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“Because he is a rogue,” Anwen remarked. “And everyone knows rogues do not fall in love easily.” She spoke as one who knew.

“Ah, yes.” Faith waggled a finger in the other woman’s direction. “But when they do, they make for the very best of husbands.”

A shadow fell over the blanket, and they looked up.

A voluptuous, midnight-haired woman, her lush curves wrapped in damp white satin, smiled down at them. She was twirling a parasol propped at her shoulder the way Marcia had moments ago.

With her body blocking the sun as it was, the rays of that glowing orb cast an ethereal glow about her, lending a goddess-like quality to the stranger.

If Eve had come back to take part in a London Season, Marcia rather suspected this was what she would have looked like.

She wore a beautiful, dimpled grin, but something in that grin was false and empty.

Unease traipsed along Marcia’s spine.

“May we help you?” Marcia asked softly.

“They may not, but you”—the young woman snapped her umbrella shut and pointed the tip at Marcia—“may. Perhaps we might speak alone?” Her unswerving gaze was icy.

“I…”

“I do not think so,” Faith whispered loudly. “We don’t know her.”

“And you are a scared child?” the woman teased meanly, and then laughed.

Ignoring her, Faith continued speaking. “Whatever it is you care to say to her can certainly be said to us.”

As if on perfect cue, Anwen sat up straighter and gave a little nod.

The stranger looked Anwen over—all too briefly—before dismissing her outright and returning all her attention to Faith. “How… charming you are,” she said in frosty tones that left little doubt as to how she felt about Faith.

“If you’ll excuse us?” Marcia said quietly to her friends.

Her friends gave her a look.

“It is fine,” Marcia assured, even though she knew no such thing. “We’ll be only a moment.”

“Your friend is gauche, Marcia,” the woman intoned.

Her friend had only partial hearing. That was not, however, this woman’s business. “My friend is loyal and good, and you are a stranger.” A cold, mysterious one with icy eyes.

“I am a stranger?” The woman looked stricken. She dabbed at the corners of perfectly dry eyes. “How that hurts me.” She sniffed several times.

Faith and Anwen lingered a moment more. Faith held Marcia’s gaze and shook her head slightly. “I do not trust her,” she mouthed.

Neither did Marcia.

She waited until her friends had gone, walking along the shore far enough away to allow Marcia privacy, but close enough at hand should she need their help.

“Who are you?” Marcia asked quietly.

“I am Lady Carew, but you may call me, Marianne.” Both the title and the name the stranger offered meant nothing to Marcia. “And it is so very lovely to see you, my dear. It is a shame we have not yet met before,” the woman said, availing herself of a place on the blanket beside Marcia.

“I am sorry… Do we know one another?”

“We do not. But we should. We absolutely should,” the woman said cheerfully, flashing a smile that perfectly dimpled her cheeks. “You see, family should know family.”

Warning bells chimed.