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"I certainly think that wise," Serena said. Mr. Ferncliff's image of Francis was so different from her own that she had to believe a meeting would help.

"But how to arrange it?" he demanded. "Cordelia becomes distraught at the very mention of it and refuses to bring it about."

"There must be any number of ways one gentleman can arrange to meet another."

"Certainly, but when a man has twice sought me out with a pistol in his hand, I am inclined to be cautious. Will you be my go-between, Lady Middlethorpe?"

Serena stared at him. "Between you and Francis?"

"Yes."

Serena felt many misgivings. Matters between her and her husband were not sound enough to permit the adding of new strains, and if she appeared to be a suppliant for someone he considered an enemy...

"I don't know if I can, sir."

"It is not so hard, surely."

Serena stood. "I don't know. Tell me where you can be reached, and I will contact you if I can arrange a meeting."

"I have rooms at the Scepter Inn not far from here, but under the name Lowden:" He pulled a somewhat battered gray bob wig out of his pocket and sat it on his head, crowning it with a three-cornered hat. "See to what extremes I have been driven? Middlethorpe seems to have managed to raise the whole of London to search for me!"

"Oh, dear," said Serena. There was such anger involved that she did not know what to do for the best. "I will see what I can do, sir."

When Ferncliff had left, Serena realized she had forgotten the puppy. With a cry of distress, she ran out into the open garden calling Brandy's name. When she found no sign, she opened the gate and looked out into the mews lane. Could the tiny creature have gone as far as the street? She imagined the puppy dodging hooves and wheels. "Brandy!"

She was about to return to the house to start a search when she heard a frantic yipping. She called again, and Brandy wriggled under a gate of a nearby garden and raced over gleefully.

Serena swept her up. "Oh, you bad girl. You're covered in mud! Where have you been?"

Quite possibly, Brandy was wondering the same thing. The puppy's ecstasy suggested that she had been thoroughly lost.

Serena headed back to the house, scolding all the way.

"Serena!" She saw Francis coming toward her. "Where on earth have you been?"

"Brandy went exploring. I thought I'd lost her." Something in his expression alerted her to her appearance. Her hair must be all over the place, and Brandy had thoroughly muddied her gown.

He did look disapproving as he gingerly took the weary puppy from her. "She's covered you with mud and we have guests."

"Already?" Serena exclaimed in dismay.

"Just Nicholas and Eleanor. There's no need to fuss."

Just Nicholas and Eleanor. Serena's nerves tightened. "If you can take Brandy to the kitchen, I'll change my gown."

"Very well."

Serena hurried off feeling her stomach knot. She didn't know why the thought of another meeting with Nicholas Delaney made her nervous, but it did. He seemed just the sort of person to guess that she'd been meeting her husband's enemy in the garden and that, for the moment, she didn't intend to tell her husband about it.

Serena changed quickly into a fresh gown and had her maid tidy her hair. Surveying herself, she knew with despair that even with the greatest care, she would never have Cordelia's elegant gloss. Her figure was too round and her hair seemed to have a mind of its own. Cordelia never had a hair out of place.

Cordelia couldn't stay so neat in a lover's embrace, though, could she? Were Ferncliff and Cordelia lovers? It seemed impossible to imagine Francis's mother in a sexual tangle, but she had certainly been a lover once, with her husband.

Serena dismissed the maid and took a moment to ponder her dilemma. Ferncliff could be a wicked liar. But Cordelia
had
been out in the garden for some reason.

One obvious course was to speak to Cordelia herself, but the mere thought dizzied Serena.
Cordelia, I need to talk to you about your lover....

Nor could she see how to raise the subject with Francis.
Francis, I need to talk to you about your mother's lover...

And there was still the problem of what to do about her brothers, who would be angered not to find her waiting, loot in hand.

Don't worry, he'd said.

Hah!

Serena went down to the drawing room, to find Francis already there with their guests. Nicholas and Eleanor Delaney seemed just as pleasant and composed as they had been last night, but Nicholas still made Serena very nervous. There was something in his eyes—a quickness, a perception—that made her feel transparent. There were a great many things that she did not want him to know.

The talk was general—politics, crops, social matters, and the weather. The prospect in all seemed rather gloomy.

"Good heavens," said Francis. "Let us talk of more pleasant things. How is Arabel?"

"Now, really, Francis," said Eleanor. "Are you referring to our pride and joy as a 'thing'?"

"Heaven forbid! How is she?" Francis turned to Serena. "Arabel is Nicholas and Eleanor's daughter."

It was Nicholas who replied, and no one could miss the fondness in his voice. "Doubtless displeased with us. Arabel is of the firm opinion that she rules creation. She is, of course, a benevolent despot, but we decided she must be shown her place and left her behind."

"Does she throw tantrums, then?" Francis asked.

"Of course not. But she enjoyed the company of Leander's two and has made it known that she would like brothers and sisters. We have pointed out that they would be younger, not older, but she is undeterred."

Serena listened to this whimsy with bemusement. "How old is your daughter, Mr. Delaney?"

"As old as Methuselah. She is fourteen months."

"And she talks?"

Eleanor laughed. "Don't let Nicholas bamboozle you, Serena. He maintains that he can understand every babble, but I think he interprets them to suit himself.
He
wants a bevy of children."

Her husband smiled at her. "True."

After some more general talk, Francis took Nicholas away to look at some estate papers. When the two women were alone, Eleanor said, "You are quite correct. We have been given the opportunity to be private in case you wish to talk to me. Don't let it disturb you. It's just Nicholas being clever."

Serena eyed Eleanor Delaney. "Why would I want to talk to you, in particular?"

"I have no idea. Francis and Nicholas have been closeted most of the morning, though. They are very close in a way that frequent absences cannot affect."

"I've been told that. Francis has hardly mentioned Mr. Delaney, however."

"I can't say Nicholas talked much of Francis in our early days. But Francis was of great help to him—was his anchor, in fact—in bad times. We would like to help if we can."

"Why would we need help?"

"Do you not?"

Serena just shrugged.

Eleanor said, "I was probably already pregnant when we married."

Serena stared at her, startled by the admission and curious about the phrasing. "Probably?"

"We didn't wait to be sure. It is not a matter generally advertised, and a difference of a few weeks in a birth is not scrutinized."

"Not as a difference of a few months will be."

"Quite. I just wanted you to know that I have some understanding of what an uncomfortable situation it can be."

"Being prematurely pregnant is not nearly as uncomfortable as being Matthew Riverton's widow, I assure you."

"But being Matthew Riverton's widow is surely better than being Matthew Riverton's wife. See," Eleanor said with a twinkle, "we have a case of unrelenting improvement."

Despite everything, that startled a laugh out of Serena.

"I remember at one point," said Eleanor thoughtfully, "wondering what had happened to the wages of sin, as I seemed to be gaining a great deal by my fall from grace."

That was a delicate probe indeed. "Do you think I am
reluctant
to be happy?"

"I don't know. Sometimes we don't feel we deserve what fate gives us, and then we fight the gift. Fate has given you one of the best men I know as a husband. Along with him, you have a position in Society and a comfortable degree of wealth without all the paraphernalia poor Beth has to endure. You will have a child—"

"I am fully aware of my blessings," Serena interrupted. "I am just terrified that they will be turned to dross." Surrendering at last, she told Eleanor about the pictures. "And I can't believe that Francis is even
thinking
of paying them the ten thousand pounds, but I'm not sure he isn't. And he won't tell me."

"It may seem worth the money to give you peace of mind."

"I'd never be at peace again," Serena declared. "My brothers would take it as encouragement."

"True. I'll speak to Nicholas about it in case Francis did not. I, too, have an unpleasant brother, but the Rogues are good at handling that kind of person."

With a shiver, Serena remembered Mr. Ferncliff's opinion of the Rogues. "What happened to your brother?"

"I have no idea. He went abroad."

Serena did not find that very reassuring. "Would you say the Rogues are dangerous?"

"Oh, yes, if they think their cause is right."

The discussion ended there, however, for Nicholas and Francis returned just ahead of the first callers, Arabella and the Countess of Cawle. The Delaneys soon left, and while none of the other guests stayed very long, the stream was continuous and glittering. Lord and Lady Cowper, the Duke and Duchess of Yeovil, the Earl and Countess of Liverpool, the Duke and Duchess of Belcraven...

Serena caught sight of the clock and noticed that it was four. She looked around, hoping to see that Francis had slipped away, but he was calmly talking to the Duke of Belcraven. Wasn't he going to do
anything?

Or had he handled the matter by having her brothers killed?

Beth, who was disguised in her best marchioness manner, came over and said, "Don't look so frantic. Everything is going splendidly. You are doing magnificently."

Serena couldn't confess her thoughts. "I feel like an automaton. I smile, I nod, I smile."

"Horrible, isn't it? But it will soon be over."

"Beth," said Serena urgently, "are the Rogues bloodthirsty? I mean, would they kill if they thought it necessary?"

"They aren't exactly a unit. But yes. After all, Con, Hal, and Leander were soldiers, and I gather Nicholas has been in dangerous situations. Don't worry," she assured Serena brightly. "They won't hesitate if violence becomes necessary. I have to leave." She kissed Serena warmly on the cheek. "We'll have a better time to talk tomorrow. Stop looking so worried."

Serena wanted to scream, but she had to turn to smile and nod at Lady Buffington. As the lady chattered, Serena wondered whether the Rogues could actually have slaughtered her brothers. No great loss, but she couldn't feel comfortable about it. What really concerned her was the possibility that Francis could intend to slaughter Charles Ferncliff if he got his hands on him.

Ferncliff appeared to be an innocent party.

An hour later, the stream of guests finally dried up, leaving only Francis, Serena, and Cordelia in the drawing room.

Serena collapsed into a chair. "I feel wrung out."

Francis moved a footstool under her feet. "You did very well. That should be the worst of it. You are now firmly part of the
haut ton."

Cordelia looked unruffled, though she had worked just as hard as Serena over the past few hours. "Yes, Francis, I think we can take it as given that Serena is accepted despite her unfortunate past. I will therefore return to Thorpe tomorrow. I think I told you that I will dine with Arabella and the countess tonight." With that, she left the room.

Serena frowned after her. "Francis, would you mind if your mother married again?"

He chuckled. "Going to play matchmaker? I can see that life would be easier for you without my mother underfoot. By all means, if you can."

He had misinterpreted her, but it was an opening to discuss the subject. "I suppose you would be very particular as to whom she married."

He lounged in the chair opposite her. "It's nothing to do with me."

"But surely, if she expressed the intention of marrying the stable boy you'd have to object."

He laughed out loud. "The mere idea is ridiculous."

"But what would you do?" she persisted.

"Good Lord, Serena. Is this some sort of party game? Of course, I'd put a stop to it. She'd have lost her wits."

Where, then, is the border line? Serena wondered. "Is there a type of man you wouldn't want her to marry?"

He frowned at her, perhaps suspiciously. "You're serious about this, aren't you? Let me see. Obviously, I wouldn't want her to marry a bounder, the sort of man who would mistreat her or gamble away her money. I'm not entirely sure how I'd stop her, though."