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R oland watched the duke stroll off after having informed him of the absurd letter Charles had sent to him, claiming that he was the author of poor Clara’s troubles.

His brother was outrageous. Did he actually think he would have got away with such a thing?

He supposed he had thought that, as he’d done it.

He might have, had the duke been a different sort of gentleman.

All along, he’d been so distracted by the duke’s eccentricity that he’d not noticed how astute the gentleman really was.

Another father might have fallen for the ruse, or at least not been certain of the truth.

That father would err on the side of caution and cut off all contact.

He was very lucky that the duke had seen through it.

Of course, there was also the duke’s hint that he ought to get on with it. At least, he’d taken it so. That would indicate the duke’s firm approval of a match between himself and Lady Serenity. He had thought that would be the case, but it was well to hear it.

Roland’s eyes searched the ballroom to locate Lady Serenity.

Lady Marchfield had indeed introduced her to the Countess of Pembroke.

She was an older and very stately lady and she seemed to be looking kindly at Lady Serenity.

He supposed the countess would—she was known to be kind and full of good sense.

Just then, Charles approached Lady Pembroke’s party. Though Roland could not hear what was said and was left trying to read expressions, he did not think his brother was particularly admired by the party for doing it.

Charles never understood when it would not be welcome to push in. Lady Marchfield wished her niece to be introduced to one of the grand dames of London, she did not need Charles to crash into the conversation.

At first, Charles was all smiles. There seemed to be an exchange between him and Lady Serenity.

Then she flushed and turned away from Charles.

Of course, his brother did not know that Lady Serenity had been warned off him.

He’d just put her in a very uncomfortable position, and he’d probably been insistent about it.

Charles curtly bowed and strode away. In Roland’s direction, unfortunately. He took a glass of claret from a passing tray and turned round. With any luck, Charles would pass him by.

“What did you say to her?” Charles practically growled into his ear.

“To who?” Roland said, turning round to face his brother.

“You know who,” Charles said. “Lady Serenity.”

“Ah, Lady Serenity. I said nothing, that would have been the duke’s doing.”

“What do you mean the duke’s doing?” Charles asked.

Roland knew his brother well enough to see that he was making rapid calculations and speculations in his mind.

“Well, let’s see,” Roland said, taking a sip of his claret, “the duke received a letter. After reading it, he concluded that it would be best to keep his daughter well away from you.”

“Did you dare to send some kind of letter denouncing me?” Charles said, his outrage simmering.

“No,” Roland said, laughing, “ you sent a letter attempting to denounce me .”

It was fast dawning on Charles that not only had the duke not believed the letter from the “lowly servant,” but had easily deduced who had sent it.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Charles said, clearly in a play for time.

“Ah, I see. Well, perhaps ask your porter from The Albany, as he was the one who delivered that letter. Really, you ought to consult with him in any case. If the fellow is to go round delivering anonymous letters, perhaps he should not wear his livery—it gives the game away, you see. That was just one of the tip-offs to the duke that all was not as it seemed, though he had quite a hilarious list of your missteps.”

Charles had gone very red in the face. Roland had seen that look before, especially when they’d been younger.

At those moments, Charles was likely to break something or throw fists.

He could not do so here, though. He was careful of appearances and would not dare damage his reputation in such a manner.

Rather, he stormed off. Such was the violence of his departure that his tin crown flew off his head, clattered on the floor and rolled into a corner. He did not stop to pick it up.

Roland assumed that would be the end of Charles’ meddling.

His younger brother had flown a little too close to the sun with that gambit.

It would unnerve him that the duke knew he’d sent that ridiculous letter and, knowing the duke, His Grace might decide at some later date to talk about it.

Or rather, joke about it. Roland could easily envision such a circumstance, and he imagined Charles could too.

The one thing Charles absolutely could not bear was to be laughed at.

Perhaps this was all for the best. Whenever Charles went too far, which was often, he always retreated to lick his wounds.

He’d done so a hundred times when they’d been schoolboys.

After a suitable time had passed he would reappear as if nothing at all had occurred, as he seemed to think that time washed all crimes clean.

Roland would not be at all surprised to discover that his brother had set off for the continent again, only to return at some later date looking blameless.

He would be glad to see the back of his brother for a while. He had more important things on his mind than Charles’ bad behavior. As soon as Lady Serenity had concluded her conversation with the countess, he would approach and suggest a turn around the room.

*

Serenity had been whisked off to meet the countess, as her father wished a word with Lord Thorpe. And, he had threatened her aunt with telling all and sundry that he was dressed as her vicar going to the devil.

She supposed the word her father wished for with Lord Thorpe was the mysterious problem with his brother, Lord Charles. She tried to avoid being over-curious about it, as it would not do her good. However, she really was curious about it.

Her aunt had led her to Lady Pembroke and she’d curtsied deep as Lady Marchfield made the introduction.

“Charming,” Lady Pembroke said upon her rising.

Serenity could not think the lady really thought so, though. She was, after all, costumed as a bee.

“Lady Pembroke,” Lady Marchfield said, “The plight of a motherless girl. I assure you that if I’d been on hand for the costuming we…well, we would have done differently.”

“Gracious, I do hope not, Lady Marchfield. Lady Serenity is dressed as everything emblematic of our bucolic great estates. Without our bees there is not the sweetness of honey that graciously arrives at our tables each day.”

“I believe they are very sensitive creatures, Lady Pembroke,” Serenity said. She probably ought not to be so bold, but Lady Pembroke did seem so sympathetic to the bees.

“I presume you subscribe to slatted skeps, Lady Serenity,” Lady Pembroke said.

Serenity nodded. “Yes, certainly. We would not kill our bees with sulfur every September on any account. I should just die to think of it.”

Serenity willed the water that drifted to her eyes to go back where it came from.

The very idea of killing bees en masse had almost overtaken her.

She could see that her aunt was not exactly approving of her niece being so decided in her opinions.

However, she did feel rather strongly about that point.

She’d all but shamed the villagers attached to her father’s estate to adopt the slatted skeps so the bees might live.

“Excellent. Well, Lady Marchfield, you may take pride in such a connection,” Lady Pembroke said looking kindly at Serenity. “And I might also mention, it is pleasant to encounter such a costume. After all, need we see one more Queen Boudica running round the place?”

“Oh, as to that…” Lady Marchfield said. Serenity thought she hardly knew what to do with Lady Pembroke’s approval, so unexpected had it been.

“Countess, Lady Marchfield, Lady Serenity,” Lord Charles said, pushing into their party.

“Lord Charles,” Lady Pembroke said. “I suppose you have a particular reason for interrupting our conversation?”

Serenity thought this was how a lady with real power spoke. Lady Pembroke sounded as she imagined Queen Charlotte would speak—she did not mince words. It was very like her father, though the tone was so different.

“I did, and I beg pardon,” Lord Charles said smoothly.

Serenity did not know what he wanted, but as her father had told her to avoid him, she wished he would go away.

“I wondered if Lady Serenity would consent to a turn round the room?”

Now he’d put her on the spot, exactly as she’d feared he would. She’d just not thought it would be so soon after her father’s directive. There was nothing for it, though. “I am sorry, Lord Charles, I must regretfully decline.”

That certainly did take Lord Charles by surprise. “No matter,” he said, in a more jovial tone than his expression would suggest. “Well then, perhaps at the next ball where we meet, I might escort you through a dance.”

He was so persistent! She would not answer that. Her sister Patience had always advised simply going forward and jumping a fence when one got there. Whenever it was that she encountered Lord Charles at a ball, that would be time enough to decline him then.

“Lady Serenity?” he asked.

Serenity suppressed a sigh. He was so pushy he would force her to answer. “I have been directed to decline,” she said, “I am sorry.”

“Oh. I see,” Lord Charles said. “Well, excuse me for interrupting.”

With that, he sharply bowed, turned on his heel, and strode off. Her aunt looked as if she would disappear through the floor. Had Lady Pembroke not been within hearing, Serenity was certain she would just now be enduring the scolding of the century.

“Goodness, I do not know what that was all about,” Lady Pembroke said.

“My father directed me to avoid Lord Charles, though I am not privy to his reasons,” Serenity said.