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Davies rose. “I urge you to give careful thought to my offer, Miss Merrick.” He glanced over at Victor, his gaze again dropping to the sketches in Victor’s hands.

“That is, unless Mr. Pratt’s artistic endeavors are of a more personal nature.

Which, from the look of them, they must be.

They’re too—how shall I say this and remain polite? —rudimentary.”

Oooh. That did it! Victor shot from his seat. “If you must know, Davies, His Grace has commissioned me to paint his family’s portraits.”

As if in slow motion, Davies’s left eyebrow hitched. “I see. Well, then I shall call on you in two days, giving you time to consider my offer, Miss Merrick. Good day.” He strode from the room as if he’d been the duke rather than the second son to an earl.

“Oh, Mama.” Juliana’s strangled voice tugged at Victor’s heart. “He’s right, isn’t he? I’m a disgrace to Drake and Honoria.”

Victor averted his gaze when Mrs. Merrick pulled her daughter into her arms. “Of course not! Drake and Honoria are made of sterner stuff. And you have done nothing to shame them.”

But Victor knew the ton better than Juliana, and possibly Mrs. Merrick did. “Although I agree with your mother, Juliana, I’m afraid the ton’s rigid rules leave little room for deviation. People have been giving the cut direct for less.” As much as he hated to admit it, Davies had a point.

Although Juliana enjoyed Victor’s presence, she wilted with relief when he made his apologies and left them, promising to return the next day to continue their session and discuss ideas for her pose.

She had no intention of accepting Lord Felix as a suitor. Not only did he fail to meet Drake’s approval, but his insulting assessment of Victor’s sketches angered her on Victor’s behalf.

Yet Lord Felix had a point. If a man of good breeding escorted her about town, it might counter the derogatory reports enough to give her time to prove herself among society. The problem lay in the appalling paucity of suitors.

One was indeed a lonely number, especially when the one suitor was Lord Felix Davies.

Could she stomach him long enough to establish a better reputation and possibly attract a more suitable match? Even as she pondered it, one man’s face continually appeared in her mind: Victor Pratt.

If only Victor hadn’t been so quick to explain the sketches were merely part of his appointment as the duke’s portrait artist.

But that’s exactly what his relationship with her was, and Juliana chided herself for hoping it was more— personal . Which had been the word Lord Felix used. How could she blame Victor for being truthful?

There had to be someone else. Someone more appealing who wouldn’t turn his nose up at the common born half-sister of a duke. Or perhaps she should return to the country and find a nice farmer’s son?

She worried about it the entire day, and at supper that evening, stirred her soup aimlessly.

“What is it, Juliana?” Concern furrowed Honoria’s brow.

“Should I accept Lord Felix’s offer to court me to help repair my reputation?”

Drake’s spoon splashed the soup as it fell into the bowl, and a footman rushed forward to blot the liquid from the tablecloth. “I can’t believe you’re even considering it. Absolutely not. Not after what Simon told me.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “He struck Lady Charlotte.”

“And yet he speaks as if he’s a victim,” Mother said, shaking her head. “I don’t understand men like that.”

“But Lord Felix has a point, Mother. How many men have come to call? It’s useless trying to be accepted in society, Drake.”

Drake and Honoria exchanged a glance, and the hair on the back of Juliana’s neck tingled.

“What about Victor?” Honoria asked.

As much as Juliana loved her sister-in-law and admired Honoria’s keen sense of observation, it was a different matter altogether when that observation was directed at Juliana. Had her attraction to Victor been that transparent?

“He’s only here to paint our portraits. He said so himself. Didn’t he, Mother?”

“Well, he didn’t say only , but yes. I suppose so. But dearest, Mr. Pratt seemed concerned about Lord Felix’s interest. Perhaps Honoria has a point, and you will be spending some time with him. He seems a very amiable young man.” Her mother smiled as she peered down at her soup. “And handsome.”

Drake snorted a laugh. “You women. All you think about is appearance. What Juliana needs is a husband who is honest and stable. Someone who will provide for her. One who won’t go visiting mistresses.”

“Drake!” Mother said.

As if men didn’t go on endlessly about a woman’s appearance, chasing after the prettiest flirt even if she didn’t have a brain in her head.

Juliana had witnessed it firsthand among both commoners and the aristocracy.

Many a young man’s fancy waned the moment she outrode him in a race or bested him in a game of chess.

Granted, they were both skills she learned from men, chess from her father and riding from Drake.

So perhaps it wasn’t a woman’s appearance, but a man’s fragile pride that was the issue.

Naturally, there were exceptions. Drake and Honoria, for one.

Mutual respect and common interests created a bond between them that had survived years of separation and protests from Honoria’s father.

Mother and Father were another, and because Mother had always been the intelligent, thoughtful woman she was, Juliana supposed Drake’s father had also appreciated Mother for more than her beauty.

Considering further, Juliana admitted she may have been too harsh in her judgment, and that how a man viewed women depended on the man himself rather than on the nature of his sex as a whole.

And if that was the case, could Victor Pratt be the type of man to give a common-born half-sister of a duke more than a passing glance?

She dearly hoped so.