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Reports have reached our ears that several members of the ton witnessed Miss Juliana Merrick, the Duke of Burwood’s sister, in Hyde Park riding astride!

Of course, allowances should be made as the “duke” himself was not raised among society and perhaps doesn’t understand the proper comportment for gently bred ladies.

Or Miss Merrick’s common birth could account for such egregious disrespect for good manners.

Anger flared in Victor’s chest that, of all the positive traits Miss Merrick possessed, the repugnant rag singled out her common birth.

Not a woman whose bravery had saved a child from certain injury—or worse.

Not a woman who children flocked to or was an accomplished horsewoman.

No. Her common birth. He crumpled the parchment in his fist the same moment his mother breezed in.

“Victor!” Her gaze swung toward the destroyed gossip rag. “What is that?” She snatched it from his grasp. “Look what you’ve done! I haven’t read this latest edition yet.”

“How can you continue to read such...rubbish, Mother? Allow me to save you the time. It holds nothing of importance.”

She huffed. “I’ll be the judge of that.” She pasted on a smile, and Victor’s defenses drew to attention. “Now, what brings my favorite son for a call? News of a possible engagement on the horizon?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Mother. But, no.”

With a wave of a hand, she brushed it away. “Come, sit. I’ll ring for tea.”

Salvation came in the form of his parents’ butler with Cilla following.

“Mrs. Marbry, my lady,” Digby announced in his pompous tone.

Cilla bussed her mother’s cheek in greeting. “Where is Father? I have some news.”

“In his study,” their mother answered, her brows dropping. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Victor almost rolled his eyes. How could his mother be so clueless?

“Not at all.” Cilla turned toward Digby, still standing like a sentinel at the entrance to the drawing room. “Please fetch my father.”

When their father entered, Cilla embraced him, and unlike the kiss she gave to their mother, the gesture of affection was heartfelt and genuine. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Father.”

“Nonsense. I always have time for you, my dear.”

Silence hung in the air as they all took a seat. Cilla practically vibrated with anticipation.

“Are you going to make us all wait until autumn, Cilla? Or are you going to tell us?” Victor’s teasing tone elicited a laugh from his sister.

Her eyes sparkled, and Victor had never been happier for his sister.

“Timothy and I are expecting.”

After a moment of shock from both their mother and father, each drew Cilla into their arms. Tears of happiness streamed down Cilla’s face, and their father even brushed at his eyes, complaining about dust and how the servants hadn’t performed their duties.

Mother grasped Cilla’s hands, extending them as she examined her. “The Saxtons must be ecstatic! A boy, you must have a boy for Timothy.”

Pain flashed in Cilla’s eyes.

Why couldn’t Mother simply be happy for her own daughter? Staring point-blank at his mother, Victor said, “I dare say Timothy and Cilla will be thrilled with either a boy or a girl.”

“Well said,” Father agreed. “A healthy child is all that matters.”

“Thank you, Father.” Cilla hugged him again.

As much as Victor had hoped his father’s reminder would silence his mother’s misguided opinions, she disappointed him when she said, “Now, we must concentrate on you, Victor. As I said earlier, we need news of an engagement so that you may work on starting your own family. In my opinion, Lydia Whyte is the perfect choice. But there are other options. Perhaps we should host a little soiree and invite the most eligible ladies.”

As his mother droned on, considering the attributes of each available woman who might become Victor’s bride, only one woman’s image rose in his eye.

The woman he lost.

And as happy as he was for his sister and Timothy, the subject of children only brought his mother’s scheming to find Victor a bride to the forefront.

He couldn’t run from his duty forever. When Victor glanced at his father, worry banded his chest at the dark half-moon shadows under his father’s eyes.

He would speak to Cilla about it and suggest Timothy provide a thorough physical examination.

Was it the trouble in the family’s country seat that distressed his father, or something else? Something more—life-threatening?

“Victor! Victor!” his mother’s voice pulled him back from the abyss of his dark thoughts.

“What?” His gaze darted up to the footman holding a silver salver in front of him, a piece of correspondence resting in the center.

“Your valet delivered this, sir. He said it appeared important.” He pointed to the crest embedded on the wax seal.

The imprint displayed a dragon clutching arrows in one clawed limb. A crown perched on its head, and flames shot from its nostrils.

Victor plucked it from the tray. Sliding his finger underneath, he broke it and opened the missive. His whole body came to attention when he read the contents.

“What is it?” Cilla asked.

“The Duke of Burwood has summoned me.” His lips tugged upward. Not only would the request provide reason to defy his mother’s admonition to avoid the duke’s household, but the nature of the invitation promised an opportunity to pull Victor from his miserable doldrums.

“Find a polite reason to decline,” his mother said.

“Mother!” Cilla’s voice rose. “Don’t listen to her, Victor.”

“Aurelia.” Father frosted Mother with a glare. “I don’t know what you have against Burwood, nor do I care. One does not dismiss a summons from a duke. Victor and Burwood are of the same age. It will be good for our son to have a strong ally and friend when he assumes the title at my death.”

Once more, Victor viewed his father with fresh eyes. Something was most definitely wrong.

Victor rose. “I have no intention of listening to Mother. This”—he waved the missive—“is an invitation for an interview to paint their family portraits.”

With that bit of news, his mother was the one to throw herself back against the sofa with a groan. “Why must you pursue that messy pastime? As your father has pointed out, you are the heir to a viscountcy, goodness’ sakes.”

“Oh, Honoria must have been impressed with your knowledge of painting techniques when we all visited the National Gallery two years ago.” Cilla would have to remind him. He had been the one to escort Miss Lovelace with Cilla as a chaperone, only to have Nash force himself into their company.

The cad had actually been courting Honoria before he turned his sights to Miss Lovelace and began his campaign to steal her away. Victor shot his sister a narrow-eyed glower. Lucky for her she was expecting his first niece or nephew.

Focusing on that happy thought, Victor wondered what truly had precipitated the duke’s summons.

Even though he’d not found an opportunity to subtly remind her during the eventful ride in Hyde Park, would it be too much to hope that Juliana played a part?

He smiled at the possibility. “If you would excuse me, the duke awaits.”