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“Y ou don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about leaving Merry and Felicity behind to deal with Seri’s impossible state? Her planning of the annual Broadmere picnic borders on the irrational. You know that.”

Grace couldn’t resist giving her sister Joy a wicked smile. “Do you feel any guilt?”

Joy returned an equally mischievous grin. “Well, no. Now that you mention it. I do not possess the slightest twinge.”

“It is a glorious day for a stroll to the village,” Grace said.

“Besides, Seri mentioned we needed to find a few extra trinkets for the nursery. We can take that worry from her long list of tasks yet to be done. After all, we can’t have little Rorie and Quill thinking we’ve forgotten them in the flurry of the picnic festivities. ”

“Blessing and Fortuity have already accused us of overindulging our little niece and nephew.” Joy twirled her bright yellow parasol that rested on her shoulder. “But with Rorie just over a year old and Quill barely two months of age, I find that accusation unfounded. Don’t you?”

“Most definitely.” Grace swung her parasol at her side, tapping the ground with its tip as though it were a cane. She hated the silly thing and adored the warmth of the sun on her face. Who cared if she got freckles? Sunshine made her feel alive.

“If you’re not going to use your parasol, you had better pull your bonnet forward to shade your face,” Joy said. “Seri nearly had an attack of apoplexy when you came in from your ride the other day with your face red as a beetroot.”

Her face had been red as a beetroot because of her encounter with the Duke of Wolfebourne, but Grace wasn’t about to share that bit of on dit with Joy.

None of her sisters could keep a secret.

But Joy, in particular, tended to use any delicate information as leverage to force her sisters to cover for her so she could enjoy the gaming tables during parties instead of looking for a husband, as Chance had ordered them all to do.

Grace tugged the brim of her cornflower-blue bonnet forward.

It matched the embroidered flowers bordering the empire waist of her white muslin, the trim around her sleeves, and the wrists of her gloves.

Her parasol and reticule were also the same shade as freshly bloomed cornflowers.

Serendipity had informed her that the ensemble brought out the blue in her eyes and complemented her golden hair.

Grace snorted. What a load of stuff and nonsense. She looked the way she looked and no shade of blue or amount of frippery would change that.

“There. I am quite shaded now. Happy?”

“Don’t be fractious with me.” Joy ran her hand across the tops of the wild forget-me-nots blooming alongside the hard-packed dirt road. “These are so pretty. We should pick some on the way back for the entry hall vases.”

“Are you forgetting dear Seri’s orders as we walked out the door?”

“Ah, yes.” Joy tucked her hand away from the flowers. “ Do not stain your gloves ,” she said, mimicking their eldest sister perfectly.

“It must be so tiring to be Serendipity.” Grace almost felt sorry for her sister.

She realized Serendipity’s mother-henning came from a place of love and a deathbed promise to their mother.

But sometimes the eldest sister carried it a bit too far.

“She needs to realize that perfection is often not worth the cost.”

“She will,” Joy said. “Someday.” As they reached the village, she perked like one of Grace’s foxhounds.

“Look there. It appears our neighbors decided to visit the shops today too, but they brought their carriage. I wonder if we’ll catch sight of the duke’s affianced.

That is the Wolfebourne crest, isn’t it?

Maybe we shall finally set eyes on the Duke of Wolfebourne too.

It is said he is quite the beast—both in size and temperament. ”

“Really?” Grace said after swallowing hard to ensure her voice remained steady. “I had not heard that about the man.” Heaven help her if it was the duke and not his houseguests.

The insignia of a silver shield with a pair of wolves—one black, one red, facing each other with their noses pointed up to the heavens in what appeared to be a mutual howl—was most definitely the Wolfebourne crest.

Another gut-wrenching surge of irritation, dread, and inexplicable excitement flashed through Grace with a fury, threatening to render her speechless.

“You’ve gone all red in the face again,” Joy told her. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“I am fine.” Grace coughed as though she’d choked on something in the air and jutted her chin to a defensive angle.

“Your face is pinking a bit too. I am sure it is nothing more than our brisk walk. London’s stale air kept us from exerting ourselves properly.

We must take more strolls to improve our endurance and health. ”

Joy narrowed her eyes. Rarely did anything slip past her. “Stay away from the card tables, sister. Your words say one thing, but your face says quite another.”

Grace ignored her and increased their already spirited pace. “Shall we try Mettlestone’s for baubles for the children? Their shop rarely disappoints.”

“Even if we don’t find anything that suits, it would be rude not to stop in and visit with Mr. Herbert and Mrs. Beatrice. We haven’t seen them since last summer.”

Grace quite agreed. All the sisters loved Mr. and Mrs. Mettlestone, better known as Mr. Herbert and Mrs. Beatrice. The shopkeepers were always such a joy.

As soon as the bell above the door merrily jangled at their entrance, a cheerful crow followed. “Mrs. Beatrice, come to the front! Lady Grace and Lady Joy are here!”

Grace gave Mr. Herbert a jaunty curtsy even though she knew that might make some frown. She didn’t care. The dear old shopkeeper deserved every modicum of friendship and politeness. “Mr. Herbert! How are you, dear sir? Joy and I could not wait another day to come in for a visit.”

The round little man’s rosy cheeks plumped even more.

Balding and possessing the sort of smile that made it impossible not to smile back at him, Mr. Herbert clapped his pudgy hands.

“I am quite well, dear ladies, but not as well and lovely as the pair of you.” He turned and peered over the tops of his wire-rimmed spectacles at the curtained-off doorway behind the counter.

“Mrs. Beatrice! Come to the front, my darling! We have treasured guests.” He turned back to them and lowered his voice.

“Bless my dear wife’s soul. I fear her ability to hear is becoming impaired, but please do not mention it. ”

Grace and Joy both shook their heads and pressed a finger to their lips. Mr. Herbert’s confidence was safe with them.

An equally round, yet a tad shorter, and silvery-haired woman burst through the curtains of the doorway, paused a hairsbreadth of a moment, then gleefully clapped her hands.

“Lady Grace! Lady Joy! I was hoping we would soon be blessed with a visit.” She swatted her husband’s shoulder.

“Mr. Herbert! Why did you not tell me the ladies were here?”

He caught her hand and kissed it, then said with all seriousness, “Forgive me, my darling. I was so delighted to see the ladies that I simply forgot.”

She forgave him with a loving smile and a touch of his cheek.

“Not to worry, my dear one. Not to worry. The main thing is I know they are here now.” As Mrs. Beatrice turned back to them, Grace held her breath to keep from laughing at Mr. Herbert wiping his brow with an exaggerated sweep of his hand and a comical wiggle of his head.

“And how is the rest of the family?” Mrs. Beatrice asked as she folded her hands atop the shelf of her plump middle.

“Of course, you knew Blessing and Fortuity are married now,” Grace said, “but did Fortuity think to write and let you know about little Quill? He is just now two months old.”

Mrs. Beatrice hurried over to a shelf and snatched down a book, beaming with happiness as she brought it forward.

“Yes! When her latest novels arrived, she included a note that told us all about him, Master Quill Ravenglass. I adore that name.” She hugged the book as if it were a babe.

“And what about little Miss Aurora? Is she walking by now?”

“Almost,” Joy said. “She loves to toddle around while holding on to your fingers.”

“Any more banns to be read anytime soon?” Mr. Herbert asked with a waggle of his bushy brows. “By my count, there are still five sisters yet to marry.”

“Much to Chance’s disappointment—no.” Grace glanced not once but twice out the large front shop window as a familiar figure, tall and dark, passed in front of it and approached the door.

Drat. Drat. Drat. She was trapped more surely than poor Hector had been snarled in the woodbine.

Heaven help her. The children were with him too.

The welcoming bell jangled, and the trio entered.

The duke’s broad shoulders filled the doorway, blocking any sunlight trying to enter with him.

Or, at least, it seemed that way. Perhaps it was his black cutaway coat that made him appear so large, just as his buff pantaloons and tall, well-polished boots stressed his long legs.

Young Connor wore identical dress, and little Sissy outshone them both in a soft pink confection with a matching bonnet.

Grace held her breath, praying the children wouldn’t reveal they already knew her. She backed up a step without even realizing she did so.

Joy drew closer and whispered, “Is that—”

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Beatrice said to the duke as she proffered the perfect curtsy.

With a gracious wave of her hand, she motioned at Grace and Joy.

“What auspicious timing—allow me to introduce you to Lady Grace and Lady Joy Abarough, sisters to the Duke of Broadmere and your neighbors to the north of your property.”