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A melia hurried back to her bedchamber, clutching the letters against her chest as she berated herself for her… what?

Lapse in judgment?

All she knew was that she was proving far too susceptible to Sir Frederick’s advances. She was no different to Mrs. Perry or the young ladies. Regardless of age, they all blushed and preened when he sought them out.

No doubt, Sir Frederick had come to the library when he’d been unable to sleep because he remembered he’d found Amelia there two nights earlier and he wanted a diversion. She was a little fool if she thought his interest was for any other reason than to amuse himself.

That’s what Thomas had said about the dandelions who swaggered about with their puffed-out chests, and who flicked the ribbons of their phaetons pulled by horse flesh Amelia knew was well beyond the limits of most of those she knew.

All they were interested in was cutting a dash and finding pleasure where they could.

Thomas had come from a respectable family. But they decried ostentation.

And as she admired the lovely gowns of the women, both young and old, as they amused themselves about the castle gardens on such a beautiful day, it occurred to her that Thomas would have been filled with scorn.

As for herself, she suddenly wished she had a beautiful white muslin gown with a blue sash, like Miss Playford’s, rather than the perfectly respectable but quite outdated gown she was wearing.

“My dear Amelia, you’re all alone!” Lady Townsend beckoned her over, adding as she hooked her hand in Amelia’s elbow, “And where is Sir Frederick?”

“Sir Frederick?” Amelia repeated, immediately regretting the shock and guilt in her tone for Lady Townsend angled an interested look up at her and asked, “I can’t help noticing the way Sir Frederick looks at you and I wonder if you return his regard.”

Caught on the spot, Amelia was, for a moment, tongue-tied. “He is a very dashing gentleman,” she said, “who obviously has an eye for the ladies. I did notice his interest in the widow Perry and would not imagine that his supposed interest in me was any different.”

“Come now, don’t be coy, Miss Fairchild. You are just the kind of young lady Sir Frederick is looking for: serene, beautiful, intelligent, and level-headed. The widow Perry and the young Miss Ps are much too showy or flirtatious.”

“I think that is exactly what Sir Frederick wants,” Amelia said with perhaps too much energy as she recalled, with embarrassment, the dismay she felt when she saw Sir Frederick’s flirtatious manner with the widow the previous night.

How different that was to his more serious conversation with her in the library. It only confirmed that he was adept at adjusting his manner to suit whichever young lady he wished to enjoy in a particular moment.

Amelia had discovered this just in time and made her excuses to leave the library before he refined his approach and, more importantly, lulled Amelia into doing even more unmaidenly things than kissing him.

“I’ve read all the letters between Pernilla and William,” Amelia now said to change the subject.

“Did you, my dear?” Lady Townsend smiled. “And are you sure that half of them were not written by Lady Pendleton?”

Amelia frowned. “Do you not believe that they document the real-life love story of Lady Pendleton’s great-great aunt and the man she loved? A man who was more respectable than she believes?”

“Oh, look, my dear. There is Mr. Greene in his phaeton. And Miss Caroline is with him! Don’t they make quite a pair?”

Amelia jerked her head around and was surprised at such a public spectacle of favor on Caroline’s part, for, since yesterday, Amelia had seen a cluster of young ladies in Mr. Greene’s orbit. She really had thought the danger had been averted, but now this?

She looked about for Sir Frederick, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Indeed, they do. But did you not think she is much too young for him?”

“Oh, one says things one does not mean. Why, if I were young again, the things I would do differently.” She tapped Amelia on the forearm with her fan.

“There are some young ladies like Miss Caroline and her friends who can, perhaps, be upbraided for being just a little lively; and then there are the young ladies who take life terribly seriously. I, for one, did not leap at the opportunities presented to me.” She looked suddenly sad.

“You regret a missed opportunity?” Amelia asked.

“I do. Life is short and by the time one reaches my age, I regret far more what I didn’t do than what I did,” she said, almost under her breath.

“And that is why I have no wish to marry,” Amelia said, her previous wavering at Lady Townsend’s words giving way to renewed resolve. “I cannot trust a man with my happiness for that is what I’d be doing. For the rest of my life.”

“You were once prepared to do such a thing,” Lady Townsend said softly.

Amelia drew in a breath. “But I knew Thomas; and his character was such that I could be in no doubt that he was not toying with my affections. He was ever such a serious, stable young man.”

“A serious young man could equally be a curmudgeon,” Lady Townsend said.

“While a lively young man could simply be exhibiting an unfettered joy in life that might just communicate itself to his partner in life in a most happy way.” She shrugged.

“All the more reason to explore the nature of a gentleman in any way possible. A house party like this is the perfect opportunity. Instead of the requisite series of London balls during which each party is on their best behavior, a house party is an extended period of time during which one is more likely to see the other party under a range of circumstances.” She steered Amelia around the rose bushes and together they watched the phaeton disappear down the driveway.

“I wonder how Sir Frederick will react to seeing his little sister disregard his cautions,” Amelia murmured.

“Won’t that be informative, then?” Lady Townsend said. “Is he cold in anger? Does he have the latitude to be forgiving? He is a most interesting gentleman.”

Their path took them past an elegant circular building with Grecian columns.

“Ah, the rotunda,” Lady Townsend remarked, her fan fluttering.

“Every great house has its romantic hideaways, but this one has quite a history. When I was a girl, no properly brought up young lady would dream of being caught here unchaperoned.” A meaningful smile played about her lips.

“Though I dare say more than one match was sealed within those walls. The inner room is particularly… conducive to private conversations.”

“Lady Townsend!” Amelia couldn’t help but laugh at the older woman’s suggestive tone.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked, my dear. Romance needs its secret spaces—though these days Lady Pendleton keeps it locked after an unfortunate incident involving Lord Pendleton’s nephew and a particularly forward young lady.

” She patted Amelia’s arm. “But I’m sure she’d make an exception for the right couple. ”

Amelia blinked as she struggled for a response. Clearly Lady Townsend had taken up Sir Frederick’s cause, if she were to phrase it like that.

“You think Sir Frederick an interesting gentleman?” Amelia asked, conflicted as to whether to reprise the subject of the gentleman who was causing her such disquiet.

“But of course. The Sir Frederick we see in public is very different from his private persona. Why, the world thinks him a man of easy charm. But that is a gift, is it not, if there are hidden depths? What do you think, Amelia? Are there hidden depths?”

Amelia blinked. “I… I do not know him well enough to say.” What was Lady Townsend suggesting? Had she witnessed Amelia and Sir Frederick kissing? Was her question a sly one? Did anyone else at the house party know the extent of Amelia’s connection with Sir Frederick?

She felt sick. If word got out, it would reduce Sir Frederick’s chances with the likely candidates that could secure Amelia the future she so desired. She’d been a fool to be so loose with him when giving him up to someone else was her ticket to freedom.

“Well, then, time will tell,” Lady Townsend said comfortably. “There are still another three days under Lady Pendleton’s roof. I’m sure we’ll see the way Sir Frederick reacts to this and a great many other things.”

*

A little later that afternoon, as Eugenia sat with her elderly friends in the summerhouse, she recounted the conversation.

“Lady Amelia is in love with Sir Frederick but she is not comfortable with her feelings,” she said, smoothing her skirts with fingers that trembled slightly at Thornton’s sudden interested look.

“As for Sir Frederick, he is certainly more interested in the young lady than any of the other young ladies here.”

Lady Pendleton raised her eyebrows. “My dear Eugenia, you are not very cunning to be revealing the state of the opposition in front of Thornton if you wish to win this wager. But then, you never could play poker.”

“Speaking of which,” Thornton interjected, his voice carrying a warmth that made Eugenia’s heart flutter, “I seem to recall a certain evening at Almack’s where your inability to bluff cost you a dance with Lord Rutherford.”

“You remember that?” Eugenia met his eyes before quickly looking away. “It was so long ago.”

“I remember everything about those days,” he said softly.

Eugenia gave a light shrug of her shoulders, trying to hide how his words affected her.

“I was not clever at poker, no. Not like my papa was. He knew how to keep his cards close to his chest. That didn’t make him happy, though.

He was forever cautioning me to be on my guard for fortune-hunters.

As a result, I saw danger in every smile.

” She glanced at Thornton. “But now that I’m older, I think that satisfaction and happiness are not bound up in money, as my papa believed—”

“You think that Miss Fairchild believes happiness is bound up in money? I don’t think so, Eugenia.

” Lady Pendleton’s sharp voice cut through the moment.

“Miss Fairchild isn’t interested in anything other than retiring quietly to the country.

Why, look at her outmoded costumes. And Sir Frederick?

Why, he’s much too the ladies’ man for the likes of her.

Really, I don’t know what argument you are trying to convince us of. ”

“Merely that I do wish to win my wager, but not by being secretive and hoping to score by being anything other than completely honest.” Eugenia lifted her chin, meeting Thornton’s intense gaze.

“Such refreshing candor,” he murmured. “Though it makes me wonder what other secrets that honest heart of yours might hold.”

Thornton clapped his hands, but his eyes never left Eugenia’s face.

“Well, my dear, I wish for that Persephone at any cost. Your honesty is endearing, but I do not intend to reveal my cards as you do. Sir Frederick and Miss Fairchild will not make a match.” He moved closer, his voice dropping.

“You say you’ve intercepted some longing looks?

Why, this is all a game.” He extended his arms wide, and Eugenia caught the scent of his bay rum cologne.

“I won’t deny you intercepted a look, despite my contention the pair are mismatched.

I’ve no doubt that, regardless of what might happen here, the moment they are apart, they’ll spare not a thought.

” His smile held a challenge that made her pulse quicken.

“No, my dear Eugenia, I am confident that the Persephone is mine.”

“We shall see,” Eugenia managed, though her voice wasn’t quite steady.

*

The afternoon light was fading as Eugenia left the house, her conversation with Thornton still echoing in her mind. The sound of youthful laughter drew her attention to a pair of figures near the rose garden.

Caroline sat on the stone bench while Henry stood nearby, demonstrating something with expansive gestures that had her covering her mouth to stifle her giggles.

“And then,” Henry was saying, his voice carrying clearly, “your brother’s face when he realized you’d switched his powder for crushed chalk! I thought he’d expire on the spot.”

“You helped me do it,” Caroline reminded him, “and then blamed it all on the stable cat!”

“Well, someone had to protect you from his righteous fury.” Henry’s voice softened. “I always did, didn’t I?”

Something in his tone made Caroline glance up sharply, but Henry had already moved on, plucking a rose and presenting it to her with an exaggerated bow. “For you, my lady. Though Mr. Greene probably brings you exotic blooms from London’s finest hothouses.”

“This one’s nicer,” Caroline said quietly, taking the flower. “It reminds me of when we were children and you’d help me steal roses for Mama’s birthday.”

“And get caught every time because you couldn’t resist taking ‘just one more.’”

Watching them, Eugenia felt a familiar ache in her chest. How many times had she and Thornton shared such easy moments in their youth, before her father’s warnings about fortune hunters had made her see danger in every smile?

Caroline twirled the rose between her fingers, her usual vivacity dimmed. “Sometimes I miss those days. Everything seemed simpler then.”

“It can still be simple,” Henry said, so quietly Eugenia almost missed it. “Not everything worth having comes wrapped in gold leaf, Caro.”

But Caroline was already standing, smoothing her skirts. “I should go in. Mr. Greene promised to tell me about the opera in Paris.”

Henry’s face fell for just a moment before he recovered his cheerful expression. “Of course. Though I doubt his stories can match our adventures in the old dovecote.”

“That was different. We were children then.”

“Were we?” Henry’s voice was wistful. “Sometimes I think we understood more then than we do now.”

As Caroline hurried away, Eugenia saw Henry watch her go, the rose she’d left behind dangling forgotten from his fingers. His expression reminded her painfully of how Thornton had looked at her, so many years ago, when she’d chosen safety over love.

“They say youth is wasted on the young,” came Thornton’s voice behind her, making her start. “But perhaps it’s wisdom that’s wasted on the old.”

Eugenia turned to find him watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch. “Are you calling me old, Lord Thornton?”

“Never.” His smile held warmth and a hint of challenge. “Though I do think we were both young once, and perhaps equally foolish.”

“Foolish enough to make wagers we couldn’t win?” She meant it to sound light, but his expression turned serious.

“Some wagers are worth losing,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving hers. “If they lead us where we need to go.”

Below them in the garden, Henry was carefully placing Caroline’s discarded rose in his buttonhole.