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Sophie’s suggestion took possession of Amelia’s mind over the next few days, no matter how she tried to push it away.

She didn’t think it was as sensible a notion as the Marchioness seemed to believe, but it wasn’t quite crazy either, Amelia thought; like all her sister-in-law’s schemes, it had a sort of relentless logic to it that was hard to argue with.

Sophie, though they rarely spoke of it, had lived for many years outside society, fending for herself and surviving in ways that had made her sharp and ruthless and pitilessly clear-sighted.

Public chatter said she had been a governess, but Amelia knew that, whatever she had been doing, it wasn’t that.

She had a sort of veneer she assumed now when she chose to.

She was charmingly idiosyncratic, a little absent-minded and prone to amusing mistakes in English, which was her second language: a great lady – unmistakeably an aristocrat of the Ancien Régime , since her father had been a duke with an illustrious name – but with very little hauteur of manner.

She didn’t care greatly for social gatherings, but when she attended them, she could captivate effortlessly, or so it seemed.

But beneath all this, and even as she held her child in loving arms and ordered her grand households with tranquil authority, as though she’d never had occasion to do anything different, she could see the people around her, the ones she did not care about, as potential prey, and dissect their weaknesses.

Amelia had swiftly learned to respect her judgement, and listened to her now.

‘Lord Thornfalcon loathes the situation in which he has been placed,’ the Marchioness said with calm certainty as they spoke of the matter again.

Amelia was dressing for a quiet dinner at home followed by tonight’s ball, which Sophie would not attend, so they had dismissed the girl’s abigail to allow them to talk in private.

‘You can see it written on his face.’ She had finished arranging the younger woman’s hair, weaving a string of pearls through her lustrous dark locks, and stepped back to see the effect of what she had done.

‘I should think he must dislike it,’ said Amelia.

‘Thank you, that looks very well, I think. It is surely most disagreeable – and who should know better than I? – to be the subject of such gossip and be unable to prevent it. But he always remains impassive; we may be reading him wrongly. Perhaps he will think your idea quite mad, and refuse to countenance it for so much as a second.’

‘Bah! He is desperate for a way out – desperate to escape all the attention that is being showered on him. He will be delighted, I am sure, and most grateful to you for your providential suggestion.’

‘I can easily credit that he would be glad to forgo women flinging themselves at his feet, and falling off horses so that he is obliged to rescue them, and fainting into his arms at balls so that he is obliged to catch them, and all that sort of nonsense. Presumably, such behaviour would have to stop, once we were betrothed, and that must be a relief to him. But what of the great romance with his brother’s widow?

If he does genuinely intend to marry her, despite all the reasons why he should not, the last thing he will wish to do is to engage himself to someone else. ’

Sophie made a rude, unladylike noise of derision.

‘If he had wished to do that, he might have done it already, quietly – a marriage of that peculiar nature must always be quiet. That the lady desires such a match, I can well believe – that he does, I would not wager a penny on. It is a very pretty, romantic tale, no doubt, and it is no wonder that it should be, since she herself has crafted it in what I must admit is a most impressive way, and made sure that it is spread about. I see what manner of person she is, even if others do not. The question is: does he, or is he blinded by love and by desire? And it is very simple, after all – if he wishes to take this grave step and wed her, he will refuse you, and you will be no worse off than before, for I am sure he would not tell a soul.’

Amelia digested this. ‘If you are right about her, and he does say yes to my suggestion, she will be my enemy,’ she said slowly. ‘I will have ruined all her plans – or if I have not in truth, because I have no intention really of marrying him, of course, she will think I have.’

‘There is always a price to be paid for anything worth having, I have found. And you will have ruined her plans, because even if – when – it is known that you have jilted him and the engagement is at an end, it will hardly suit the nature of her story to marry him afterwards. He will have chosen another, but then been rejected by her, and she will be second choice. It will not seem so much like a great and noble sacrifice a man makes for the woman he adores, but rather a lack of imagination on his part. “Oh, there she is again, I had quite forgot; I might as well marry her.” That is not very romantic, and I do not see her as a woman who has ever been second choice in her life, or would stand to be seen by the world as such. I think she is very proud, though it is an odd kind of pride to my mind.’

‘That’s very bad, then – I would be destroying her life and taking away her future.

I can’t do that, Sophie! That would be a dreadful thing to do to another woman, and especially one who has already been widowed so young!

’ Amelia swivelled on her stool with a swish of blue and gold silk, so that she could meet her sister-in-law’s eyes, not just catch their reflection in the mirror.

Sophie shrugged in Gallic fashion. ‘You would only be destroying her life if His Lordship truly plans to marry her. If he does not, you have done nothing to her; the responsibility is his, and unless she is excessively stupid, she must realise it. And her fantasy remains intact, if she cares for that. The man she adores has chosen duty over love again. It is her tragic fate, and his, to be parted once more. He doesn’t love you , naturally.

Nobody, least of all her, need think it is that sort of marriage – he weds to please his family and secure the succession, not to indulge his own feelings. ’

‘But what of my terrible reputation?’ protested Amelia. ‘How does that fit with the story? I doubt most respectable families would be willing to welcome me, and a connection with the scandalous Wyvernes.’

‘Your reputation is irrelevant for the purposes of this fiction. Nobody is threatening to declare your match publicly invalid, nor brand your future children bastards, no matter how bad the Wyverne name is. In fact, it may even be forgotten in the press of all these other exciting events. That would be a good thing, no?’

‘I suppose it would. But I still think Lady Thornfalcon is bound to hate me.’

‘Probably she will. But what of it? She cannot hurt you, and if she slanders you, it will be put down to sheer jealousy. And Amelia, if I have understood your peculiar English laws aright, if Lord Thornfalcon has an ounce of brain in his handsome head, he cannot seriously mean to wed her, however much she wants him to, and even if he wishes to for his own part. He has responsibilities to others than himself, and to his unborn children most of all.’

‘Yes, but if he loves her…’

‘If he loves her, he will not engage himself to you. He will make this crazy match to the extremely annoying woman with the horrid lisping child, who can call him Papa Dear instead of Uncle. But if he does not love her, he will leap at the chance you offer him. It is not as though your jilting him, when you finally do, will damage him in the least. It will very likely free him from his disagreeable entanglement, and when he is free, he will still be handsome, rich and eligible, with a hero’s reputation to boot.

Such men will always find suitable brides, you need have no doubt of that. Worry about yourself, not him.’

‘I can’t believe it’s as simple as you make it sound.’

‘Perhaps not. But probably he will be at the ball tonight, escorting his sister, and you will have the chance to observe him, will you not? And his brother’s widow too, if she is there, which I expect she will be.

One disadvantage of the situation she has created – I expect she did not realise it in advance, for it is difficult to plan for every eventuality if one is not greatly experienced in scheming, which I imagine she is not – is the enormous number of ladies of the ton who have been so impressed by her romantic fantasy and his heroic nature that they have decided to throw themselves at him. ’

‘Literally, in many cases,’ Amelia conceded with a mischievous grin. She had seen as much herself, a week or so ago, and so had Sophie, which perhaps was what had put Lord Thornfalcon in their minds.

‘Literally, like the lady who tried to tumble down the steps into his arms and only succeeded in breaking her own arm and making herself ridiculous. I don’t suppose the widow can be enjoying that sort of thing very much.

And she must keep a close eye on him always, must she not?

In case one of these most persistent debutantes succeeds in entrapping him and carrying him off, as in the prints, if she does not pay sufficient attention. ’

‘It’s not just debutantes, or all the other young ladies who wish to marry him themselves,’ murmured her sister-in-law. ‘I understand that many married ladies also have less honourable designs on him.’

‘Well, he is very handsome, I suppose, if one does not dislike a man with chestnut hair,’ said Sophie, whose own husband was devilishly dark, judiciously.

‘Do you? You are dark yourself, of course, so there would be a pleasing contrast, and I can see that you would make a sufficiently pretty pair, you and he.’

‘I?’ replied Amelia with a little heat. ‘It does not matter what I think of him! I wonder you should say such a thing, Sophie! Even if it were to come off – and I must think of how I am to approach him first, and then he must agree to it, which is by no means certain – it does not matter a jot what my opinion of him is. I would merely be using him, and helping him too, I suppose, if what you believe is true.’

Sophie murmured an apology, smiling a little to herself, and rose to leave.

‘It is time for dinner,’ she said. ‘Your grandmother is to join us this evening, as she has had a good day and feels well, so let us not be late – you know how she dislikes it above all things, and it will set her scolding us about the decline of modern manners.’

‘You’re right.’ Amelia jumped to her feet.

‘If one is more than one hundred years old, one has earned the right not to be kept waiting.’ And then after a moment, grudgingly, ‘I suppose he is quite handsome. If, as you say, one does not dislike a man of his colouring on principle. But he is too broad-shouldered and too tall. There is altogether too much of him for true handsomeness.’

Sophie laughed. ‘I cannot admit that to be a possibility. There is no such thing as too tall for a gentleman, and as for too broad… He is not a seven-foot giant from a fairy tale, Melia; I am sure he is barely taller than Rafe.’

‘I didn’t say he was a giant…’

Amiably squabbling, the two ladies made their way downstairs to dinner, so that Delphine, the fearsome Dowager Marchioness, might have her dinner at the appointed hour.