, Kitty. You've been spoiled beyond endurance, but even that shouldn't make you cruel enough to run off with another girl's betrothed and shame your family. Nor to sneer at any man who dares to lift his eyes to you, nor to flout every rule you can just because you're rich and beautiful. You've done all that yourself."

She recovered enough to demand why in that case he should want her, but she blanched at his response. "To take you off your uncle's hands so his life is no longer a misery. And because it's high time you learned to behave yourself. You won't get round me like you can your relatives."

"But-but--" She suddenly saw a horrible future ahead, and he nodded in agreement. "Refuse me and you escape me as a husband, but you don't escape me as someone who's going to take you in hand." He leaned across the table and gave her a smile of terrifying cheeriness. "Sneak off to Vauxhall as a man again, and you'll find yourself swimming in the Thames. In the absence of your cousins--who would have locked you in the cellars for all of this, incidentally--your uncle has given me permission to take their place. And I will take it, Kate! You're long overdue a few yanks on the reins."

"I don't believe you," she hissed furiously, then made a dart for the door. As he had promised, he was before her, but the maddened heiress lost her temper. She pounded his chest and screamed at him to get out of the way as Ally reminded himself not to box her ears at this early stage. He cast his eyes around, saw salvation and acted swiftly. Kate, finding herself lifted abruptly off the ground, began to shriek as though she were being killed, assuming he was indeed about to take her to the river and hurl her in. The reality was rather different. He dropped her back into a chair, and before she could react had dashed a large glass of water into her face. Half of this went into her mouth and made her cough frantically and scrabble for her handkerchief, whilst he made no effort at all to help her but just calmly waited until she had stopped, before asking if she had made a decision.

She swallowed hard. The only decision she could make at the moment was to kill Ally Lavenham in the near future for doing this to her. Even if--and she did not admit it--even if she was at fault, nothing excused his actions. Nothing! She considered telling him that she would catch her death, but realized he would laugh in earnest at that and abandoned the idea. Her mind also fleetingly wondered if she should accept his proposal before publicly humiliating him and breaking it off. Again, she dismissed it. She had a nasty feeling that he would refuse to accept a jilting. But the alternative was every bit as outrageous. The ton would surely forgive her latest escapade, and Miss Tillman need not find out, so to have Ally breathing down her neck was wickedly unfair. She shot him a look from under her lashes, but this new, rather intimidating Ally looked exactly the same as the old one; the smile that always looked mischievous, the dark face that should have been very handsome but wasn't because of his most notable feature, that broken nose. Only the determination in his eyes gave away that he wasn't the idiot she liked to think him.

"Kitty?"

Recalled to herself, she kept a tight grip on herself but could not sound anything other than livid as she gave her decision. "Don't call me Kitty! I am never going to accept a proposal of marriage from you."

He was insultingly unoffended. "Then we know where we stand. You needn't look so murderous! If you behave yourself as you should, you'll never have to see me."

"I'll do as I please," snapped Kate, off her balance and hearing to her annoyance that she sounded about twelve. His grin widened until he went from Puckish to devilish.

"Then I look forward to throwing you in the river at the earliest opportunity." He picked up his hat, bowed to her and left the room with a provocative wave of his hand.

Behind him the heiress behaved rather oddly. She stood breathing unevenly in the centre of the room for a few moments, then caught sight in the mirror of her wet hair plastered to her face, giving a small shriek and frantically smoothing it down as she did so. When she had finished she continued to gaze at the glass, but she was not admiring her reflection. Her brow creased and she bit her lip. Before long, she heard her rejected swain make his descent from what must have been a meeting with her Uncle Henry; Kate moved swiftly to the window and watched Ally stride energetically off in the Clarges Street direction. He didn't turn his head as he passed the library, but she saw him wave a hand to greet an acquaintance as he vanished from view. Her hand went back to her disordered hair and she looked down at where the water had landed on her dress. The expression on her face changed from furious to confused; her eyes flew to the hated ormulu clock but she did not touch it, and instead stared unseeingly into the mirror until her worried aunt came to find her.

Chapter Three

The story of her treatment at Ally's hands was not one that Kate would have liked to hear spread around London. Still firmly in defiance of society's disapproval and using her money, status and looks to forge her way through in spite of all the shocked matrons, she did not want people to hear that Lavenham had set himself up as her moral guardian. Nor did she make the mistake of turning it into a jest. She was deeply offended and angry, but if she made his extraordinary declaration public he would probably feel obliged to live up to it. Her hope was that his temporary madness would subside and he would go back to leaving her alone whilst he concentrated on his neck cloths or how shiny his boots were.

To her aunt and uncle she had said firmly that Ally had lost his mind and proposed to her, at which her aunt had assumed an oddly sly smile. Her uncle had merely grunted, still furious with her, but she had caught him making eye contact with his wife over dinner, both apparently sharing a single thought. She was uneasy. She had not dared confront Sir Henry over granting Ally permission to treat her like a sister, since she was concerned Henry would bring Ally back and force a marriage through there and then. Since her uncle controlled her fortune and would do for another two years, she reluctantly recognized that to that extent she was indeed in his power.

That said, her own sense of outrage and injustice had not dwindled since the day she had been brought back from Welwyn. Mr. Sommers was the villain, surely, yet nobody had said a word about his conduct; indeed, nobody except her uncle knew about it. And Ally, she remembered hotly, given his accusation to her. It was wickedly unfair! Of course she had never meant to hurt Mary Tillman; Kate never wittingly hurt any of her contemporaries. All she had done had been to teach Mr.. Sommers how presumptuous and foolish he had been, and suddenly she was in disgrace! Not to mention that the whole world had lined up to tell her she was haughty, proud, conceited, uncaring and so on. She didn't understand it. She knew her worth in society, naturally, but that was all. How anyone could say she was lofty was beyond her. Wasn't she always ready to join in with the high spirits? To start the fun? She was popular but that was all. Kate, recalling some of Wanstead's harsher words in the carriage home, was genuinely hurt that he could see her in such a light, but she did not wonder whether he was right to do so.

She expressed this opinion to Harriet Glossop on a particularly doleful morning. It was over a week since Ally had made his threat to her, but London was still dreary. The disapproval had not vanished, as she had confidently expected it to, her dance cards still languished for partners, and she was not enjoying herself at all. Mrs. Glossop was not surprised. "Things like this can stay with you for years, Kate. You are fortunate compared to some. You have your title and your money to protect you from being completely cast out; by next year you'll be back in favour. Some people never have a second chance."

"Next year! I can't put up with another week of this!"

"This is nothing," Harriet warned, with her calm good sense. "What a risk you ran, darling! You're in disgrace now, but whoever your mystery man was, he could have done a great deal worse to you than that." She saw that this had not occurred to the impulsive Kate, and pressed her advantage. "You'll survive. Others are much worse off. Look at poor Yolanda."

This was undeniable. Madame de St. Cyr had been married off at sixteen to an elderly count. Three years on, with no heir forthcoming, he had told his wife that he had no interest in what she did, so long as he need not have to bother with her. Yolanda, simultaneously afflicted by a doomed infatuation with William Crewe, had plunged into a series of scandals and affairs, with an accompanying rapid decline in reputation. Her wit and her attractions guaranteed her a place in society, but she no longer frequented Almacks or the more exclusive houses, and there was no mistaking the fact that she was permanently, desperately unhappy and sunk beneath reproach in many eyes.

Since comparison to Yolanda, whose friendship was another cause of gossip about her, made Kate cautious, she changed the direction of her conversation and admitted to Harriet that Ally Lavenham had proposed marriage to her. This was received in an astonishing manner; Harriet's rosy face lit up as if delighted. "Oh, but this is wonderful, Kate! And you never said, you naughty thing...oh, of all the good fortune...but has he been in love with you for long?"

Kate felt her eyes almost bulge with horror. "Harriet! Of course he's not in love with me!" But Mrs. Glossop was not listening. "This is wonderful! I'm so happy for you--when will the wedding be? Will you move into Brook Street? I hear his house there is not large, but perhaps he will not mind moving somewhere larger..."

"Harriet!" shrieked her friend in dismay, thinking she had run mad. "You didn't think I'd accept him?"

Harriet's blue eyes widened. "But Kate, why on earth not?"

"Ally? That...that idiot!"

"Nonsense. You know very well he's nothing of the kind."

"He's a dandy!"

"He is not," said Harriet calmly, beginning to look at the agitated Kate with more than usual curiosity. The heiress, feeling herself backed into a corner, fished around for reasons that would make Harriet grasp what should have been obvious. "He's hideous!"

There was a pause as Harriet took this in, before she spoke in the tones she used when rebuking her children. "Kate, I have heard you say several scurrilous things about Ally before today, but that is ridiculous. He is not in the slightest bit hideous or stupid. He's a very attractive man with a lot of charm and a great deal of sense. Since you used to think the same, I have to wonder what's changed your opinion so drastically." She sat back to watch the effect of this and then continued, "I thought so," in satisfied tones.

"Harriet! That is absolutely not true! I admit I used to...to think well of him." She ignored Harriet's snort. "That was years ago. He was nice enough when he was a boy, but he changed when he grew older and is now most disagreeable. And ugly," she added firmly. "In my opinion."

Harriet, fascinated by this suspicious behaviour and not realizing what lay behind it, observed that she thought they would do very well together, being taken aback when Kate's beautiful face screwed up in genuine wretchedness. "Kate? Are you all right?" A sudden thought struck her that rejected suitors were not always the most gallant of men. "What did he say to you when you refused him?"

Although she had not meant to tell Harriet of this shameful episode, Kate couldn't help herself. "He said I was...oh, all manner of awful things! He said I was proud, and conceited, and was cruel to Miss--to others, bringing shame on my uncle and aunt." Her tone failed to achieve the airiness she strove for; she sounded miserable, albeit not repentant.

"Ah," was Harriet's only comment, since she had no intention of telling the heiress that Lavenham's assessment was wrong. Kate looked momentarily stricken as she realized this, but she could not face her closest friend backing up Ally and did not pursue it. "He said I could either have him as a husband, or as a-a guard dog. Uncle Henry's told him he can treat me as though he were Robbie, or Will, because we grew up together so nobody would mind!" She shuddered. "He threw me in the duck pond once."

"Really? What on earth were you doing?"

She bit back the urge to deny wrong-doing and admitted that she had thrown a tantrum. "But I was only fifteen! He just hurled me in like a bag of flour!"

Mrs. Glossop put her hand up to hide her mouth and managed only a choked, "Dear me!"

"It was not funny, Harriet!"

"No, dearest," agreed Harriet, beginning to giggle helplessly, at which Kate's mouth began to work as well.

"I could have caught a horrible cold." Harriet abandoned her efforts to stop and lay back in the chair, laughing until her sides ached. Even the outraged heiress could not help but join in at that; she began to giggle, then laughed openly. "How I howled at him! I was so angry! There was disgusting green slime in my hair, and all over my dress. Then I stamped my foot at him and slipped on the slime...it was like a farce in the theatre!" She quietened down. "He was very kind about it afterwards. He picked me up and made sure I hadn't hurt myself, although he got covered in slime himself. He didn't apologize though."

"It sounds as though you deserved it!"

"Harriet!" Kate seized her friend's wrist and a note of pleading entered her voice. "He says if I do anything scandalous he'll do it again...he says," she choked on her humiliation, "I need to have my reins yanked and that he'll do it if I don't behave myself because my uncle won't."

"So behave yourself," suggested Harriet. "Kate, we're not fifteen any more. All this running off to Vauxhall and racing to Newmarket...when has it ever made anyone happy? Why do you do it? You could have had anyone you wanted if you'd just brought yourself under control. If having Ally watching over you makes you learn that, you'll be far happier in the long run of things."

"But he'll pitch me in the river," wailed the heiress. "Harriet, I-I--" She gave up. She could not bring herself to admit to the grand finale Ally had played in the library with the glass of water; Mrs. Glossop would undoubtedly find it entertaining and fail to understand her reaction. She had never come up against anyone whose will was stronger than hers; she felt as though Ally had revealed himself (the duck pond notwithstanding) as a wolf in sheep's clothing. She also felt she had been tricked into an impossible situation. If she defied him and he found out, she had no doubt he would make good his promise to punish her; nor was she entirely sure that he wouldn't throw her into the Thames. On the other hand, if she obeyed him--and her pride rose up in instant rebellion--the whole of London would eventually find out that she had been frightened into behaving herself by the most amiable dandy in town. He would be intolerable towards her. She would have to endure even more evenings like Almacks, only this time as a laughing stock. And the gossips would say she was in love with him! She could not bear the thought of it, but at the same time she knew some trepidation thinking back to that implacable Ally in the library. She turned beseeching eyes on Harriet, who entirely misunderstood and said, "Why, Kate, you're surely not afraid of him! Of Ally?", and thus unwittingly sealed Kate's fate. Realizing that this would be the incredulous response of everyone in London, but not so charitably voiced, she baulked and vowed to herself at that moment that she would not give in to his preposterous threat. She would do, as she had told him, exactly as she pleased. And if she was ruined already, she might as well cast off any restraint and do the thing properly with some genuinely shocking behaviour.

* * *

Given her frame of mind, it was doubly unfortunate that the next friend to call on Kate was exceedingly well placed to wreak as much havoc as anyone could wish for. Yolanda de St. Cyr swished past a subtly disapproving butler in a rustle of vivid scarlet that was almost as shocking as her conduct. She was a tall, thin, dark girl of twenty-two, who made a considerably more convincing man than Kate, and in other circumstances Lady Wanstead would have forbidden her the house and her niece's friendship. However, whilst Julia did not invite Yolanda to her select parties, she was not prepared to ban one of Kate's oldest friends from visiting, admitting ruefully that Yolanda could not in all fairness be made a scapegoat for her niece's ability to misbehave.

Her opening speech was typical of her. "What is this nonsense with sitting out like a wallflower whilst everyone sneers at you? Pah! How can you endure it? It's ridiculous. This entire town is full of hypocrites and sanctimonious idiots!" She waved away the tea in disgust and asked for wine. "You are being pilloried for a stupid little mistake."

From Yolanda's perspective this was true. Having herself once been dragged forcibly out of another man's chambers by a jealous lover (if rumour was true, which it usually was with Yolanda), going to Welwyn and home again seemed laughably tame. After so many days facing relentless disapproval, it was a relief to find someone who wasn't entirely condemnatory, but Mme. de St. Cyr was too impatient to follow one vein for long in a conversation and rapidly veered in a new direction. "Yeovil--you are well out of being his wife, Kate! That fat old bore," she unconsciously echoed Ally, "the most pompous man in London. You would be screaming to escape after a week! No, no, let him go, I dare swear you are much better without him. You're lucky you don't need a husband. Not that anyone will ask for a while," she finished with her usual brutal candour.

Kate returned the frankness with glee. "You're wrong; Hatteridge offered for me yesterday."

"Hatteridge!" Yolanda gave a shriek. "Oh, Kate, now you know you're truly sunk! That rake! Oh dear, what did your uncle say?"

"Well, I suspect he didn't say yes." Mme. de St. Cyr sniggered. "And last week Ally Lavenham made me probably the worst proposal I've ever heard and I didn't say yes!"

Yolanda bounded bolt upright and demanded to know everything in an astonished tone, which soon gave way to unbridled mirth as her friend recounted the proposal in the most unflattering light she could give it. This was not as unflattering as the light in which Yolanda apparently saw it, however, for at the recital's end she was in fits and managed, "I never knew he was mad before! That man has ducked the most determined of girls, and now he voluntarily puts his head in the noose, and with you!"

"I'm not that awful," Kate protested, disconcerted, at which her friend patted her arm whilst continuing to giggle.

"Kate, any normal man would strangle you within a fortnight. If you deigned to let him touch you to start with, that is!" She saw Kate's expression and shook her head, amused. "You cannot deny it, my dear; you make Mrs.. Drummond Burrell look over familiar, and your temper's even worse than mine! You're not as wicked in your behaviour, of course, but then who is?"

"Yolanda, I never thought you would agree with him!"

Mme. de St. Cyr's great dark eyes widened and blinked. "Why not? Do you think I would deny it if someone told me I was scandalous and liked my own way? It is true, after all. But that does not give them the right to correct how I choose to behave!" She pondered. "What a peculiar thing to do. Why would Ally ask you to marry him? He doesn't need your money and I can't see why else he'd overlook all this scandal. Unless he's madly in love with you?"

Kate swallowed her tea too hurriedly and broke into coughing. "Hardly!"

"Shame," shrugged Yolanda. "It would soothe my wounded pride if he were. I've been trying to sink my claws into Ally for years."

"Yolanda!"

The Comtesse gave her a fleeting smile. "It's probably as well I didn't if he's going to be so stuffy towards you. He grew up with you, didn't he? Perhaps he is trying to help your uncle. What a sacrifice to make! He must be very fond of Sir Henry!" The eyes narrowed wickedly, but Harriet's embarrassing assumption of Kate's affections did not occur to Yolanda, whose own attitude towards love and marriage was infinitely more cynical than that of Mrs. Glossop. "The question is, what do you mean to do now? Will you let Ally act the dictator and turn into a meek girl in pearls?"

"Certainly not! It's been hopelessly dreary already, and Yolanda, I don't think I could be meek even if I wanted to! I was watching Patience Baldrine last night, whom everyone praises to the skies, and she was so dull. It's like being with a martyr! She wouldn't even touch the food at supper until everyone else had had some, and it took half an hour to persuade her to the piano with all her die-away airs." Kate's tone was astringent; she did not appreciate sham modesty. "I'd rather die than have to behave like that!"

"Maybe Ally was simply making an empty threat?" Yolanda suggested. "He must have known you wouldn't accept him; you're always saying what a blockhead he is. You know what men are, thinking their word is law and that all they need do is order us to be instantly obeyed."

Much though Kate would have liked to accept this point of view, she knew immediately that she could not. He had definitely meant it, she insisted. He had even dared to look as though he would enjoy it. Her friend shrugged this off. "Pooh! What's the worst he can do? He would not dare to beat you, no matter what he might say. A thundering scold is probably the most you would get. What else is there?"

"There's the duck pond." This necessitated an explanation to Mme. de St. Cyr, who laughed almost as much as Harriet, before pointing out that there were not duck ponds near enough for this to happen again.

"He would have to carry you to the Serpentine, or St. James's; stay away from them and you cannot be in any danger! He would be arrested if he dragged you screaming down the street to the nearest pond! No, no, my dear Kate, this is an idle threat. You have to learn to ignore this masculine posturing. If he shouts at you, laugh at him. What right has he to tell you how to behave? He is not your brother or your husband! Your uncle may let him act as your keeper, but you do not have to. I am surprised at you even thinking otherwise!"

This bracing speech made Kate perk up. There was considerable truth in what Yolanda said, and she was surprised she had not realized this earlier. After all, a gentleman really had very little recourse when the lady he wished to discipline was not his wife or his relation. The more she thought about it, the more she saw that social conventions would considerably hamper Ally in his efforts. He could do nothing to her in public, whilst even in private he would be limited to shouting at her and being cutting. As for his expressed desire to beat her, that was for rough drunkards and not the likes of Lavenham, whilst her uncle would certainly intervene if matters went that far. Without the threat of the duck pond, it was therefore difficult to see what a dandy could possibly do to her that could make her bow meekly to his will. Besides, she was not exactly helpless. Patience Baldrine might faint in horror at the idea of fighting back against anyone, but Kate was made of sterner stuff. If Lavenham laid one finger on her, she would scream blue murder until someone came to her aid. In fact, she would take great pleasure in doing so and thus make him as scandalous as she was herself.

Mme. de St. Cyr watched the smile playing on her friend's lips and raised her black brows in amusement. "I knew you wouldn't stay crushed for too long," she remarked, "and a very good thing too. There are far too many Patience Baldrines in town as it is! Now, since you have no fear of Ally spoiling your fun, what say you to an evening of cards?"

Kate smoothed down her muslin skirts and feigned an expression of innocence. "You mean penny whist?"

"But of course!" Yolanda burst out laughing. "Or, if you would rather, we can go to Mrs. Matthews' house on Little St. James's Street next Wednesday. She is very discreet. It will just be a light supper and a few friends...Cadogan, Hursley, Lady Thornhill....you know the set."

Her large blue eyes widened and began to dance. "I have an engagement at Mrs. Cunningham's that evening, I believe."

"Oh, what a shame," Yolanda commiserated. "To have a headache at Mrs. Cunningham's and have to leave early!"

"Yes, and with my aunt not there to take me home! One might almost say it was Fate. She detests Mrs. Cunningham," Kate added wickedly, "so will let my Aunt Lucretia take me instead. And since Aunt Lucretia is as vicious as Mrs. Cunningham, she'll be quite happy to let me leave by myself."

Madame squeezed her hand in a rare gesture of affection. "Wear your brightest jewels. You won't be in disgrace in that house!"

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