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He winced as he was forced to remember what the uneducated village cur had found the nerve to do.

Days later, Charles had been walking through the wood to a stream to fish for trout when he’d been set upon by the uneducated village cur and two of his uneducated friends.

He’d been badly beaten and then informed that if he complained to the duke, it would be put about that he was responsible for a certain dairy maid’s rather expanded condition.

That would probably not have married well with the duke’s ideas of a moral compass so he’d kept quiet about it and claimed he’d been thrown from his horse.

He suspected Thorpe knew the truth, as his brother was always so friendly with the uneducated village curs.

Thorpe’s barbs last evening had caused him to indulge too heavily.

The factor that really sent him over the edge was when he’d looked all over Lady Jellerbey’s rooms for Lady Serenity, hoping she’d since separated herself from his brother.

He’d finally found her out in the back garden.

She, her father, and Thorpe were watching Lord Mumsby’s rather tepid fireworks display.

He could not avoid noticing that Thorpe and Lady Serenity were standing closer than would be socially acceptable.

Thorpe was getting ahead of him. How was he doing it? Was it the ridiculous dog walks?

Perhaps he ought to borrow a dog from someone and turn up for one of these dog walks.

He would weigh that idea, but one idea did not need to be weighed.

Thorpe was holding a dinner, an early dinner for Lady Violet or Valor or Vera.

He did not need to debate if he would attend that , as of course he would.

Let Thorpe attempt to bar the door against him if he would try it.

It was his door too, and Thorpe was not yet the duke.

Thorpe was just the son of a duke, as he was himself.

In the meantime, he’d spend the day holding a cold compress to his forehead, wondering who he might have offended last evening.

*

Mrs. Right had spent the morning in the drawing room, attempting to cheer up everybody in it. The rain was pouring down in buckets out of doors and not even the most cheerful sort of person could name it only a misting. The dog walking was off for that morning, at least.

Of all of them, Valor was the least affected and seemed to take the dousing rain as a definitive comment on Lord Thorpe and his dog-walking ideas.

Thomas had brought in a tea tray and Mrs. Right could see very well that Cook had gone to an extra effort. The miniature apple cakes were in abundance, along with the usual almond biscuits with the duke’s stamp on them.

“Now girls, remember what we have always done in bad weather when we are in the Dales,” she said.

Valor whispered the idea to Mrs. Wendover. She had so far managed to keep hold of her stuffed rabbit for the past few days, though Nelson rolled on his back and looked at it longingly.

“We can sometimes be very cozy when it rains in the Dales,” Winsome said. “We should all find books in the library as we do there.”

“Winsome can read from one of them,” Verity said.

“Why must I always read, though?” Winsome asked. “Why do not you take a turn at it?”

Verity looked out the window and said, “You have the better voice for it, as everybody knows.”

“If I have to read, then I will choose what it is,” Winsome said.

“Of course, you should choose,” Verity said, “but I hope you choose something that is educational, as I do like to know facts. Something about the Greeks would be efficacious.”

“Perhaps efficacious, but not as interesting as something gothic,” Winsome said, setting off for the library. “With any luck, I’ll find some poor maiden trapped in a lonely and damp castle with no hope of escape.”

Mrs. Right nodded, as she highly approved of the idea.

There was nothing she liked better than tragic maidens in damp castles worrying over who kept murdering people.

In any case, she could not fathom what Verity did with all the facts she gathered.

She seemed to put them in her mind and mix them up like a cake.

As Winsome went out the doors, Charlie came through them holding a silver salver with a letter on it. “Addressed to Lady Serenity,” he said. “Just delivered by one of Lord Thorpe’s footmen.”

Serenity sat up straight, as she had been rather slumped on the sofa in what looked like a state of ennui.

She tore open the letter. She smiled and said, “He writes that he is shocked that nature has thought to punish them with heavy rain and made an urgent request to provide sunshine on the morrow. Or if not sunshine, then nothing more than a misting.”

“Now that’s a very cheering idea,” Mrs. Right said.

“It is, rather,” Serenity said.

“He’s not read my letter yet then, or he would not be so cheerful,” Valor muttered.

Mrs. Right took in a breath. Verity dropped her sewing. Serenity stared at Valor.

Winsome came back into the room and looked about. “What? Why do you all stare at Valor like that?”

“She’s written another letter,” Verity said in a dark tone.

“Valor!” Serenity cried. “You were told you must not send any more letters.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Valor said, burying her face into Mrs. Wendover’s miniature India shawl.

“Then why did you do it?” Winsome asked.

“It got away from me, and also, Lady Margaret gave me some very good advice.”

Mrs. Right sighed. Valor’s letter writing was meant to come to an end last season after the rather unfortunate missive sent to Lord Stanford mentioning that Valor hoped he would die and the devil would burn him up.

Now she’d gone to Lady Margaret for advice.

That lady was very old and exceedingly eccentric and thought everything Valor did was very clever.

Heaven knew what she’d told her young friend in their ongoing and very eccentric correspondence.

“What did that letter say, Valor?” Serenity said, her hands shaking as she laid down Lord Thorpe’s letter.

Valor looked up at the ceiling as if the answer were to be found there. “Only that I had certain demands about him taking you away.”

Good Lord.

“Tell me you did not sign it,” Serenity said, brushing tears from her cheeks.

“I had to,” Valor whispered. “Or else he wouldn’t know who was making the demands.”

“What demands?” Verity asked.

“Well, mostly just that you would sleep at our house and he could sleep wherever he wanted…somewhere else.”

“He has not even asked for my hand, Valor,” Serenity cried, sobbing. “You have humiliated me! He will never ask now.”

This, not very surprisingly, caused Valor to sob. Then, once two sisters were sobbing, the last two must follow suit. Mrs. Right was not sure how it could have happened so quickly, but she was now in receipt of four sobbing girls.

“There now, Serenity,” she said soothingly, “nobody who has ever been the target of one of Valor’s outrageous letters has ever been much affected by it.”

“They haven’t?” Valor asked through her sobs.

“Of course they haven’t, Poppet, and a very good thing too. You are sticking your nose in where it does not belong, whatever good intentions you had doing it.”

“My nose knows it!” Valor cried.

“What am I to do?” Serenity asked.

“Nothing at all,” Mrs. Right said. “Lord Thorpe will take the letter for what is is—a panicked younger sister lashing out.”

“I really am panicked and I did lash out,” Valor whispered.

“Now, enough of this crying and predicting disaster,” Mrs. Right said, knowing that sometimes a firm hand was the best way to herd her girls back into sense. “I will go find the sherry decanter and pour a drop for Serenity, the rest of you drink your tea, and all will be well.”

As she went off to do so, she passed Charlie in the great hall. “From now on, no letter written by Lady Valor leaves this house without me looking it over first.”

Charlie nodded. “I did hesitate this time, Mrs. Right, but she told me that Lady Serenity had approved it.”

Mrs. Right chuckled. “She’s a daring little thing, but no longer believe a word she says. She’ll grow out of this nonsense at some point, and that point cannot come too soon.”

She had expected to find Mr. Cremble in the dining room, fussing over things as he liked to do in an attempt to avoid her.

He was nowhere to be seen, though. She retrieved the sherry decanter and made her way back to the drawing room.

Just outside the great hall, she heard a very ominous sound indeed.

The front doors had opened and Lady Marchfield said, “I’ll show myself in. ”

Mrs. Right was all but sure the curate from The Grosvenor Church had been as good as his word and gone to see the lady regarding the question of the housekeeper’s aversion to crosses.

Fortunately, the duke had left the house to meet with his solicitor at White’s, so Lady Misery would not be getting in his ear about it.

She backed away and set off for her quarters to make herself scarce.

There were times when she enjoyed crossing swords with Lady Misery, but this time was not one of those times. Like any good general, she would make a strategic retreat and live to fight another day.

*

Roland had thought it rather daring to write Lady Serenity on account of the weather.

He’d done it anyway. After all, they’d practically held hands last evening.

They had not, but things had come very close to it.

Of course, had they actually held hands he would have needed to declare himself on the spot.

He would declare himself, but he needed a little more time.

When the duke’s footman had arrived at his doorstep with a letter, he had briefly imagined that Lady Serenity had responded to his wish for better weather on the morrow.

The letter was not from Lady Serenity, though.

It was a rather alarming missive from Lady Valor.

He handed it to Quinn to have a look at it.

Lord Thorpe—I have found myself disturbed that you are alive.

(I wouldn’t mind if you were alive somewhere else, like America, I am a reasonable person.) I finally decided to consult with my very good friend Lady Margaret.

We have had a correspondence for two whole years and she considers me her very dearest friend.

(She admires my youth, as she is very old.) Lady Margaret sent several suggestions that might make it not so terrible that you exist. I thought you should know about them before we come to dinner.

First, I am hoping that you cannot convince Serenity to marry you (and I really don’t know how Mr. Stratton, Lord Dashlend, and Lord Stanford have been able to convince my three eldest sisters because as far as I can see it only leads to having a man stare at you while you sleep).

BUT, if you can convince her, here are my demands: One, you must always be in London when we are here and you can’t mind it when Serenity sleeps at our house, which would be on every night we are here.

(You will stay at your house, obviously) Two, you must spend the summer months with us in the Dales.

There is an empty gardener’s cottage you can use and Serenity has her own room in the house.

(Or else she could just come by herself, whichever is most convenient, I am a reasonable person.)

I do not expect any argument from you, Sir, as my mind is quite made up. Lady Margaret assures me that I am being very liberal with my terms because you do me the honor of planning dinner at an early time to accommodate my youth. Consider me reasonable! Valor Nicolet.