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The footman held the gate open and indicated Fiona and Mrs. Tucket should precede him.

Holding her head high, Fiona made sure Mrs. Tucket had a good hold on her before moving through the gate onto the short path that took them to five steps.

Fiona went slowly so Mrs. Tucket, who had an aching hip, could keep up.

This was more than fine since Fiona’s heart was beating even faster than it had been in the coach as she contemplated how her life was about to change.

She was the ward of an earl in London on the brink of her first Season. It was, in a word, unbelievable.

The door stood open and another man in dark green livery was positioned just inside. “Good afternoon, Miss Wingate, Mrs. Tucket. Welcome to Overton House.”

“You’ve arrived!” The booming masculine voice sounded through the marble-floored, wood-paneled foyer before Fiona could see the man himself. But then he, presumably the Earl of Overton, was there, striding through a wide archway directly across from them.

Fiona stared at him, surprised at his youth.

No, not his youth, for he was likely almost thirty.

No, she was surprised to see that he was…

handsome. She’d expected someone like his father, whom she’d met a dozen or so times over the course of her lifetime.

But where the former earl had been dour-faced and without any exceptional physical traits, the current earl possessed a dashing smile and eyes the color of pewter.

His dark hair was damp; artful waves contrasting against his light forehead.

He tugged at his coat and fidgeted with his simply knotted cravat as he came to stand in the center of the foyer.

Recalling her practice with Mrs. Tucket, Fiona sank into a deep curtsey. Unfortunately, her arm was still in her maid’s grasp, so her descent was a trifle awkward. She hoped the earl didn’t notice. “My lord.”

“Well done,” he said, grinning. “You are nearly ready for your presentation to the queen.”

Fiona had started to rise but she nearly toppled to the floor. “My what?”

“You’re to be presented to the queen?” Mrs. Tucket began to breathe heavily, so much so that Fiona feared she would faint.

“Can she sit?” Fiona asked, searching wildly for a chair.

Lord Overton’s brow creased as he hurried forward to take Mrs. Tucket’s other arm. “In here.” He ushered them to a sitting room to the right of the foyer. Decorated in warm yellow and burnished bronze, the room welcomed them like a sunny afternoon.

Together, Fiona and the earl brought Mrs. Tucket to a chair near the hearth where coals burned in the fireplace. “Better?” Fiona asked.

“A drop of sherry would not come amiss,” Mrs. Tucket said, untying her bonnet beneath her chin.

The earl stalked back to the doorway and asked someone to fetch sherry and tea. “Carrin will be along presently. That’s the butler. He was standing just in the foyer when you arrived. I’ll introduce you to the household a bit later, if that’s all right.”

“Yes, thank you,” Fiona said, trying not to gape at the splendor of the room with its multiple paintings, rich window hangings, and lavish furniture.

She’d known the earl would have a large house and fine décor, but she hadn’t realized how large or how fine.

And now it was her home . Her heart started to pound again.

Mrs. Tucket coughed. “Were you jesting about my Fiona being presented to the queen? Surely you must have been.”

“Not at all,” Overton said with a smile. “It is expected that young ladies entering upon their first Season are presented to Her Royal Highness.”

Now it felt as if Fiona’s heart might actually leap from her chest. The queen!

Mrs. Tucket’s dark eyes widened, and she stared at Fiona in something akin to horror, which was just a wee bit annoying. “She doesn’t know a thing about how to do that!”

The earl continued to smile placidly. “Do not fret, for Miss Wingate shall have ample opportunity to prepare. Her presentation is not until next week.”

“Next week?” Mrs. Tucket squeaked as she drooped in the chair. She pressed the back of her hand to her cheek and muttered something unintelligible.

Moving to stand near Fiona, the earl murmured, “Er, is she all right?”

“Yes, she’s just being dramatic,” Fiona whispered. “She does that.”

“Oh. Then I daresay it’s wise that I’ve procured a chaperone and a sponsor for you. You’ll meet the former shortly and the latter tomorrow.”

“Did I hear you say you’ve hired a chaperone for my Fiona?” Mrs. Tucket sounded aghast. She pursed her lips most strenuously. “ I am her chaperone.”

The earl smiled affably. “Certainly, but I thought she might benefit from an additional chaperone. Someone acquainted with London and Society.” He darted an uncertain look at Fiona as if he were looking for support.

“An excellent idea, my lord,” Fiona said as she went to sit in another chair near the hearth. She reached over and patted Mrs. Tucket’s hand. “How can I not prosper with two chaperones?”

“Harumph.” Mrs. Tucket narrowed her eyes at the fire.

Fiona looked up at the earl. He was frowning, one hand on his hip and the other stroking his chin.

The butler arrived with a tray bearing tea and a glass of sherry. The earl scooped up the latter item and brought it directly to Mrs. Tucket. “Your sherry, ma’am.”

She took the glass and downed half the contents without a word. Holding the sherry to her chest, she settled back against the chair and closed her eyes.

Fiona slowly rose and tiptoed back to the center of the room where the earl stood staring at her maid. “She’ll likely fall asleep in a moment. The key will be to catch the glass before it falls.”

The earl’s dark brows climbed just before he nodded. Turning, he gestured for the butler to move the tray to a table in front of the windows that looked out to Brook Street.

A snore rattled the air, and Fiona dashed to catch the glass of sherry as Mrs. Tucket’s grip slackened. Just one small drop of the contents splashed over the side onto her skirt. Fiona considered that a victory.

When she joined the earl at the table near the window, he inclined his head with appreciation. “Well done.”

She set the wineglass on the table. “It is not my first rescue.”

The earl held her chair as she sat. “I see, and here I thought you had someone taking care of you.”

“She does take care of me, but it’s true that I also take care of her. More in the last year or so. She’s quite tired, I think. She all but ran our household the past six years after my father died and then later when my mother became ill.”

The earl, seated across the round table, handed her a cup of tea the butler had prepared before leaving.

The entire activity—the delivery of the tea, organizing it and a selection of food on the table, and his departure had occurred with such ease and precision that Fiona wondered how the butler had done it all without her really noticing.

“How long since she’s been gone?” Overton asked before sipping his tea.

“Not quite two years. She’d hoped to come to London with me for my Season, but, ah, your father didn’t extend the invitation until just before she died. And then, well…” She didn’t need to tell him about how things had happened. “I didn’t mean to imply anything by that.”

“Of course not,” he said benignly, reaching for a biscuit. “You need never fear voicing an opinion about my father. You’ll find I have many, and few of them are good.”

“Oh.” Fiona didn’t know what to say to that, so she decided to find another topic. It wasn’t hard, for she had a thousand questions. And that was before she’d learned she was to be presented to the queen or that she would have a new chaperone and a…sponsor? “What does a sponsor do?”

He finished chewing and waved his hand, still holding the biscuit.

“An excellent question. You are quite fortunate to be sponsored by one of Society’s most influential ladies, Lady Pickering.

” He waggled his brows. “She will come tomorrow, and you’ll discuss all things of import, including your presentation to court, your wardrobe, and, of course, invitations. ”

Fiona had just picked up a biscuit and promptly dropped it into her teacup. “I already have invitations?”

“Not yet. No one knows who you are, and the Season has barely begun. Lady Pickering will see that you receive invitations. Once you’re presented, there will likely be a flood.”

Fiona picked up her teacup and frowned into the contents where the edge of the biscuit was visible just above the liquid.

“Let’s pour you a new cup.” He reached for the third cup that was likely for Mrs. Tucket, who wouldn’t be needing it. After pouring the tea, he added milk and sugar, then swapped it with her cup with an efficiency and care she would not have expected from an earl.

She couldn’t help but smile at him. “You’re quite jovial.” She didn’t recall his father being so likeable. He’d been rather serious.

“I try to be.” He finished the rest of his biscuit while Fiona sampled her new cup of tea.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much, thank you.” She set her cup down just as he picked his up.

“THE BLOODY QUEEN?”

The outburst from Mrs. Tucket caused the earl to spill his tea right down the front of his cravat and waistcoat. His eyes widened with shock as he darted his gaze toward where Mrs. Tucket still slumped in her chair. “Is she all right?”

“Oh, yes. She does that.” Fiona picked up her napkin and went to the earl, dabbing at the tea on his front without thinking.

“Er.” His gaze met hers—they were rather close—and Fiona realized this was highly improper.

“Sorry!” She dropped the now-soiled napkin in his lap and dashed back to her chair, heat rushing up her neck and cheeks.

He plucked the napkin up and continued where she left off. “It’s fine. I appreciate your quick reaction. Mrs. Tucket often shouts in her sleep?” He looked toward her again, one brow arching. “She is still asleep?”