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“However, Mel explained to me that the money she is providing will be in a trust. The terms of access will be negotiated in any marriage settlement, but in effect, Nancy’s husband will not have much control. My girl will not fall prey to a fortune hunter. Did my sons tell you that?”

“No.” His spirits lifted. “And it doesn’t matter, my lady. In truth, I’ve found the notion of marrying for money distasteful.”

“Ah. You’ve come around to that opinion? You didn’t seem to feel that way when you were in London dancing with heiresses.”

He felt his cheeks heating again.

“Well then, you may court her, your grace, but it will take more than your handsome face and your title to rekindle that childish tendre and win her heart.”

“I can see that. I had something of a row with her this morning. She’s unwilling to forgive me. I know I was abominable at that ball, but I fear there must be more than the, er, unfortunate scene in the supper room. Will you not tell me everything?”

“I will tell you that Nancy hugged the walls of every ball we attended after that. She is, as you noted, disposed to be gentle and serious and occasionally a bit socially awkward. She’s not boisterous, and even when she was organizing the family for pageants and plays, she never truly needed to be the center of attention.

The Season can be daunting for such girls.

At her first London ball, her confidence was shattered—by you.

I made her attend parties and routs and musicales.

She went, as I required, and though she joined the ranks of wallflowers, her deepest friendships are still with her sisters. ”

“My lady, please tell me—I intend to make this up to her—but I must know. Besides the unfortunate scene at the supper room, what else did I do?”

“You must ask her.” She shifted in her chair and smoothed her skirts. “And let me remind you that others have an interest in courting her. Your title won’t make you an easy winner.”

His fingers threatened to curl into fists. Percy Nacton was surely one of those eager admirers.

“And I hope your courtship has nothing to do with that masculine need to win at all costs. I hope the Simon Clayding I knew is better than that.”

Feeling as though he ought to slink out with his tail tucked between his legs, he bowed over the dowager’s hand and made his way to his bedchamber.

He found Nacton stretched out on the sofa there, yawning.

“Good of you to let me dress here tonight,” Percy said.

It just needed this . “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable, Percy.”

“It’s Sir Percy now, i’n’t, your grace? Who would have thought when we were trudging through the Peninsula that we’d both have a title someday. Though you won the greater prize.”

“An accident of birth.” Simon shed his coats and went to the washstand, splashing the tepid water on his face. He’d need to shave again before the evening festivities.

“I’ll need your man’s help,” Percy said.

“I didn’t bring my valet.” Simon walked to the window and pushed the sash higher. They’d had two days of sunny, dry weather and the late June air was stifling.

“No?”

The late duke’s valet had dutifully traveled with Simon to all his estates and proved useful enough to earn a bit of a holiday. “No. I’ve sent him on to London where he’s busy organizing my wardrobe. One of the footmen can help you.”

“Good. Want to look my best tonight.” Percy stood, lifted a garment from the back of a chair, and carried it over. “My costume,” he said with a grin.

The long vest and frilly shirt must have been the height of fashion a century earlier.

“You’ll look quite the peacock,” Simon said.

“I hope so. Two heiresses here tonight. I hear Miss Nancy will bring even more to a marriage than Miss Hazelton. And unless she’s lost her memory, I’ve got a leg up on you with Miss Nancy.”

Blood surged into Simon’s hands as jealousy flooded him. Percy was a fit, well-built man, an inch taller than himself. He was also one of those handsome, sweet-talking men with pockets to let that Lady Neda Loughton mentioned.

Like himself. Except that he knew Nancy. And cared for her.

“Your costume is over there. A maid brought them, a pretty little thing named Meg.”

Simon sent Percy a look, and he held up his hands.

“No. Didn’t touch her,” he said. “Don’t want to ruin my reputation at Loughton Manor, now do I?”

“There are no camp senoritas or soldiers’ wives here. Keep that in mind.”

“I’ll do that, your grace.” A gleam of amusement lit the other man’s eyes. “And no Covent Garden doves about here either. Though I recall you were able to resist the charms of that fair-haired whore we met on Lady Chilcombe’s square.”

Simon winced, an unsettling feeling roiling through him. Percy oughtn’t to be sitting in Loughton Manor talking about prostitutes.

Before he could craft a reply that would get through the oaf’s thick head, a footman arrived to fetch Percy to another bedchamber the Lovelaces had found for him, and to deliver a note to Simon.

“Well then, I’ll see you later, your grace.” Percy shrugged into the coats he’d tossed aside while the footman gathered up his costume.

When the door closed, Simon unfolded the paper, and his heart began to race.

If you wish to see Nancy alone, you will find her in the music room . I trust you still remember where that is.

The scrawled masculine hand must be Fitz’s or George’s.

He rubbed his face. Shaving could wait. If Nancy was there, he wanted another chance to speak with her alone before this fiasco of a masquerade could commence.

N ancy hurried down the stairs, trying not to bump the balusters with the awkward panniers of the century-old gown. The low neckline revealed far too much and ought to be covered, but James had pushed her out the door before she could find a fichu.

And, gad, but she reeked of lavender. Cassandra had seen all the clothing she’d chosen for costumes aired out, but despite that, the scent they were packed in would linger for days. Even the Swilling Duke would smell like the housekeeper’s stored linen.

Wrestling her nerves into a calm demeanor, she tiptoed through the hall. The servants were busy in the kitchen or outside. Everyone else was upstairs preparing for the ball.

She couldn’t help thinking this was a very bad idea. Oh, but they needed to get the duke out of his bedchamber, and the only lure sure to draw him out was the chance to speak with her.

James had insisted it would work to their advantage to have the Swilling Duke see her in the Hermia costume because then, later, in the twinkling light of the garden, he wouldn’t question the shadowy figure of James playing the part.

Or so James had declared. Rascally James. That business of the Spanish fly… She had no wish to harm the duke with some poisonous herb. That bit of mischief would go straight into the pocket of Puck’s tunic, once she’d changed into it.

Not for the first time, she wondered if she could truly trust her little brother.

However, though she knew her lines well for the evening, she couldn’t carry out this prank without her brother’s deviously clever mind.

She needed all the older boys, really, including the more sober Arthur.

She’d endured a coaching session by the three of them, who all claimed experience of practical jokes at school.

As long as the addlepated boys didn’t go too far.

Now, James required access to the duke’s room for at least a quarter hour, perhaps longer if Mother was roaming the corridors.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she saw that the drawing room adjoining the music room was deserted, and she wouldn’t have to deal with her family, or worse, Sir Percy or Miss Hazelton.

Her heart quickened again when she saw the music room door ajar.

Memories flooded her. Years ago, Simon had stood in that doorway dressed in his regimentals, handsome beyond belief, listening as she’d stumbled over a piece for her family, one she’d usually played flawlessly when he wasn’t around.

On leave from his unit, he’d come to spend that early Easter at Loughton Manor.

He’d clapped dutifully and complimented her on her playing, and then he’d gone off with George to the billiards room. The next morning, he was gone, called back to duty because of Bonapart’s escape from Elba. That he’d almost departed without a goodbye had left her heartbroken.

She set her hand to the doorknob and gathered her courage. Best to tear open the old wounds as well as the newer ones so she’d be able to play her part tonight.

Squaring her shoulders, she bumped through the doorway and then sailed for the shelf near the harp where the music was stored.

Halfway to her destination she knew with certainty he was here. Not close enough for his scent to reach her over all the stale lavender, not yet, but the dark shape framed in the late afternoon light was Simon.