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“ D oing the pretty , eh?” The soft, rasping voice held a hint of humor.

Deveraux spun around to see a tall, lean man behind him. “Jack! You rotten blackguard! Or should I say, my lord? Keirsmyth, I’d about given up on you. Thought the notion of returning to England and your relatives might prove too much for you to stomach.”

The marques grabbed Deveraux’s hand in a firm grip.

“Came with Turcott this afternoon. Told your people we’d meet with you later. But what’s this about a weak stomach? I always could handle the worst swill better than anyone!”

“That’s because your stomach was embalmed long ago,” chided Fitzhugh, coming up beside them. “It’s so liquor-soaked nothing could faze it!”

The man smiled crookedly and shrugged. “I like to keep it that way. Perpetually. Self-preservation. But, I have risked sycophantic opportunings from my multitudinous relations so that I might be here for this august occasion. I’m anxious to meet this sister of yours, Deveraux.

Anxious to see just who could capture this frippery fellow’s heart.

Who knows, if I’d joined you when you sold out, it might have been I, the prospective groom! ”

David Fitzhugh laughed. “Stubble it, Keirsmyth. You wouldn’t have possessed the presence of mind to recognize a gem when you saw one.”

Keirsmyth’s crooked smile grew. “Perhaps, my little gamecock. Perhaps. But when do I meet this paragon of virtues?”

“Soon. And it is not one you’ll meet, but two,” Deveraux said, clapping him on the back.

“Two?” Keirsmyth drawled. He languidly drew an enameled gold snuff-box from his elegant waistcoat pocket and flicked it open, taking a small pinch of the aromatic mixture. “I feel I am baited. Now how should there be two? You see me before you all agog with curiosity.”

Deveraux laughed. “Our second paragon is Miss Leona Leonard.”

“Leona Leonard?” Keirsmyth’s high brow wrinkled in thought. “Good Gawd! You can’t mean Cheat’m Charlie’s sister? A paragon?”

Deveraux nodded. “I can honestly say that Miss Leonard would undoubtedly have led Leonard’s troops to better effect.”

“High praise, indeed! Though not difficult to accomplish when one considers how dismally our dear friend Charlie failed. Though to give the devil his due, he has pulled his ship out of the River Tick by marrying Madame Roussault.”

“He did marry her, then? Your last letter only spoke of the possibility.”

“To breathe a possibility at Madame Roussault is to create a probability. I shudder at the match. It was done with all the ceremony she could command.”

“How do you think this new Mrs. Leonard will take to a sister-in-law?”

“Is she young and attractive?”

“Yes.”

Keirsmyth waved his hand dismissively. “Then she will not.”

“My thought as well.” Deveraux exchanged glances with Fitzhugh.

“This is a fine bramble bath,” Fitzhugh suggested, scratching his chin.

Deveraux nodded. “A thorny problem in more ways than you could imagine.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Am I to understand you have some feeling for this Miss Leonard?”

Deveraux frowned. “Feeling is not the half of it. Miss Leonard is the person who rescued Chrissy last December.”

“Ah, Chrissy, your niece, of course. She is now placing you under an obligation?”

“Egad, no!” Fitzhugh interjected. “If only she would, it would ease matters greatly for Dev. She’s an independent little thing. And proud as a potentate. She and Dev seem to be forever coming to verbal fisticuffs. The thing is, you see, the kidnappers have vowed revenge against her.”

“And against the family.”

Both of Keirsmyth’s thin eyebrows rose. “What singularly dedicated brigands!”

Deveraux shook his head, frowning. “I’m glad you’re here, Jack. I don’t mind admitting I’m concerned that they’ll try to do something tonight.”

“Revenge is sweet with an audience,” Keirsmyth drawled understandingly.

“I could use another pair of eyes and ears tonight. Turcott, too. As he has a passel of schoolroom-age sisters, he might watch after Chrissy without seeming to.”

Keirsmyth nodded. “Don’t worry, Deveraux. We’ll see that nothing disturbs the festivities. After all,” he said with a wicked smile directed at Fitzhugh, “seeing this young banty rooster get caught is an event of a lifetime!”

The stairway was awash with golden candlelight.

From the entrance hall came a murmur of voices from the arrival of the guests invited to the dinner preceding the ball.

Eighteen were expected for dinner. Those arriving included the Earl and Countess of Penmere, Mr. Fitzhugh’s parents; Viscount Hollingshead, his elder brother; Sir and Lady James Fennimore, Lady Christiana’s grandparents; Lord and Lady Peter Goudge, Bt.

, Lady Lucille’s godparents; and, to fill out the numbers at the table, two great friends of Fitzhugh’s and Deveraux’s: the Marquess of Keirsmyth—formerly Colonel Jack “Blackguard” Randall—and Captain Harry Turcott, still in His Majesty’s service, lately returned to England to recuperate from a wound in his left shoulder earned in the war with America.

To Lady Lucille’s satisfaction, they were all downstairs before Leona and she descended.

Leona tried to withdraw her arm and encourage Lady Lucille to precede her down the stairs, but her friend wouldn’t do it.

Together they walked down the stairs, their gowns glistening in the candlelight, the sapphires at Lady Lucille’s neck catching the light from the candles and reflecting like so many points of light.

Their coloring and their gowns were each a perfect foil for the other.

“By God, Deveraux, I knew you had one beauty hidden away in this miserable excuse for a castle, but two?”

The gentleman’s dry, raspy voice rang out through the marble entrance hall capturing everyone’s attention. They all turned to look up. It made for a perfect entrance. Lady Lucille edged her chin up higher, preening.

Leona tried to pick out the owner of the strange voice.

It was not difficult. It belonged to a tall, sinewy, blond gentleman standing next to Deveraux.

He looked to be about forty, lines of dissipation and hard living evident on his harsh weathered features.

Next to him stood a younger, fresh-faced young man in scarlet regimentals.

The women came down the stairs slowly, savoring the notice. At the bottom, they dropped each other’s arms and came forward for introductions.

“Deveraux says you’re Charlie Leonard’s sister,” the tall, lean gentleman, the Marquess of Keirsmyth, told Leona as he bowed over her hand.

“Yes, do you know him?”

“Yes, I can see immediately you don’t take after him at all.”

She raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

He smiled, a sudden slanting, rakish smile, his dark eyes closing sleepily. The man was flirting with her! “You’re much too beautiful.”

Leona laughed, delighted with his casually flirtatious manner. “We shall have to talk later about similarities and differences.”

“I believe I am already partial to the differences,” he said smoothly.

Leona shook her head and regretfully turned to greet another. There was no danger of her succumbing to the Most Honorable Marquess of Keirsmyth. His flattery was too contrived for her taste; nonetheless, she acknowledged that she enjoyed their banter and looked forward to continuing it later.

Her head spun as she moved about through the entrance hall and the drawing room, talking with people, meeting others.

It had been three years since she attended even a country assembly, and never had she been to as glittering a gathering like this.

And these were only the dinner guests! She found herself a trifle nervous, yet everyone greeted her warmly.

In the mingling crowd, there was no opportunity to talk with Sharply and discover what he wanted.

She smiled some more and made her way through the crowd to Maria’s side.

Her companion looked positively radiant!

Leona had to struggle to keep from gaping.

Maria Sprockett was clothed in a primrose-colored gown trimmed with rose ruchings and ribbons.

A tiny pink toque with feathers and lace sat atop her tight curls.

She and Maria were drawn into conversation with other guests.

The group chatted happily about all manner of subjects from fans to the new political laws, and from the distressing state of the poor to Princess Caroline’s outrageous behavior.

It was a relief when dinner was called. Her feet already hurt from standing for so long.

What would they be like after the ball? If she lasted that long, she thought with a silent groan.

At dinner, she was seated between Captain Harry Turcott and the elderly Lord Goudge.

She found them both delightful dinner companions.

She smiled and chatted easily, amazed at how comfortable she was amidst a growing crowd of strangers.

One of her long-buried reasons for not wanting to go to London for a season was her certainty that she would sit silent and alone at the side of a room.

Deveraux hit upon that reason early on, though his conclusion that time—like so many other times—was faulty.

Somewhere, deep in her mind, a tally clicked off all the times he proved right.

It was an unnerving total. She often thought his conclusions faulty, or he was only half right concerning something, but he was amazingly astute.

Two tiny questions took root and grew in her mind: How was he right about Charlie? And, how was he wrong?