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“Of course I am!” the Dowager Duchess crowed.

“You do not get to my age without learning a thing or two about the world around you.” She took a biscuit from the plate and bit into it loudly.

Crumbs fluttered down the front of her day dress.

“In any case, things have turned out far better than I ever dared imagine when I…” She polished off the rest of her biscuit. “Well, you know.”

“When you schemed to have Wyatt not marry Miss Henford,” Gemma finished.

The Dowager Duchess raised her thin gray eyebrows. “Oh, not just that, my dear. When I schemed to have Wyatt marry you .”

“ What ?” Gemma nearly upended her teacup in her lap. She put the cup down hurriedly, not trusting herself to carry the steaming liquid. “You schemed to have Wyatt marry me ?”

“Of course I did,” the Dowager Duchess said airily, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. She started on a second biscuit.

“But I thought…” Gemma stood up and began to pace.

Her thoughts were knocking into each other, struggling to make sense of all she was learning.

“I thought I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And you wanted Wyatt to marry someone other than Miss Henford, so when you saw him follow me behind the church…”

The Dowager Duchess chuckled. “Well. It was no accident that Wyatt followed you behind the church. His head was clearly full of you after the Henfords' party.”

The Henfords' party! Gemma's thoughts flew back to their encounter in the music room; the encounter Wyatt had claimed his grandmother had engineered.

But it was not just his own grandmother who had been scheming that night, she realized now.

It had been the Dowager Marchioness who had goaded Gemma into the music room in the first place.

The Dowager Marchioness who had lied about Veronica being at the pianoforte, and needing her older sister's comfort.

“You and my grandmother have been planning this all along!” Gemma cried, a hand rising to cover her mouth.

The Dowager Duchess laughed again. “I do not know why you look so shocked, my dear. Surely you knew the two of us were capable of such things.” The smile on her face looked distinctly self-satisfied.

“And what about…” Gemma could hardly get the question out, but she had to know. “What about the night Wyatt and I… challenged each other to those games? Was that your doing too?” Her voice was tiny. “I barely remember a thing.”

“I am not surprised,” the Dowager Duchess grinned. “Your darling grandmother put enough gin in your lemonade to drown a whale.”

Gemma sank back onto the bench, hands covering her face. “That night,” she began, “Wyatt and I… we…” She shook her head, unable to voice to where they had found themselves the next morning. “Well, anything could have happened!”

“Well of course it could.” The Dowager Duchess shrugged, completely unfazed by her admission. “Pippa and I were counting on it.”

“You were counting on it ?” Gemma did not know whether to laugh or cry.

How could she be angry at her grandmother and Dowager Duchess when being around Wyatt made her feel so cared for, so safe.

Then again, perhaps that was exactly why she ought to be angry with them!

Because thanks to them, she knew she was on the verge of falling in love.

And that was the last thing in the world she had ever intended to do!

Love made everything a thousand times more complicated!

“Drink up, my dear.” The Dowager Duchess shoved the teacup back into her hand. “You look a little pale.” Obediently, Gemma took the cup and gulped down the now-lukewarm liquid.

“Why?” she dared to ask. “Why me? I am… I am nothing. And my family is… Well, my father has dragged our name through the mud, to say the least.”

“Gemma.” The Dowager Duchess took hold of her wrist and squeezed it firmly.

“You are not nothing . You are strong and intelligent and beautiful.” She looked her in the eye.

“I wanted you to marry my grandson because he needed a strong woman by his side.

One who would stand up to his mother, as you have shown yourself more than capable of doing.

A woman who is not afraid to speak her mind, and who cares about far more than just Wyatt's title.” She smiled.

“I wanted him to marry a woman he would fall hopelessly in love with.”

Gemma let out her breath and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Well,” she said. “I can stand up to my mother-in-law, yes. But I am afraid you have failed on the second count. Wyatt does not love me.”

“Pfft.” The Dowager Duchess snorted. “Rubbish. Of course, he does.”

“No. Our marriage… it is not like that. Wyatt needs an heir. That is the only reason he comes to my bed at night. We have spoken about it at length.”

“Oh, you have spoken about it at length, have you? Well, in that case, you cannot possibly be in love.” The Dowager Duchess let out a boisterous laugh. “ That , my dear, is the biggest load of tripe I have ever heard in my life.”

Gemma tried in vain to calm her racing heart. “What makes you think he loves me?” she dared to ask.

The Dowager Duchess sipped her tea. “Before you arrived, Wyatt was out almost every night. We barely saw him, and when we did, he was either giddy with drink or regretting the excesses of the night before. All he cared about was where he and Lord Anderson would go that night, and who he might meet.” Gemma opened her mouth to speak, but the Dowager Duchess flapped a hand, cutting her off.

“But since he married you, he has been home almost every night. He would rather be with you than out on the town with Lord Anderson, or with… well, anyone else he might meet on his adventures.”

Gemma said nothing. It was true; since that one night he had gone out with the Baron—the night of her dalliance with Captain Midnight—Wyatt had spent each evening at home with her.

They dined together, chatted together, and then spent hours pleasuring each other beneath the sheets.

It was a routine she woke each morning looking forward to.

A routine she had come to crave. Not for a second had she allowed herself to believe that Wyatt might feel the same.

No. She could not allow herself to believe what the Dowager Duchess was saying.

Because each night, after they had lain together, in an attempt to produce an heir, Wyatt would slide out of her bed and return to his own quarters, as though desperate to put space between them.

And then, of course, there was his business-like proposal to pack her off to Devon once she had given him a son.

Surely if he loved me, he would never have made such a suggestion!

She shook her head sadly. “I am sorry, Your Grace. But you are wrong.”

The Dowager Duchess laughed and poured the last of her tea into the garden. She got to her feet, patting Gemma on the shoulder.

“Gemma, dearest,” she said with a smile, “I am never wrong.”