Chapter 2

White’s Gentlemen’s Club, St. James Street, London

26th August, 1812

After a long day of dictating legal documents for the wealthy shipping magnate who was his long-time client, George Durand, Esq. decided to take an early dinner at White’s before making his way to his London lodgings. He preferred the calm, congenial atmosphere of the gentleman’s club to the noisy fuss of restaurants and, as a bonus, he wouldn’t encounter any eligible marriage partners or their matchmaking mamas. A full-flavored English beefsteak followed by good stiff brandy in the company of his cronies seemed like a delightful conclusion to his exceedingly monotonous day.

He settled into a cozy leather chair in the front parlor and was giving his order to the waiter when a newcomer approached him.

“Durand! By all that’s holy, I haven’t seen you for an age! How the hell are you doing? And the saucy wee lassie?”

The newcomer was Lord Nicholas Lacey, his former brother-in-law, whom he had not encountered since the somber dinner at the Lacey estate following the funeral of both their wives, as well as their mother-in-law. At one time, his family and Lord Nicholas’s had been inseparable—their wives Geneviève and Juliette being sisters—but since the day of the tragic carriage accident nearly two years ago, the two men had only seen each other in passing. No doubt this was due to the fact that their wives had been the organizers of the social calendar—and also that neither man had felt much like socializing since then.

“Good to see you here, Lacey. Will you not join me for dinner? I’ve just ordered mine and would gladly suffer your company whilst I take my meal.”

The tall, light-haired gentleman took the seat opposite from him and rubbed his hands together. “Be glad to. What’s up for dinner, Hickham?”

The waiter looked up obligingly. “Beefsteak, roast goose, pork pies, and flounder. Our chef has also prepared an excellent bouillabaisse, if that will appease your appetite.”

Lord Nicholas ordered the flounder and turned to his former brother-in-law. “A brandy?”

George shook his head. “I’m having mine after,” he said.

His friend rolled his eyes. “I’ll have mine before and after,” he told the waiter, with a sidelong glance at George.

“Dipping rather deep these days?” inquired George when the waiter had disappeared toward the back of the building.

Lord Nicholas shrugged. “More so than before, I suppose. Never more than half-sprung, though. Haven’t been ape-drunk since my salad days.”

Hickham brought him his drink. Lord Nicholas took a generous gulp and set it on the side table. “You know, when I recall how vexed I felt when Juliette used to scold me for it, I feel like getting on my knees and promising to never imbibe again if she will only come back to me.” He stared down at his hands. Then he looked up and shook his head sadly. “But she never does, so as long as nobody gives a damn…”

George wrinkled his brow. “Nonsense! You have family who gives a damn. I do myself, and so do all your other friends. And what about Blanche? Don’t you owe it to Juliette’s memory to conduct yourself with honor?”

Nicholas scrubbed a hand across his face. “Blanche? She doesn’t need me. She’s with m’brother and Caroline. Haven't seen her for months.”

George's nostrils flared. “She’s your daughter, man! Your responsibility!”

Nicholas flinched. “She's better off there. Father and mother figure, cousins more like siblings. A ducal household. What can I offer a fifteen-year-old daughter?”

“Love,” George responded. “Her own father who shows her attention and doesn't shrink from involvement in her life. That beats all the rest, man.”

Nicholas pulled at his cravat and stared blankly into the distance. Then he turned back to meet George's eyes. “What about your daughter? Is Louise not residing with Eliza's family? When did you last see her, George?”

“Not any longer,” George retorted. “Eliza and John and family are en route to St. Petersburg for a post with Lord Cathcart. Louise is with me in St. Albans, and the last time I saw her was yesterday morning before I departed for London.”

Nicholas pressed his lips into a fine line. “Didn't want to take her along, I suppose. Be truthful, George, you are in the suds with Louise as much as I am with Blanche, are you not? What right have you to ring a peal over me?”

“Of course not,” George sputtered, then he shrugged. “Apologies, Lacey. Your daughter is naturally your concern and nothing to do with me, other than the fact she is my niece and Louise’s cousin.” He grimaced and rubbed his chin. “And you are not far wrong in your conjecture that my daughter and I are at odds, but not for the reason you think. You see, Eliza and John were more than willing to take Louise with them to Russia, and she, herself, was eager to expand her horizons at the Russian court, but I withheld my consent.”

Nicholas whistled. “No doubt that set up her bristles,” he commented. “What motivated you to do that, Durand? Guilt? How do you expect to manage a daughter all on your own?”

“I expect to hire a governess before too much time passes. For now, she is under the vigilance of the vicar's wife, but that good woman finds my daughter very taxing on her nerves.” His mind raced in search of answers for the first question. “Louise's head is easily filled with grand thoughts of titles and associating with royalty.” He shook his head. “I cannot believe it prudent for her to be exposed to that sort of life and then have her hopes dashed upon her return to reality.”

“Ah, yes, I've heard that phrase in my home often enough,” Nicholas admitted. “‘I’m the granddaughter of a comte, Papa,’ and it is nearly always followed by ‘and my uncle is a duke.’ No doubt after residing in a mansion with a ducal family, Blanche's head is likewise floating around the clouds.”

“But your brother is a duke,” argued George, “and she will socialize in exalted circles the rest of her life. The d’Aumale title and estates that my daughter—and my wife and mother-in-law before her—pinned their hopes on someday regaining no longer exist, and almost certainly never will. She’s the daughter of a solicitor, not a comtesse, and that is all she will ever be. I see no advantage in encouraging her delusions.”

“Perhaps, but you are yourself the cousin of a viscount. Do you not associate with his family on occasion?”

“Once a year, perhaps,” said George, “but my cousin and I are not intimate friends, and he has four sons, so there is little chance the title will ever come to me. No, Louise must learn to accept her place.” His eyes filled with unshed tears. “But I must confess that the real reason I refused my consent was because I miss her. I have decided that I must have my daughter by my side.”

“Capital!” exclaimed a new arrival, Lord Hooper, a mutual friend. “I was certain this was where I could find two gentlemen in need of an evening of gaiety. Lacey, Durand, you must join our party at Vauxhall tonight. I have two tickets that will go unused if you do not take them, and this is a special masquerade in honor of the British victories on the Peninsula. A benefit for the troops, in fact.”

“A masquerade?” Nicholas shook his head. “I haven’t a costume.”

“And we just ordered dinner,” protested George.

“Nonsense,” argued their friend, his chin high. “Eat your dinner and meet us later. Old Taplin has a shop across from the carriage entrance. You can get all manner of masks and whatnot there. I don’t wear dominoes myself,” he offered. “Too hot for summer. A mask is quite enough, in my view.”

“Vauxhall,” said George, exchanging a glance with Nicholas.

“Why not?” responded Nicholas with a shrug. “I can’t say I have anything better to do.”

George sighed. “Might as well,” he agreed reluctantly. “A benefit for the fighting men, is it? I should like to think I’m not shirking my duty.”

Lord Hooper threw his head back and laughed. “You don’t fool me, Durand. It’s the myriad of delicate flowers of femininity you wish to feast your eyes upon at the Gardens.”

George chuckled. “You might just have something there.”

“Unquestionably,” said Nicholas. “Don’t all gentlemen have a weakness for pretty flowers?”

And so it happened that George and Nicholas found themselves at the Royal Vauxhall Gardens on the night of the Grand Masquerade.

---

Vauxhall Gardens, Lambeth, London

Five hours later

“Over there, Vanessa, under the tree next to the Orchestra. Is that not the Regent dancing with Lady Jersey?”

Eugenia shouted in the direction of her elder sister’s ear while she waved an arm toward the couple in question.

Vanessa, wincing at the combined intensity of the lively music and her sister’s exclamation, glanced briefly at the couple in question and shook her head.

“I shouldn’t think so, Genie. The Regent is far sturdier of figure. In any case, the woman is too young to be the dowager, and the current Lady Jersey would never look so pleased to be dancing with him.”

The younger sister, pretty and blue-eyed with sleek copper hair, and flushed with excitement, sighed deeply. “I suppose not. Sally doesn’t seem to care for him much, does she?”

Lady Philippa Hooper, the third member of the party, deliberately raised an eyebrow. “Not after the scandalous affair he had with her mother-in-law.” Her Pomona green mask revealed brown eyes that mirrored the color of her chestnut hair. “Although Anthony saw her give the dowager the cut-direct once, which she would never dare with Prinny.”

Eugenia giggled somewhat nervously, and Vanessa grinned. Although married for two years and the mother of a year-old son, Genie still occasionally displayed the naïveté of the nineteen-year-old she was.

“Don’t worry, little sister. Mother is not present to hear your improper assertions. In any case, as a married woman, you are no longer accountable to her.”

Eugenia shook her head. “She doesn’t seem to know that, however. Why, the squire is afraid of her and I suspect Reese is as well. In her presence, he acts the perfect son-in-law. Attentive to her every word.”

Vanessa snorted. “No doubt he feels obligated, since she had her heart set on a title for you, Genie. I still can’t fathom how the two of you managed to convince our parents to consent to the marriage.”

Eugenia shrugged. “I suspect it was Papa.” Seeing Vanessa’s eye roll, she continued, “He follows her lead, I know, and never gainsays her, but I do believe he has a way of exerting his influence.”

Vanessa bit her lip and nodded. Perhaps that was so. She’d long suspected that to be the reason her mother had withdrawn her objection to Vanessa’s involvement with the Foundling Hospital. Not that she didn’t still complain about it, though. Mrs. Sedgely’s character was what it was, and dissatisfaction with everything and everyone was firmly ingrained there.

The music ceased suddenly, and Mr. Hook announced that a brief intermission while the musicians took refreshments. The ambience reverted to the usual babble associated with crowds of people in public, and Vanessa took a deep breath of relief. As much as she enjoyed music, the sheer volume of the brass and drum instruments was beginning to get on her nerves. Not to mention that it was nearly impossible to conduct a conversation over all the fanfare.

“As for refreshments,” interjected Philippa, who had been listening in amusement to the two sisters’ banter, “I have to wonder what has happened to our husbands. Surely they have had more than sufficient time to return with our food. I am famished.”

“No doubt they have happened on some acquaintance or other,” complained Eugenia. “Reese loses all notion of time when he talks about farming.”

“Anthony as well,” confessed Philippa. “Although his repertoire is not limited to farming. But here in Vauxhall, I suspect he’s found a magic act of some sort. He does consider himself an accomplished magician, you know. Amateur, of course,” she added unnecessarily.

Vanessa shrugged. “In that case,” she said, waving a hand in the direction of a waiter, “let us order the food ourselves. We don’t require husbands for that.”

“Aside from paying the bill,” grumbled Eugenia as the three ladies pooled the contents of their reticules in order to locate enough coins to pay the reckoning, “I might agree with you.”

“Pish posh,” said Vanessa while they waited for their order to arrive. “Reese is so besotted he will give you whatever you wish.”

“I’m just not accustomed to carrying coins around. Reese pays when he’s with me, and everything else is set down to his account.”

“That is the last of my allowance,” said Philippa with a deep sigh as she watched the waiter depart with their order—and their money. “More than a month left in the quarter and I haven’t a feather to fly with. Anthony will be furious.”

Vanessa snorted. “Ladies! What has happened to your sense of independence? Your ability to make your own decisions and stand by them? Your gumption? You are fully-grown women and not children. Genie, you are a mother as well. Little Richard needs you to be able to stand up for yourself—and him.”

Eugenia stiffened. “I am a good mother.”

“Of course, you are—” began Vanessa, stricken by remorse.

“Stop this, Vanessa,” Philippa ordered. “This isn’t about Genie or me. We are both fully capable of managing our own lives and husbands. This is about you, because you are unwed. And, in spite of all your posturing, I don’t believe you are happy about that.”

Vanessa flinched. “I can’t believe you said that.”

Eugenia glared at Philippa while she took Vanessa’s hand and squeezed it. “She didn’t mean it, Vanessa. Of course she didn’t. Did you, Philippa?”

A flush crept across Philippa’s face. “I-I,” she began, before being interrupted by the arrival at their table of the master of ceremonies, Mr. C.H. Simpson, dressed for the occasion in a gold-buttoned, navy blue frock coat, buff-colored knee breeches, and a cocked hat trimmed in gold braid.

“Good evening, ladies,” he intoned while making the exaggerated courtesy for which he was well-known, extending his right leg back on tip-toe while he raised his hat high with the left arm. “It is a great pleasure to see such fine ladies as yourselves enjoying the festivities this evening.”

“Thank you, Mr. Simpson.” Vanessa surprised herself by managing to recoup her composure before her companions. “It is a fine evening to celebrate our brave soldiers’ victories on the Peninsula. We are forever indebted to them for their service.”

“Indeed we are. Indeed we are,” agreed the obsequious gentleman. “So unfortunate that the greater part of the brave souls cannot be present to see it, but no doubt their family and friends will be sure to apprise them of it.”

At that point, two waiters appeared, carrying trays with covered dishes, plates, glasses, and bottles. Mr. Simpson, acknowledging their presence with a curt nod, moved aside and waved them toward the ladies’ supper-box.

“I see your refreshments have arrived, so I shall leave you to enjoy your meal. Bon appétit, dear ladies! The evening is young yet, and the Royal Gardens have many more pleasures to offer you. The Turkish band will be playing at ten o’clock in the Rotunda, and, of course, you will not want to miss the fireworks at half-past eleven.” He did another of his spectacular bows, and moved on to the guests in the adjoining box.

“Mr. Simpson is truly a gentleman,” Eugenia mused as the waiters set out the tableware, poured the wine, and removed the covers from the platter of cold sliced chicken, ham, and cheese, and the bread and butter. “I know some scorn him for a buffoon, but I always look forward to seeing him. I believe he is sincere in his efforts to make the visitors feel welcome.”

Philippa welcomed the food with gusto. “I’m famished. I do wish the proprietor would allow thicker slices, however. I rather wish I had ordered a custard, or even a Shrewsbury cake.” She removed her mask and set it on the table next to her plate before spearing slices of chicken and ham with her fork to deposit on her plate and cut into slices.

The waiter who had brought their order halted. “Would you like me to bring you a sweet, milady? We have some lovely strawberries and the freshest cream to be had in the kingdom.”

Philippa stopped chewing for a moment, and then shook her head. “Not for me, thank you,” she answered after swallowing. “I put on weight far too easily.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes. “I shall have a plate of strawberries,” she declared. “Assuming it is not terribly dear,” she added, fumbling in her reticule.

“Three shillings,” volunteered the waiter.

“Ah, yes, I can just manage it,” she said as she handed him the coins.

“What?” she queried when she saw the mirth on her companions’ faces. “What did I do to amuse you so?”

Philippa, who had just taken a sip of the claret, fought to refrain from spewing it all over the table.

“Vanessa, dear, you don’t really want strawberries, do you? You ordered them because you wanted to prove you don’t give a fig what anyone thinks,” said Eugenia, when she had stopped laughing.

Heat flushed through Vanessa’s body. “That’s ridiculous! Of course I wanted the strawberries. I love strawberries!” Then, narrowing her eyes, “I have nothing to prove. Nothing at all.”

“Now, now, don’t be angry,” begged Eugenia, lightly rubbing her sister’s arm. “We are all three friends. What is a little teasing among friends?”

Vanessa closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back wall of the supper-box. They were right. She was far more disturbed by her spinster status than she wanted to admit… even to herself. Nearly every lady her age—four and twenty—was married and settled, including her younger sister, who already had a son and heir.

As she would have been, too, had her betrothed not eloped to Gretna Green with a dairymaid and, by so doing, made her the laughingstock of the ton.

As it had been an arranged marriage, her heart had been more bruised than broken, but being the subject of society’s cruel jokes proved to be devastating.

“There she is, that girl whose fiancé left her for a milkmaid. Can you imagine?”

“She’s pretty enough… I wonder what could have turned him off her?”

Of course, that was a very long time ago, and Vanessa was no longer a naïve, impressionable eighteen-year-old, but the armor of indifference she’d affected to protect herself had become a wardrobe staple over the years. One that had effectively protected her from receiving any further offers of marriage, to the mortification of her mother.

But was that what she really wanted?

She’d long ceased to care about the comments about being “on the shelf” or “at her last prayers.” Although she’d resist going to caps until her last breath. Her dark blonde hair was one of her best features, and she was vain enough to wish to show it off as long as she could. Until it turned gray, that is.

Her shoulders slumped. In her mind’s eye, she saw an image of herself in thirty years: capped gray hair, face wrinkled with pasty white skin, wearing a dull brown gown of a fashion long abandoned. Her mother, bedridden and crotchety, finding fault with everything as she always did, but especially badgering her about her failure to find a husband to support her. No children. No grandchildren. And a lifetime of being the victim of her mother’s taunts.

“Bloody hell,” she said aloud. “I suppose I do wish to be married after all.”

What a disappointing realization to come to. For the entirety of the two years of her involvement with the Foundling Hospital, she’d deluded herself into believing that these efforts would lead to a sense of satisfaction and well-being that would compensate for her lack of a husband and family. And she had indeed found it satisfying to intercede for the poor and unfortunate. In spite of that, however, she was still obliged to live under her mother’s thumb because she’d been born a female.

Her companions’ feasting paused only long enough for smirks and giggles.

“Of course you do,” Philippa said matter-of-factly. “Have some wine. It’s more or less drinkable.”

Vanessa took a sip of the claret and sat up straight in her seat. “That’s debatable.”

“Eat, Vanessa. The chicken and ham are quite good, if you can get some before Philippa finishes the plate.”

Vanessa ate. And eventually she began to feel better.

The waiter returned to take their plates, and then a large bowl of berries and cream was set before her.

“Three spoons,” she told him. “We shall all share it.”

Philippa’s eyes lit up, and even Eugenia, tiny in stature and always a light eater, smiled in anticipation.

As they enjoyed the sweet treat, Vanessa finally got up the courage to broach the topic that was troubling her.

“So,” she said, eyeing her friends with a pensive expression on her face, “I need a husband. Not just any husband, mind you. One who will not try to rule me or give me grief every time I turn around. How do you suggest I find one?”

Philippa wiped cream from her lip with her handkerchief and looked at Vanessa with narrowed eyes. “That should not prove difficult, so long as you do not have your heart set on a love match. Many successful marriages began as arranged marriages.”

“As well as many unsuccessful ones,” observed Eugenia. “But I do agree that it would be wise to determine in advance what sort of gentleman would suit you. Age, for example, or appearance. Social and financial status. That sort of thing.” She tilted her head and aimed her gaze at her sister.

Vanessa stared blankly at her sister. Up until that point, she hadn’t considered what she wanted in a husband beyond someone she could tolerate who wouldn’t try to rule her. A love match seemed too much to ask—and she wasn’t sure she could trust any man with her heart, in any case.

“I shan’t be overly particular, so long as he is honest, fair, and rational. And a gentleman, of course.”

Philippa snorted as she put down her fork and leaned back in her seat. “What a relief that you won’t be considering a farmer or a greengrocer for a husband.”

Vanessa raised her eyebrows and sent her a glassy stare. “Don’t be ridiculous. I could not continue my work with the Foundling Hospital if I married into the lower orders. But that doesn’t mean I plan to angle for a title. Titled gentlemen are few and far between and would likely not look twice at someone like me.”

Philippa shrugged. “Not all titled families are so high in the instep,” she volunteered. “My own parents were more concerned with our happiness than titles. They interrogated poor Anthony unmercifully when he first asked to pay court to me, although he was already a viscount.”

Vanessa bit her lip to keep from smiling as she envisioned the eccentric Lady Pendleton quizzing her potential son-in-law over the dinner table. The Pendletons were outside of the ordinary, though. It was different with sons, she thought, and the Pendletons, like the Sedgelys, had no sons.

“What about a professional man?” suggested Eugenia. “A doctor or a lawyer, perhaps? Or an army officer? Reese and I were introduced to a Captain Spencer from Exeter last week at the assembly in Hitchin. He looked well in his dress uniform,” she added dreamily.

Vanessa bit her lip to keep from laughing. “He’s probably married already… as you are, Genie. Have you forgotten your long-suffering husband so soon?”

Eugenia narrowed her eyes. “Of course not—”

“Although,” Vanessa continued, “a naval officer might be ideal. A sea captain, who rides the waves the world over and only comes home every two years or so.”

“Might as well be a spinster,” Philippa murmured.

“You wouldn’t say that if you were the one who was required to live with our mother,” advised Vanessa. “You know very well a married woman has ever so much more freedom, with or without the presence of a husband.”

Philippa considered this. “A widow, then. You could rule your own life as a widow.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Eugenia chided. “Surely you don’t expect her to murder her husband!”

Vanessa’s body quaked with amusement. “Of course I shouldn’t do anything of the sort. But I might not scruple at consenting to a deathbed wedding,” she teased.

The ladies laughed and the conversation took a turn to more banal topics until Reese and Lord Hooper returned to the table, accompanied by two other gentlemen.

“Philippa, my dear, look who Reese and I happened upon near the Chinese Temple!” Lord Hooper waved a hand toward his companions, each duly removing their masks to be introduced to the ladies.

Vanessa prepared to smile politely in anticipation of being presented to the newcomers, but when she got a full glimpse of the darker gentleman, she had a sudden fluttery feeling in her stomach. Where had she seen him before?

“Why Nicholas, what a surprise to see you here!” Philippa exclaimed. “Vanessa, Eugenia, this is Lord Nicholas Lacey, brother to the Duke of Ashbury. He and Anthony were at Eton together.” She looked enquiringly at his companion. “I don’t believe I’ve been introduced to your companion.”

“Likely not,” said the gentleman in question, with a polite smile. “We don’t mingle in the same social circles.”

“Nonsense!” retorted Lord Nicholas, giving him a playful nudge. “Ladies, I present you Mr. George Durand, Esquire, my brother-in-law. George’s late wife Geneviève was sister to my Juliette.” He swallowed and paused, and Vanessa shot a questioning look at Philippa, who shook her head almost imperceptibly.

Lord Hooper cleared his throat. “George and Nicholas, please allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Bromwell and her sister, Miss Sedgely, my wife’s intimate friends. And this lovely lady,” he indicated with a touch on Philippa’s shoulder, “is my wife, Lady Philippa Hooper.”

The ladies nodded in acknowledgement.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lord Nicholas, Mr. Durand,” said Eugenia.

“Likewise,” said Vanessa, smiling at both gentlemen. For some reason, she could not remove her eyes from Mr. Durand. He was a handsome man, to be sure, of average height and pleasing form, his dark hair a shade or two darker than his companion, with warm brown eyes and a decidedly masculine visage. But it wasn’t his good looks that compelled her interest; it was the growing certainty she had met him before.

Lord Nicholas and Mr. Durand bowed politely to each of the ladies. “Might we have the honor of joining you?” asked Mr. Durand. “Nicholas and I had been indulging in the dance this evening, and I, for one, must confess that I no longer have the stamina of my youth.” He drew out a handkerchief to wipe his brow.

“Of course you may!” exclaimed Vanessa. “There is more than sufficient room for six here, provided the three of us move back.”

The ladies settled themselves in the back, while Lord Hooper and Lord Nicholas took the bench at their right, Reese and Mr. Durand, the left.

Lord Nicholas eyed the empty dish on the table with interest. “I see you ladies have already partaken of the Gardens’ culinary delights. Alas, I find myself sharp-set, even as I shall vigorously deny that I am headed for my dotage as poor George has just now asserted.”

Mr. Durand shrugged. “I find I can bear the loss of my youthful attributes quite cheerfully inasmuch as the foolishness of my youth has likewise retreated to the past.”

Lord Nicholas snorted. “You? Foolish? Impossible to credit it!”

Personally, Vanessa was hard-pressed to see that the passage of time had made any inroads upon the visage of Mr. Durand. Indeed, his face had lost that freshness characteristic of young gentlemen in their twenties like Reese Bromfield, but Vanessa considered his well-defined jawline and finely sculpted features much to be preferred. Nor could she fail to approve his broad shoulders and trim waistline. Where had she encountered him before? She was certain they had not been formally introduced, or she would have remembered his name.

Reese and Lord Hooper were staring at each other in horror.

“We were meant to fetch refreshments,” Reese recalled, his ears turning red with remorse.

“I beg your pardon, my dear,” said Lord Hooper to his wife. “We never meant to be so rag-mannered toward the ladies in our care.”

Vanessa laughed. “We here are not such helpless females. As you see, we were quite capable of getting supper on our own.”

“Although our pockets are considerably lighter than they were,” complained Eugenia.

Reese reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “I shall make it up to you, my love. And Vanessa too, of course.”

Vanessa wished she could refuse, but the truth was that she, too, was a bit short of the ready, after purchasing a supply of books for the classroom at the Foundling Hospital with the last of her pocket money. “You are very kind, Reese. A lady could not have a more generous brother-in-law!”

“Would it be beyond the pale, do you think, dear ladies, if we were to partake of nourishment in your presence?” It seemed that Lord Hooper, as well as Lord Nicholas, was feeling peckish.

“Not at all,” the ladies chimed in simultaneously.

“While you satisfy your appetites, we shall take the opportunity to dominate the conversation,” Vanessa asserted with a teasing smile.

Anthony grinned. “More so than usually is the case?” he said, exchanging knowing glances with the other gentlemen.

“Precisely,” agreed Vanessa.

And that is what occurred. While the gentlemen dined, the ladies peppered the two newcomers with questions. Both Lord Nicholas and Mr. Durand were widowers, although the conversation seemed to dance around the manner of their wives’ deaths, which must have occurred at more or less the same time. Both had daughters of fifteen years, with whom Vanessa silently commiserated, recalling what a difficult age it had been for her, and they motherless as well. Although her own mother had made it decidedly more difficult. But Mrs. Sedgely was what she was, and Vanessa had the impression that most mothers were of a more supportive variety.

Both gentlemen were well-connected; Lord Nicholas, the younger brother of the Duke of Ashbury, and Mr. Durand, the grandson of a viscount. Lord Nicholas had an estate of his own, as well as a London townhouse, and his daughter currently resided with his brother’s family at their London home. Mr. Durand lived in St. Albans with his daughter, where he practiced law. It appeared that neither gentleman had been out much in society of late, which made it even more unlikely that Vanessa had ever met either. Why, then, did Mr. Durand seem so familiar to her?

“Will you not tell me about your law practice, Mr. Durand? I must confess my ignorance on the subject. I presume you draw up wills and contracts, and the like?”

Mr. Durand turned his warm brown eyes in Vanessa’s direction, and she felt dazzled. No man should have such beautiful eyes.

“There is a great deal of paperwork required,” he agreed. “Research as well, there being hundreds of years of laws to consult. Fortunately, I have a partner, and we both employ law clerks to help with much of it. I represent a fair number of families—wills, estates, marriage contracts and the like—but my specialty is commercial law. Shipping, manufacturing, building—I serve them as legal consultant.”

“More blunt in that side of it, I’m sure,” Anthony commented as he stabbed a piece of roast beef with his fork.

“Don’t mistake George for a money grubber,” Lord Nicholas warned. “He lends his legal services to several worthy charities, and I don’t doubt that he hands over a fair mint of his own blunt as well.”

Vanessa clapped her hands. “The Foundling Hospital. That’s where I’ve seen you. In the corridor following one of the meetings of the Board of Governors. Several weeks ago—more than a month, I think.”

Mr. Durand tipped his head to the side and studied her. “Yes, I believe you are correct. There was a Governors’ meeting at the end of June, and I was present. I don’t recall meeting you, though. I’m sure I should remember if we’d been introduced. Were you there for a tour of the facility?”

Vanessa colored. “Oh, no. We were never introduced. I had opened the door of the schoolroom—I teach the children there—just at the time the meeting was convening, and I saw you enter the boardroom with the other governors.”

Chuckling, Mr. Durand denied that he was a governor. “I’m afraid I don’t rank among those esteemed gentlemen. My presence is strictly as consultant in matters of law. Quite banal, really.” He turned to Vanessa. “But you work with the children, Miss Sedgely. I suspect that is far more interesting—and gratifying. Might you be willing to tell how you became involved in such a worthwhile effort?”

Lord Nicholas spoke up. “Yes, please do speak, Miss Sedgely. I like to rag George about it—all in fun, of course—but I admire him for having the gumption to advocate for the poor and unfortunate. And you, of course. Is it not a rather uncommon business for an unmarried lady?”

Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “For an unmarried lady, Lord Nicholas? What can you possibly mean?”

Lord Nicholas rubbed the back of his neck. “Wait. I didn’t mean—”

“Of course he does not, Vanessa! I’m quite certain that Lord Nicholas meant only to commend you for your benevolence.” Eugenia kicked her older sister under the table.

“Indeed I did, Miss Sedgely. I beg your pardon for any distress my clumsy words might have caused you.”

Vanessa cleared her throat. “On the contrary, my lord, it falls to me to apologize. My remark was out of line. The truth is that my involvement with the Foundling Hospital arose from a desire to find some worthwhile occupation for my life beyond the tedium of shopping and social calls.”

She explained that the impetus for her interest in the education of foundlings came about when the Sedgelys’ housekeeper had taken on a new housemaid who had been raised at the Foundling Hospital and trained as a servant with a prominent house. Her former employer declined to take her on permanently because she lacked even a basic education. She’d been surprised to discover that the Foundling Hospital offered no education to the children it took in, other than an apprenticeship when they reached adolescence.

“It occurred to me that it would take very little to teach them to read, write, and do sums,” she explained, “so I offered my services, which the Board condescended to accept, and the rest, so they say, is history.”

Mr. Durand touched a fist to his chin. “I don’t seem to recall such a proposal. When was this, Miss Sedgely?”

“Almost two years ago.”

“Ah.” Mr. Durand exchanged a glance with Lord Nicholas. “I took a leave of absence that year.”

Lord Hooper coughed, and Philippa aimed warning glances at Vanessa and her party, which caused Vanessa to blink. Was there something about the deaths of the gentlemen’s wives that made it uncomfortable for them to discuss? She resolved to coax the answers out of Philippa as soon as they were private.

The awkward moment passed and the conversation continued amiably until Eugenia grew to fretting over her separation from her child, and although Reese assured her that little Richard was no doubt asleep in his crib under the vigilant supervision of his nurse, they decided to depart. Mr. Durand and Lord Nicholas made their farewells, declaring their intention to remain for the fireworks, which were rumored to be significantly enhanced for the occasion of the British victories on the Peninsula.

While the ladies waited at the gate for the gentlemen to return with the carriage, Philippa and Eugenia were bursting with excitement.

“What a stroke of luck, Vanessa! Not just one eligible gentleman, but two—appearing out of the blue just as you had resolved to seek a husband!”

“And both quite pleasant to look at, too! Which one shall it be, Vanessa? Lord Nicholas is the heir to a dukedom; imagine our Vanessa as a duchess!”

Vanessa’s pulse was racing with excitement, but she refused to acknowledge it. “Nonsense. I shan’t set my cap at either of them.” Liar, she told herself.

“You mustn’t aspire to a duchess, Vanessa,” warned Philippa. “Lord Nicholas’s brother is still of an age to produce a son, and likely will.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes. “I don’t ever wish for a coronet,” she declared.

“Mother would be aux anges,” teased her sister. “But it must be Mr. Durand, then. He seems quite an amiable gentleman, and I believe his appearance was pleasing to you, Vanessa. I believe your eyes were fixed on him much more than was proper.”

Vanessa’s eyes widened in horror. “Were they, Genie? Do you think he noticed? Was he offended, do you think? I never intended to do so…”

Philippa put a hand on her shoulder. “Your sister is teasing you, Vanessa dear, which you would have recognized had you been your usual levelheaded self. Since you are not, however, it must be that you are truly smitten with Mr. Durand.”

“Oh my, surely not,” Vanessa said uncertainly. “I’ve only just met him. I don’t know anything about him, really.” A thought occurred to her. “Philippa, what happened two years ago that nobody wishes to talk about? That precipitated Mr. Durand’s leave of absence.”

Philippa gave a deep sigh. “I can’t say for sure, but I surmise it had to do with his wife’s death. And Lord Nicholas’s wife as well. They were killed in a carriage mishap, along with their mother. They were sisters, you know. I believe it happened about that time.”

Vanessa and Eugenia gasped in horror.

“Both gentlemen have been absent from the social scene for quite some time. Apparently it was quite a blow,” Philippa continued. “But time does heal old wounds, Vanessa, and I believe any widowed gentleman with a fifteen-year-old daughter must be in need of a wife. All you have to do,” she said, putting a hand on Vanessa’s shoulder, “is convince him of the fact.”

Is that all?

It seemed an impossible task, but oddly enough, Vanessa could not get the idea out of her mind. If she had to have a husband, she thought Mr. Durand might fill the role quite tolerably.

Perhaps she would set her cap at him. But first she would have to find out more about him. His character. His financial status—well, she could hardly marry a pauper, could she? His daughter. Hmm. She hadn’t counted on becoming stepmother to a nearly-grown girl. That would require some serious consideration.

But there was a lightness in her chest as her maid helped her dress for bed and pulled the bedcovers over her. Vanessa Durand, she thought as she drifted off to sleep. Mrs. George Durand. It sounded so… right.