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work, Lord Winterton?’

      James shook his head, the heady world of art a long way from anything he’d ever been interested in. ‘But I am sure he will capture your likeness with alacrity.’

      The girl’s face fell. ‘Well, in truth he tends to embellish things with his own interpretation, though Papa says he cannot imagine the man wanting to do so with us.’

      ‘Because perfection cannot be improved upon?’ He heard the tone of irony quite plainly in his voice, but Julia Heron simply trilled and blushed, her hand tightening around his as her glance came fully upon him.

      His heart sank further. He would need to be careful if he were to escape the gossip so often associated with these soirées and emanating from even the simplest of familiarities.

      His fortune had singled him out now as highly sought after husband material and if beneath his clothes there lay deeper shades of tragedy no one else here knew of it.

      The older Herons were watching them closely, another younger daughter of the same ilk beside them glowering at her sister. When the dance brought them together again Julia had a further question waiting.

      ‘Are you here in London long, my lord?’

      ‘Just for the next few weeks, I think, Miss Heron. I am hoping to move west.’

      ‘To Atherton Abbey?’

      ‘I see you have heard the rumour.’

      ‘Who has not, Lord Winterton, for the Abbey is said to be one of the loveliest homes in all of Herefordshire as well as one of the most expensive.’

      James gritted his teeth and smiled, glad as the complexity of the quadrille pushed them apart again, though the other woman on one point of the square was unexpected and he tensed as he saw her visage.

      Lady Maria Hale-Burton, now the new Lady Warrenden, smiled at him politely. She was taller than her sister and much more rounded. Her hair was darker, too. He waited to see if in private she might mention the plight of her sibling in connection with him, but she did not, chancing instead on a mundane and social propriety.

      ‘I hope you are enjoying your return to London after so long away, my lord.’ Her voice was soft and carried a slight lisp.

      ‘I am, thank you. It was good to see your husband again. We were at school together.’

      She was about to answer, but the change in the figure took him back to Julia Heron who claimed his arm in the final flurry of the dance, her colour high and her smile wide with enjoyment.

      Accompanying the girl back to her parents he gave her his thanks and went to find Roy Warrenden, grateful to see the Baron sitting at a table with a bottle of wine before him and a number of empty glasses, though he was in full conversation with another James had no knowledge of. Maria Warrenden now joined them, brought back to her husband on the arm of an older man whom she promptly thanked. As her dancing partner left she sat down and made her own observations.

      ‘Roy said you led him astray more than once, Lord Winterton, but your presence here has made his night. He is usually desperate to get home early.’ She laughed heartily, a joyous natural sound that was nothing at all like Julia Heron’s practised society giggle.

      ‘Are your parents here tonight, Lady Warrenden?’ He’d looked around the room before just in case the visage of Florentia Hale-Burton’s father should be peering back at him, his face full of violent memory, and had been relieved to see no sign of the man.

      ‘No, I am afraid they seldom venture far from Albany Manor in Kent any more. Papa suffers from bad health, you see, and Mama feels it her duty to be there to wipe his brow.’

      ‘A woman of responsibility, then?’

      ‘Or one who enjoys playing the martyr?’ Close up the resemblance between Maria Warrenden and her sister was more noticeable and he found himself observing her with interest even as Roy Warrenden stood and clapped him on the back.

      ‘It’s good to have you in England, Winter. I saw that my wife managed to find you in the quadrille. She said she was going to try.’ His glance went further afield. ‘I should probably warn you that the Misses Heron are fairly overwhelming and are not ones to take no for an answer lightly either.’

      Glancing over, James was concerned to see them all looking his way, eyes full of the hope of more than he had offered them.

      Maria laughed at their interest. ‘The Heron girls are handsome, granted, but if I was a man I should not wish to wake up to only beauty each morning.’

      Her husband concurred. ‘No, indeed not, my love. Beauty and brains is what you are after, Winter, and the ability to be entertained for every moment of your life. Miss Heron looked particularly chatty in your company?’

      ‘She was telling me of a portrait she is having done by Mr Frederick Rutherford. Seems the artist holds a reputation here that is more than salutary and he has been commissioned to paint the three sisters.’

      Lady Warrenden choked on the drink she had just taken a sip of, but it was the look of consternation in her eyes that was the most arresting.

      ‘The man is indeed talented.’ Roy had now taken up the conversation and James had the idea it was to give his wife time to recover her equilibrium. ‘But I doubt the Herons will entice the fellow to London, for from my knowledge Rutherford does not do sittings in person.’

      ‘No, he certainly does not.’ Maria Warrenden was shaking. James could see the tremble of her hands as she placed the glass down on the table, though she immediately dropped them into the thick fabric of her skirt and out of sight. ‘He would be appalled at such an idea, believe me, Viscount Winterton, and I cannot understand how they could think such a thing might happen.’

      ‘You sound as though you know him well?’

      The woman shook her head. ‘Only a little,’ she returned and changed the subject entirely. ‘We will be walking in Hyde Park tomorrow, my lord. Perhaps you might wish to accompany us for the foliage of the trees there this spring is particularly beautiful.’

      The past seemed to collide with the present and James shook his head. ‘I am out of town tomorrow, I am afraid.’

      ‘Of course.’ Maria Warrenden looked uncertain. He would have liked to have asked her of the health of her sister, but could find no way to broach the subject. Perhaps if he met Roy alone one day he could bring her up in a roundabout sort of way. He had no mandate to be truly interested and besides Florentia Hale-Burton could have no wish ever to meet up with him again if the scale of the scandal that had ensued at their last meeting was anything to go by.

      He wondered if the youngest Hale-Burton daughter was married and had a family now. He wondered if she was happy...

      * * *

      Her sister came to her room late that evening, having returned from the Allans’ ball full of a bustling gossip.

      ‘Lord Winterton graced the ball this evening, Florentia, and the Heron girls were all over him, though in truth I did not see him complaining. I think he had danced with each of them by the end of the evening.’

      ‘Winterton is the Viscount newly home from the Americas?’ Flora had heard of the man, of course. He was the newest and most interesting addition to the ton, a soldier who had made his fortune in the acquisition of timbers from the east coast and transported them back to London.

      ‘That’s the one and he is every bit as beautiful as they all say him to be. It’s his eyes, I think, a true clear and pale green. You would love to paint him, Flora, but that’s not my only news. No, indeed, my greatest morsel is that the oldest Heron girl, Miss Julia, apparently told Winterton that Mr Frederick Rutherford would be painting all three daughters at their town house in Portland Square across the next few weeks.’

      Florentia put down her book. A true clear and pale green and every bit as beautiful as they say he is. The world tilted slightly and went out of focus, so much so that one of her hands

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