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L ady Serenity had just questioned the relationship Roland had with his brother and he had no compunction to lie about it.

“I do not, due to a long history between us. I do hold out hope that someday he will not be plagued over finding himself the second son. In essence, I hope that he matures and looks around and notices all the benefits he does have. He will have a life of ease and very little responsibility.”

Lady Serenity sighed. “It is harder on gentlemen, I am sure. I cannot imagine being jealous of Felicity on account of her being the eldest. But then, she is not in a position to inherit. All of my father’s holdings are entailed and his title will go to my cousin.”

Roland had not been aware of what the situation had been regarding inheritance in the duke’s family. “Ah, so the duke’s nephew will someday take on the mantle. Do you like him?”

“We do not know him,” Lady Serenity admitted.

“It seems my father and his brother did not get on any better than you do with your brother. I believe that’s why my grandfather put on the entail—to keep the land together, lest my father thought to break it up.

When my uncle died, which was several years ago, my cousin went to live with more distant relations.

In any case, he is still very young, near Valor’s age, I believe. ”

“Perhaps the duke is lucky that he’s only had daughters, despite the world thinking it some sort of disappointment.”

Lady Serenity laughed. “I am quite sure that my father is well satisfied with his lot, though he is forever naming us setbacks that he is determined to get out of his house.”

Roland smiled, as that did seem to be the duke’s peculiar brand of affection.

From the corridor, a gentleman called out, “The Earl of Mumsby is setting off fireworks, you can see them from the garden!”

“Shall we go?” Roland asked.

*

Lord Thorpe had held his arm out as he asked Serenity if she would care to go into the garden to view the fireworks being set off.

“Indeed, yes,” she said. “I have only seen them one time as my father will not take us to Vauxhall—he calls it the place people go to act like idiots and then hope it is not widely reported in the morning. He says if he is to do anything shocking, and sometimes he does like to, he will do it in somebody’s drawing room. ”

Lord Thorpe held out his arm and they made their way toward Lady Jellerbey’s back garden. “Yes, Vauxhall can certainly be that unfortunate place for some, as I believe Lady Highland discovered last season.”

“What happened?” Serenity asked. She’d heard nothing about it. She supposed her older sisters probably had and thought it not the sort of information to bandy about.

Now she was almost sure of it, as Lord Thorpe looked uncomfortable to be asked.

“Well, let’s just say she took an unfortunate stroll down the dark walk with an ill-advised companion. Where did you see fireworks the one time you did have the opportunity?”

Lord Thorpe seemed determined to change the subject back to fireworks and away from whatever Lady Highland had done on the dark walk with whoever she’d done it with.

Serenity said, “I saw them in the Dales. My father paid some fellow to set them off over Christmas one year. The first few went off without a hitch, but then there was some sort of explosion. In any case, the man ended with a very burned hand and a nearby barn burned to the ground.”

“A barn?” Lord Thorpe asked. He looked positively stricken.

“I can see you fear for the horses, as did I at the time. They were all taken out once the roof caught, so it was only the structure that burned.”

Lord Thorpe let out an audible sigh of relief.

“I remember we all stood out in the cold night air watching the flames and my father said, ‘Well that was more of a show than I paid for.’ He was such a dear to say it, as I think it must have cost him a deal of money to replace the barn and he must have been aggravated, but he wished to soothe Valor. She was terrified that everything in the neighborhood would burn.”

“Lady Valor seems determined to stop her sisters from a wedding,” Lord Thorpe said.

Serenity’s breath caught. It felt like a daring statement.

They had entered the garden along with a dozen others who’d come to see the fireworks.

As a burst of orange and white could be seen in the distance, she said, “Valor has watched three sisters leave the house and she does not think she will wish to marry herself, so she would prefer the rest of us do not, either.”

“Ah, because she does not like the idea of being stared at in the night.”

“Or a gentleman being in the room all night either,” Serenity said softly.

The fireworks burst on the eastern horizon and they were of such beauty that they did begin to affect Serenity’s feelings.

As a strategy, she pretended to look up but averted her eyes to the left so she did not weep over the majesty of it.

Things were proceeding so well she would not allow herself to reveal any oversentimentality she might be afflicted with.

Their hands brushed and both of them pretended they had not noticed. Nor did either of them move their hands away.

“There you are,” the duke said, approaching from behind. “Stole my daughter out to a dark garden, did you?”

At that comment, they did move their hands away. “Certainly not, Your Grace,” Lord Thorpe said. “We were alerted to the idea that Lord Mumsby’s fireworks were visible.”

“Yes, yes, I only jest,” the duke said. “If I were serious, I’d demand a duel. Which, by the by, everybody knows I would not turn up for. Deuced early things. Don’t know why anybody gets up for them.”

Serenity could see very well that Lord Thorpe suppressed a snort.

He seemed to understand her father, which she very much appreciated, as not everybody did.

She also thought her father must very much approve of Lord Thorpe, or he would not jest about his daughter being located in a dark garden with the gentleman.

The three stood together watching the Earl of Mumsby’s fireworks until the very last one faded to darkness in the night sky.

When Serenity had arrived home from Lady Jellerbey’s candlelight picnic, she’d found that Valor was long abed and Winsome and Verity played lottery tickets with Mrs. Right. As was her sisters’ usual habit, they grilled her with questions about the evening, and about Lord Thorpe in particular.

She told them as much as she wished to, but she did not tell them everything. She did not tell them one thing. That, she would keep to herself.

Their hands had brushed. And neither of them had pulled away. She wondered if it were shocking that she’d not pulled her hand away, though, much to her surprise, she found she did not care a whit if it had been shocking.

She’d almost wept there and then, so overcome was she. And of course, the majesty of the fireworks had almost set her off. She’d averted her eyes so she might more easily compose herself.

Serenity felt she’d done quite a creditable job of it too. The only problem, as Patience had pointed out, was how long could she keep it up? How long would it be before the marquess got a look at the real her? The dead bees and brushing hands and beauty of the dawn weeper, Serenity Nicolet?

What would he think? She could not bear to see the admiration fade from his eyes.

He did admire her, there could be no other conclusion.

She could not bear the idea that he was attracted to someone who was not quite herself, and that he might not admire her real self—the lady weeping over all and sundry.

Somehow, she was going to have to keep it up, though.

She would have to toughen up. She had to remake herself into someone who would be a worthy marchioness, eventually to become a duchess.

Nobody had ever heard of a weeping duchess and she thought nobody would prefer it.

Certainly nobody had ever heard of a duchess who secretly kept a crypt of dead bees!

She lay in her bed, watching clouds gathering to shield the moon from view and wept over it.

*

The cold and raining morning had brought a headache of massive proportions.

Charles had perhaps drunk a bit more than was his usual habit at Lady Jellerbey’s candlelight whatever that was supposed to be.

It was Thorpe’s fault. His brother just could not resist poking him where he should not be poked.

Ever since his father had once counseled him on the idea of acquiring a moral compass while Thorpe had been on the other side of the door gleefully listening, he’d had the idea constantly thrown in his face.

That particular situation of so many years ago had been ridiculous to start with.

All he’d done was throw a few stones at a village boy and he’d been hauled into the library like it was a hanging offense.

His father had gone on a long diatribe about how a ducal family must lead by an example of dignity, kindness, and liberality.

To fail to do so was to invite certain ideas the French had not so long ago explored.

No lord lived behind high walls and moats guarded by a private army any longer.

They held power not because they commanded it through force, but because it was afforded them through respect.

If respect was gone, the guillotines were not so very far away.

Nobody should ever be foolish enough to suppose it could not happen here, as that is just what every French nobleman who lost his head had mistakenly believed.

Charles had presumed it all nonsense. Since when was an uneducated village cur going to have the nerve to propose chopping off his head?