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Gwen sighed. “And the lass is nigh on two-and-twenty. That is what we have come to talk to you about.” She straightened in her chair. “Mary has a letter from Ralph’s sister, the Countess of Seaverness, offering to present Catherine this Season.”

Deirdre's eyes grew round. “However did this come about?” she asked, looking from Gwen to Mary and back.

Gwen turned to her daughter. “Perhaps, Mary, you had best show Deirdre the letter.”

Mary reached into her reticule, her face a study of conflicting emotions. “I do believe she means well,” she said anxiously, extracting the letter and handing it to Deirdre.

Deirdre read quickly. Instead of the outrage Gwen and Mary expected, she fell to whoops of laughter when she finished reading.

“Oh, I am sorry,” she sputtered at last. “But to be thinking of Catherine in this way, it is so outrageous! I can just imagine the picture Lady Harth has of her. T’is rich, I vow!”

She was suddenly solemn. “Oh, you do take this seriously.”

Gwen was the first to recover. “You’re quite right.

It is outrageous. Nonetheless, disregarding the snobbish tone of Lady Harth’s letter and her false assumptions, we do wish for Catherine to go to London.

To be so totally immured in the countryside is disastrous for her chances of meeting any gentleman worthy of her.

Even Eugene had his fling and Grand Tour before he settled here.

But how can we get her to London in the face of that?

” Gwen asked, pointing to the letter Deirdre held.

Deirdre had to admit her headstrong niece wouldn’t take kindly to such an invitation.

“That is why we’ve come to you. We think if Eugene could be brought to sponsor the idea, then the rest is assured!”

“What is it I am to sponsor?” a deep voice asked.

The three ladies looked up quickly at the gentleman standing just inside the room.

Gwen frowned, and Mary blushed, but Deirdre clapped her hands excitedly and would have run to him had not Sir Eugene forestalled her by taking long swift strides to her side, taking her fluttering hands in his own, and urging her to stay still.

Mary’s eyes misted slightly at the sight of the tenderness between her twin brother and his wife, while Gwen regarded him dispassionately.

He was dressed for riding in dun-colored breeches and a brown coat, with a scarf tied negligently about his neck. His was not the studied casualness currently in vogue; his was natural. He was a man who didn’t care about fashion. He didn’t have to.

How alike her children were in looks, Gwen thought. And Catherine, too, had the same large deep brown eyes and square chin. In Catherine and Eugene, the square jaw was strong and supported the belief a square jaw denoted a stubborn personality.

“Ralph’s sister, the Countess of Seaverness, has offered to present Catherine this Season along with her three other nieces,” Deirdre told him brightly, then started to giggle again. “She assumes Catherine has never had a Season and is still unwed because she has little portion and no beauty!”

Eugene raised an eyebrow but vouched no comment.

Mary, nervous at the growing silence, took up the issue. “We believe she should go despite Lady Harth’s ideas.”

“I fail to see where I enter into the matter. If the chit wishes to go, I see no reason she shouldn’t.”

“My love,” Deirdre said softly, tugging her husband’s hand to get his attention, “I think your mother and Mary are afraid Catherine will not go if she thinks you need her here. And she has said she does not wish to wed. She prefers the company of horses.” Deirdre gave him a soft smile.

“Nonsense. Of course she will one day wed. She would be a prize for any gentleman!”

“Aye, she’s a prize, but will the prize ever be claimed?

” Gwen asked sarcastically, annoyed with her son’s offhand manner.

“Do you see any prospects about? No! Unless you consider the young men with the regiment stationed in York, or perhaps some of those greedy country fops she meets at the Harrogate Assemblies, who fall in love with her beauty but wish to marry her because one day your estate will pass to her. Those are Catherine’s choices now. ”

Gwen grew more frustrated at her son’s urbane countenance. “Oh! How I wish you had not told everyone your intentions.”

Sir Eugene’s brows snapped together. He scowled at his mother while he considered her words.

He never thought of Catherine’s age, and he realized he never thought of her ever leaving Umberfife.

He had meant it for the best when he made Catherine his heir.

As for leaving her Fifefield and the stable, well, it was the only way to keep it in the family.

He and Deirdre would have no children. Catherine and her husband would keep the Burke tradition alive, and one day his grandnephews would inherit.

But he had no wish for her to wed a fortune hunter.

. . . If his mother were correct. He looked quizzically at his wife.

Her eyes big as saucers, she nodded.

He looked back to his mother. “It was not meant that way,” he said, irritated at his mother as well as himself.

“There is a reason for Catherine to go to London,” Deirdre said slowly.

Three pairs of eyes turned to her.

She smiled broadly. “You mentioned it yourself earlier, Lady Burke. Did you not note Gene had a Grand Tour before taking over Fifefield?”

Eugene and Mary were puzzled by Deirdre's line of thought; however, Gwen caught the nub of the matter.

“Of course, he did not want to go either, eager as he was to take over. However, afterward, Gene, you said yourself it was the best thing you could have done. You knew how to judge horses, and the trip taught you to judge people as well!” Gwen said, warming to the idea.

“If you were to tell Catherine it would help her run the stable, she might go willingly.”

“Yes, and I know just how to spur on that willingness, too,” Deirdre said.

The other three looked at her expectantly. She shook her head. “I shan’t tell you, for it must be something between Catherine and me. But mark my words, she will go.” She began to giggle again, clapping her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud, her eyes dancing with mischief.