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A fig for that! Arabella's main concern was Francis's happiness, though she would like to see Serena happy, too.

One evening in late January, as she and Serena sat together sewing, Arabella said, "I expect we will see Francis here any day."

Serena looked up, with more alarm and pallor than Arabella expected. "Do you truly think so? I thought he would have forgotten about me by now."

"Hardly likely," said Arabella dryly. "I doubt there's a man has ever set eyes on you and forgotten about you, gel."

Serena colored. "I do not seek to attract attention, Arabella."

"Know you don't, but you do. And Francis will be back. What plans have you made?"

The girl looked stricken. "Of course, you wouldn't want me here forever...."

"Would, in fact," said Arabella gruffly. "Very pleasant to have around. But it's not natural, a young thing like you."

"I know."

"You want to hide here, but that's no solution."

"You've hidden here all your life," said Serena rebelliously. "Why is it different for me?"

"Hidden?" Arabella snorted. "Nonsense! Took a great deal of courage to decide I wouldn't marry, that I'd live here on my own. Offends people greatly that I like to make my own decisions, take responsibility for my own actions. I expect you wish to do the same."

Serena sighed. "I have been thinking about it. The only respectable position open to me is companion, so if you will help me to such a position, I will begin to take care of myself."

No mention of marriage, or of Francis, Arabella noted. "A suitable plan, though I will miss you, my dear. I'm sure if I put my mind to it, I can think of an employer who will appreciate your kind heart."

Arabella applied herself to the task. She was reluctant to speed Serena's departure, but she didn't think this aimless life suited her guest very well. Serena was looking a little haggard these days. So Arabella wrote some letters, but when no ideal replies arrived, she didn't send out another batch. Instead, in February, she raised an alternate plan.

"Perhaps we ought to take you somewhere more sociable, gel, before you settle into a life of drudgery. Bath, perhaps, or Tunbridge Wells."

"No!" exclaimed Serena. "My brothers!"

"You can't hide all your life, gel! I assure you, with me by your side, they won't be up to mischief. You deserve a little holiday, and you need to meet other young people, other young men."

"There is no point in matchmaking, Arabella," Serena said stonily. "No one is going to want to marry me."

"Every male who sets eyes on you wants to marry you."

Serena flashed her a cynical, all-too-knowing look. "No, they don't."

Arabella felt herself turning red. "They'll pay for it with marriage, then."

She saw Serena shudder. "My husband paid thirty thousand guineas for it."

"Oh, my dear...." Arabella found herself bereft of words. Years ago, she had deliberately turned her back on ignorance, and certainly didn't consider herself naive, but sometimes a look in Serena's eyes made her feel as innocent as a babe.

"Has it turned you off marriage, dear? Not that I ever thought much of the institution," she continued trenchantly. "Form of slavery, if you ask me, though most women seem eager for the shackles. Of course, there are children to consider. There don't seem any way to stop men and women from making babies, and we wouldn't want to leave the innocents to be victims..." To her alarm, she saw tears swell in Serena's beautiful eyes, hidden a moment later by a trembling hand.

"Oh, Lord, what have I said now? Here now, gel, don't start crying.... I won't bully you anymore..."

Serena pulled the hand away. "Arabella, I... I think I'm... with child!"

Arabella was struck dumb. Of all the many disasters she had imagined, this—amazingly—had never occurred to her.

"Whose?"

"I don't want to say."

"Can you say?" Serena's look of shocked hurt almost had Arabella in tears. "Oh, I'm sorry, child. Don't look like that. But you have to tell me...." Then it struck her. "Good God. It's Francis's, isn't it?"

Serena's face gave the answer.

Arabella surged to her feet. "The
wretch!
To treat you so, then abandon you with never a word."

Serena leapt up, too. "Oh, no, Arabella, you don't understand!"

"Do I not?" Arabella's eyes spoke of battle. "I understand perfectly, and that young man will be back here to do his duty!"

"
No
!" shrieked Serena.

Arabella put her hands on her hips. "What do you intend, then? To make that poor innocent child a bastard?"

Serena put her hands over the slight bulge of her abdomen, looking horrified.

"That's your choice, gel. Marry the father or curse the child."

Tears burst out and trickled down the young woman's cheeks, then fell to stain the brown wool of her dress. They did not detract from her beauty at all, though. She gave a shuddering sigh as if her heart were breaking. "If Lord Middlethorpe is willing to marry me," she whispered, "I will agree."

Arabella bit back the caustic words that came to mind. "Excellent. Now sit down and take care of yourself. Drink some milk or something. I'm going to write a letter."

* * *

Francis was at last enjoying himself.

Lucien de Vaux, Marquess of Arden, had not allowed marriage to change his winter habits and was keeping open house at his father's magnificent hunting box on the outskirts of Melton. The Duke of Belcraven's "box" had twelve bedchambers and all the luxuries one could hope for.

The guests came and went—Stephen Ball, for example, took his position as member of parliament very seriously and frequently returned to London on affairs of state—but there was a nucleus of eight: Francis, Lucien, his wife Beth, Con Somerford, Miles Cavanagh, Miles's extraordinary ward Felicity, Hal Beaumont, and his mistress, Blanche Hardcastle.

It was a household that raised a lot of eyebrows, even among the male society of the hunting season.

A gentleman did not generally admit a woman of loose morals into a house that contained his wife, but in this case the matter was worse. Blanche Hardcastle, the woman of loose morals—who would have leveled anyone bold enough to so describe her—had been Lucien de Vaux's acknowledged mistress for four years before his marriage.

Blanche and Beth Arden were the greatest of friends and shared a passionate interest in women's rights. They frequently took a united stand against the wary marquess and his friends.

Hal Beaumont was assiduously trying to persuade the beautiful actress to marry him. She was firmly refusing, though it was clear to all that she loved the one-armed major deeply.

Francis was accustomed enough to this strange situation to no longer be surprised, but he
was
surprised that Miles had brought his twenty-year-old ward over from Ireland to join the ménage. Melton at hunting season was hardly the place for an unmarried lady, anyway.

"Daren't leave her at home," said Miles with a shake of his head. "She's run wild, and there's no one there to handle her anymore. Add to that she has an enormous fortune, and some scoundrel would be after her for it."

"You could have stayed there and sorted out her affairs."

"And miss hunting season? Devil take you for a blasphemer, Francis! Now look, you must be seeking a bride. Wouldn't you like to take on Felicity? She's a pretty enough thing and enormously rich."

Francis declined the offer. Felicity Monahan was a black-haired, black-eyed hellion. Her story wasn't being told, but she was a mass of resentment and anger. She had only been restrained from violence at one point by her guardian tying her to a very solid library chair. Beth and Blanche were working a certain amount of magic on the girl, but with their radical philosophies and ardent belief in women's rights, Francis had to wonder into what all the resentment would be transmuted.

He just gave thanks that this woman wasn't his responsibility.

He did manage to have a word with Beth Arden about Serena while strolling through the winter-bleak garden.

"I met someone who says she knew you in her school days," he said. "Serena Allbright."

"Serena," said Beth in pleased surprise. "I haven't heard of her in years." She sobered. "She left school quite young."

"Did she? How young?"

"She was only fifteen. How is she now?"

"Beautiful."

Beth gave him a look. "Is that all you men ever think of?"

He held up an apologetic hand. "Be fair, Beth. It's hard to think of anything else when first setting eyes on her."

"Doubtless true. But no benison to her. When I heard Riverton was dead, I felt great relief."

"Riverton?" asked Francis, bemused.

"Her husband."

Francis felt as if he'd been struck in the gut. "You mean,
Matthew
Riverton?"

"Yes. Didn't you know? She was taken out of school to marry him. Aunt Emma, who owned the school, was distressed. I gathered even then that he wasn't a pleasant man, but... it wasn't until I married that I realized quite why Aunt Emma was distressed."

Francis eyed her. "You may want to rephrase that for Lucien's hearing."

She colored, but laughed. "Don't be foolish. Lucien is a great joy to me, but I can imagine what marriage must be like to a man one doesn't care for. And from reading books Lucien would rather keep hidden, I know a great deal more. And she was only fifteen."

"God, yes," murmured Francis, sickened by the thought of Serena's treatment when still a child. He had two younger sisters and could easily envision them at that age—short skirts and pigtails, and the teasing beginnings of an interest in men; an innocent interest, though. How could a father give such an innocent to a man like Riverton, even in marriage? Perhaps especially in marriage. Francis was beginning to see why Serena rejected the very thought of another husband.

"So," asked Beth, "how is she?"

"Well enough," said Francis vaguely. "I gather her brothers have managed to take over what was left of her husband's wealth, though."

"Have they indeed?" said Beth with a militant light sparking in her eyes. "We must do something about that."

"Beth," said Francis, "you don't want to get involved."

"What utter nonsense!" Beth marched off to confer with Blanche and Felicity.

When Francis reported this to Lucien, the marquess sighed.
"A Monstrous Regiment of Women.
Doubtless I'll have to do some breaking and entering again." Beth's rescue of another schoolgirl had resulted in the Rogues doing a little burglary the year before. "Perhaps we should summon Nicholas if there's going to be that kind of fun."

"If there's anything to be done, I should do it."

"Have a personal interest, do you?" asked Lucien curiously.

"Of course not," said Francis, but knew his expression was betraying him, and Lucien's quirked brow emphasized the fact.

Feeling like a naughty child, he confessed, "I've left the woman with Aunt Arabella while I think what to do."

"Among what options?" asked Lucien warily. "I think Beth might be interested."

Francis didn't give again the flippant answer, marriage to murder. He picked up a book aimlessly. "I can't marry her, Luce. She can't have children."

"That's a shame."

The subject was dropped, perfectly understood. Lucien, too, was an only son with a responsibility to his line.

Francis admitted for the first time that he might have wanted to marry Serena Allbright if she had been able to give him an heir.

No, not Serena Allbright. Serena Riverton.

Randy Riverton's widow.

God, his mother would have an apoplexy, and the Peckworths would never speak to him again. Thank heavens he couldn't be tempted to that folly.

Of course, there was still the option of making Serena his mistress, an option it seemed she would prefer. It could probably be managed discreetly. But then he was distracted by the logistics among the Rogues. It had become clear that they were willing to accept both wives and mistresses as members, but a wife and a mistress at the same time?

That would stretch even this liberal group's tolerance to the limits, not to mention Anne's and Serena's.

He realized he could imagine Serena in this irregular household, but not Anne.

Anne, however, was just the sort of wife he wanted.

What he really wanted, he decided bitterly, was to drown his sorrows in brandy and stay thoroughly soused for a six month.

* * *

The next day there was a meeting of the Quorn. All the men settled down to a hearty breakfast, full of the high spirits suited to perfect hunting weather.

Until Beth announced, "Serena's brothers are here in Melton. They'll doubtless be at the hunt today."

Lucien raised his brows. "Shall I ride them into a thicket for you, light of my life?"

"We want their money, not their lives," she pointed out.

He grinned. "I always knew you had the instincts of a highwayman."