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out to him, and his manners were exquisite. If he had been paying his addresses to Constance Graham or any of the other young ladies, he would have said good luck to him. But Lavinia—no. And was that fair? Lavinia’s happiness was all that should matter.

      James did not like where his thoughts were taking him and, pushing them from his mind, walked over to talk to his stepmother. ‘They make a handsome couple, do they not?’ he said, endeavouring to keep his voice neutral.

      ‘Yes, but I am a little uneasy. What do you know of him, James?’

      ‘Nothing at all. After his brother, Henry, introduced us at college, I never saw him again until yesterday. I really cannot vouch for him.’

      ‘Could he be a fortune-hunter? The Duke is so busy nowadays, I do not like to worry him, but it means I must be extra-vigilant on his behalf…’

      ‘Would you like me to make some enquiries?’

      ‘Could you? He has asked to take her riding tomorrow and I could not withhold my consent for no reason, could I?’

      ‘No, but I assume she will be chaperoned. And the town is so packed with people they will be in someone’s view the whole time. Besides, if he is looking to the main chance, he will not do anything to compromise that, will he?’

      ‘No, you are right, but all the same, I would be happier if you were to accompany them.’

      ‘Me? You mean me to play the chaperon, Mama?’

      ‘Please.’

      ‘Lavinia will not like it.’

      ‘I am sorry for that, but I will have her protected from her own folly.’

      ‘Very well,’ he agreed, but he was not happy about it.

      At a quarter past ten the following morning, Lavinia, dressed in a lightweight blue riding habit, nipped into her tiny waist and frogged with silver braid, tripped lightly down the stairs. She sent a servant to the mews to ask Tom Bagshott, one of the grooms, to bring her mare, Misty, to the front of the house.

      Riding out with a young man escorted by Tom was nothing unusual; over the last three years there had been many young men of the ton anxious to be seen with her and it amused her to set one against the other with a little flirtatious teasing, but today was different. Today there was a sense of anticipation which made her a little breathless, heightened the colour in her cheeks and caused her eyes to sparkle. She was aware of it and yet she did not want to admit that it was because Edmund Wincote had asked her to ride with him.

      After all, she told herself, what was he but another young man, one of many trying their luck with the Duke of Loscoe’s daughter? Not for the first time, she longed to be a simple country girl, someone who did not have to think about dowries and marriage settlements and fortune-hunters. She wished she could be sure that any young man paying court to her did it out of love.

      But if the young man in question was himself rich enough for such things not to count with him, then did it mean she could accept his assurances and allow herself to fall in love? But that was silly, one did not allow oneself to fall in love, it just happened, didn’t it? You could not control it. And wasn’t she rushing ahead too fast? She had only met Lord Wincote three days before and not by the wildest leap of imagination could she say she knew him.

      She had no idea of his likes and dislikes over food, art and literature, whether he was kind or unkind, passionate or dispassionate. But those dark mesmeric eyes were deep enough to hide great passions, she was sure of it, and mysterious enough to hold her in thrall. But how did he truly feel about her in his heart? Standing before a long mirror in the hall, she smiled at herself as she set a plumed riding hat on her chestnut mane; time would tell and, in the meantime, she would enjoy herself.

      She heard a knock at the door reverberating through the hall, and only just managed not to run and open it herself. Instead, she turned and went into the drawing room to wait as calmly as she could for Lord Wincote to be announced.

      However, it was not Lord Wincote but the Earl of Corringham who entered the room, doffed his tall hat and swept her a bow. ‘My lady, your servant.’

      She laughed. ‘Why the formality, Corringham?’

      ‘It seemed the thing to do, seeing I am here as a formality…’

      ‘Formality?’

      ‘Yes, the Duchess has asked me to be your chaperon this morning.’

      ‘She never has! You are making it up.’

      ‘I am not making it up and, believe me, it was not an errand I sought or wanted, but she asked me and I could not say no, could I?’ He had managed to find nothing against Wincote and ought not to judge him on instinct alone; his instinct could very well be at fault. On the other hand, the Duchess’s rarely was.

      ‘But why? Tom Bagshott always accompanies me when I ride out. Mama has always been happy about that before.’

      ‘I believe the Duke had an errand for Tom this morning.’

      ‘But why you? There are other servants.’

      ‘My lady, you have cut me to the quick. Am I such a monster that you do not want to be seen out with me? You were ready enough when you wanted to drive my phaeton.’

      She leaned back and surveyed him from head to toe. He was dressed in a riding coat of Bath cloth and breeches in the softest tan buckskin tucked into his riding boots. His neckcloth was purest white and tied in a mathematical knot which filled the space between the top of his yellow waistcoat and his smooth, firm chin.

      Any young lady would be proud to be seen with him and she was no exception. If it had been anyone but Lord Wincote she was going riding with she would have welcomed him; she might even have invited him to accompany her. But she sensed he and Lord Wincote did not like each other though, as far as she could tell, there was no cause for it. Instead of having a pleasant ride with amusing conversation, they would be trying to score points off one another and she would be pig in the middle.

      ‘I am sorry, James, I love to ride with you and you know it, but I cannot help thinking there is something smoky going on.’

      ‘Not from me there is not. Nor Mama. If you have a bad conscience—’

      ‘I certainly do not!’ They both heard the door knocker at that moment, though neither moved. ‘I am going out riding with Lord Wincote. You may come if you please, I cannot stop you, but should you say one word to spoil it, I shall never forgive you.’

      ‘I will remain as silent as the grave.’

      ‘And that will not do either. You will have Lord Wincote think you are sulking. Try to behave naturally.’

      He executed an exaggerated leg, denoting his acquiescence without actually saying anything, just as the butler opened the door and announced Lord Wincote.

      He strode in, smiling unctuously, and bowed. ‘Lady Lavinia.’

      ‘You are punctual, my lord.’ She held out her hand which he took.

      ‘No doubt that is down to impatience to be in your company again, my lady.’ He glanced round, noticing James for the first time, and his expression darkened momentarily. ‘Corringham, good morning.’

      James inclined his head. ‘Wincote.’

      Lavinia looked from one to the other and her heart sank. If this coldness was what she had to put up with for the next couple of hours, it was going to be hard work instead of fun. ‘Mama has asked James to accompany us,’ she told Edmund, deciding to make the best of it. ‘I shall be the envy of the ton, having two such agreeable escorts.’

      James smiled at her. It was a friendly smile, which told her he approved of the way she was handling it and would not let her down. At least, that is what he meant to convey. As long as Wincote acted in a gentlemanly fashion and Lavinia behaved with decorum, he would remain in the background, difficult as it would be. At least he

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