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Q uinn had just laid down the letter from Lady Valor with a laugh. “She’s a bit of a corker.”

“Or something like that,” Roland said.

“Who is Lady Margaret?”

Roland shrugged. “I have no idea—an elderly relative, perhaps?”

“I suppose Lady Serenity remains unaware that her youngest sister has taken it upon herself to issue terms to the gentlemen in her sphere.”

“That is just it, though. Lady Valor certainly has the idea that I will ask and will be accepted. Might she not have got that idea from Lady Serenity?”

“Perhaps so.”

“That is a very good sign, then,” Roland said.

“So you will ask?”

“Well…I intend to, naturally.”

“What holds you back? And do not tell me it is some nonsense about her only having been introduced to the reserved marquess as of yet.”

“Is it not a concern, though? Last evening, she told me a story about a barn burning down. You can guess where my mind went.”

“To the horses in that barn,” Quinn said, “which would have caused you to recall Balthazar, your poor pony that had to be put down.”

“That is exactly it. I had a time of it keeping my expression neutral.”

“You know, that’s when it all started, this emotional flying up and down mountaintops.

I’ve always wondered if that horrific scene did not permanently affect your mind in some way.

It was not long after that you discovered that Clara, that housemaid, had been dismissed.

You took that harder than you might have. ”

Roland smiled. “I took it hard enough to steal fifty pounds from my father.”

“That you did. Never mind the father of her child was the local tavernkeeper who eventually married her. I reckon that fifty pounds set them up very well.”

Of course, that was true. Clara’s situation had not been as dire as he’d imagined. He’d thought if he did not do something, she would be left begging on the streets with a newborn baby in her arms. It had seemed imperative to act.

But the idea of a burning barn was not the only thing that had nearly set him off last night. “I had to avert my eyes while we watched the fireworks lest…well, what I say is that they were only fireworks. The way I sometimes react to things feels unnatural.”

Quinn shrugged. “Nothing unnatural about it. In any case, it seems to me that married couples encounter all sorts of surprises after the wedding. I distinctly remember your mother being a bit taken aback by what she termed your father’s snores that could wake the dead.

They kept separate bedchambers, but she insisted she could hear it from her own.

She’d spoken to her lady’s maid about it, wondering why the duke had not mentioned it beforehand. ”

“I am not sure that is the same.”

“A lady could do worse than to discover her lord is rather a soft touch. I do not suppose you would deny her any amount of pin money or anything else she wished for.”

Roland considered it, as that was probably true. Too many ladies discovered just the opposite. Once the wooing was done, she might discover she’d wed a rather hard character. He was very afraid that anybody who agreed to wed Charles would discover precisely that.

“What do you plan to do about this letter, though? I do not suppose you intend on meeting this little lady’s demands.”

Roland laughed despite himself. “No, I certainly will not. I thought I might answer the letter, but then I decided that, for now at least, I’ll leave it.”

Quinn nodded. “Just what I would advise. If Lady Serenity has been made aware of this effrontery, she will be highly embarrassed. No need to pile on the embarrassment with an acknowledgement.”

Roland nodded. “I will just ignore it, as if it never arrived here at all.”

“Very encouraging that the young miss considers a wedding as a thing practically done, though.”

“Yes, it is very encouraging indeed.”

*

Serenity was rather distressed that Lady Marchfield had arrived right when the drawing room was overflowing with weeping sisters. The look on her aunt’s face indicated she was rather distressed too.

“What on earth is going on in here?” she asked, throwing her cloak to Thomas.

“I couldn’t help it!” Valor cried. “I sent another letter.”

“To Lord Thorpe,” Verity said, wiping her eyes. “As is becoming a usual thing.”

“She listed her demands,” Winsome said, wiping her nose on her sleeve, “mostly about Serenity sleeping here and him sleeping…somewhere else.”

Lady Marchfield sat down on the settee. “Am I to understand that Lord Thorpe has asked?”

Serenity went to sobbing again, as that was the real crux of it. He had not asked and Valor had written him a letter presuming he would.

“He hasn’t,” Winsome said.

“He will, though,” Valor said. “They always do, no matter what I write.”

“Let me understand this,” Lady Marchfield said gravely. “Lord Thorpe, a marquess who will someday inherit a dukedom, has paid some attention to Serenity. And you, Valor, saw fit to write him about who knows what, though it is the height of effrontery to write him at all?”

Valor shrugged. “That’s the size of it.”

“May I ask how you ever thought that was appropriate?”

Valor, looking very cornered, glanced down at Mrs. Wendover, the stuffed rabbit hanging limp in her arms. Seeming to see that blaming Mrs. Wendover for her misdeeds was an idea that had run its course, she said, “Lady Margaret told me to do it.”

“Then Lady Margaret is an idiot. I really do not understand you girls at all. Whenever anything promising seems to be developing you go out of your way to ruin it.”

“Ruin it?” Serenity asked softly. “Do you say that Lord Thorpe will be so offended that he will lose interest on account of it?”

“I would presume so. What is a highly placed gentleman to think of such a thing? He will be looking for a bride who will do him credit and a family connection he can be proud of and all I see here is eccentricity and uncultured boldness run amok.”

Serenity’s heart sank even lower than it had sunk. She’d been afraid the letter would put Lord Thorpe off, but to hear it spoken so decidedly by her aunt made it seem more certain.

“I have tried and tried to help you girls, but you will have none of it. I suppose the piper will finally have his due. It seems you will only learn through experience, as painful as that is bound to be. I wash my hands of it. Now, where is Cremble?” Lady Marchfield turned to the rather stunned footmen standing at the doors.

“You. Thomas, is it? Retrieve Mr. Cremble for me this instant.”

Serenity sat on the sofa feeling as if she had almost left her body. Her aunt could not be right. Just because Lord Thorpe would one day be His Grace, that did not mean he would not be stalwart in the face of a younger sister’s ridiculous letter. Mrs. Right had all but said so.

But then, Mrs. Right was always attempting to make them feel better.

On the other hand, Lady Marchfield just stated things she thought were a fact.

She could not be right. Perhaps her family did not do every single thing just as the ton would have it done.

It did not make them bad people. She did not think.

What if her aunt was right, though? What if Valor’s letter had been a step too far? If Serenity were to take out Nelson on the morrow at eleven, would she be humiliated to find herself abandoned? If that happened, how could she bear to go to his house to dine, knowing she was not wanted?

How could she bear it, when they’d brushed hands last night?

Thomas had set off to locate Mr. Cremble and came back with him after not too long a time. As Serenity brooded and swiped at her tears, Mr. Cremble said, “Lady Marchfield, thank heavens you have arrived.”

The lady nodded. “I heard all about what’s gone on from the curate. I assured him that I would not be at all surprised to discover that Mrs. Right was in league with the devil as it would explain quite a lot.”

Mr. Cremble nodded sadly.

“Furthermore, I told him there is not the least chance you are losing your faculties. I can assure you he intends to investigate this matter. I suggested he bring the bishop into it.”

“Thank you, Lady Marchfield,” Mr. Cremble said with relief in his voice.

Serenity, of course, knew of Mrs. Right’s gambit to frighten Mr. Cremble with ideas about the devil. She’d not imagined the bishop might be lured into it, though.

“Once I was alerted to what has gone on in this house, I gave it some deep thought and consulted with Lord Marchfield. As it happens, our vicar is intending to retire in two years’ time.

If you are agreeable to be a curate for Mr. Hartshorn for that amount of time, Marchfield will give you the living. ”

The joy that overtook Mr. Cremble’s features could not be overestimated. “Lady Marchfield, I accept! Heartily! It is my calling to make the church my life’s work.”

Serenity stared at him and thought she ought to be happy that at least one person in the house was happy.

Lady Marchfield nodded graciously. “Go and pack your bags, Mr. Cremble. I will put you up tonight and send you to the estate on the first coach out on the morrow, with a letter of introduction to Mr. Hartshorn. I am certain you will find the vicarage very comfortable—it is exceedingly roomy and affords a pretty little view. Mr. Hartshorn will be grateful for your arrival, as he has been inquiring into when we might send someone. He is arthritic, you see.”

“Mr. Hartshorn will find a willing servant in me, my lady! The lord has sent me through the fires to prove my worthiness, and I have come out of it unsinged,” Mr. Cremble said, hurrying out the door.

Lady Marchfield turned her attention to the tea tray and poured a cup while she waited for Mr. Cremble to pack up his things.

All four sisters surreptitiously glanced at their aunt, waiting for a further scolding. As she did not scold, they did not know what to make of it.

Winsome said, “So I suppose that’s it for the butlers. There won’t be another one coming next year, I would guess.”