The Temptation of Lady Serena

Book 3: Marriage Game

by Ella Quinn

Genres: Historical Fiction; Regency Romance; International Crime & Mystery

Synopsis

USA Today-Bestselling Author: A country girl in London is surrounded by hustle, bustle, and bachelors in this “charming, sweet love story” (RT Book Reviews).
 
Ella Quinn’s bachelors in The Marriage Game series are charming and cunning when it comes to the ways of love—until the right woman captures their unsuspecting hearts . . .
 
Custom-made gowns . . .nights at the theater . . .and a host of eligible bachelors. Accustomed to living a quiet life in the Scottish Borderlands, Lady Serena Weir has never had any of these luxuries. But when Serena’s brother demands she finally have a Season in London, she’s thrust into a glamorous world she's only dreamed of . . .
 
Robert, Viscount Beaumont, remembers all too well what it feels like to be in love. That is why he must keep his distance from Serena. He’s only felt his pulse stir the way it does now when he made the mistake of loving the wrong woman once before. Yet the more he strives to resist his feelings, the nearer he is to falling under Serena's seductive spell . . .
 
Praise for the novels of Ella Quinn:
 
“A marvelous find for Regency romance readers.”—Grace Burrowes, New York Times bestselling author
 
“Quinn writes classic Regency romance at its best!”—Shana Galen, author of If You Give a Rake a Ruby
 
“Let yourself be seduced by this sexy mix of spies, smugglers, and happily ever afters.”—Sally MacKenzie, USA Today-bestselling author of The Merry Viscount

Release date: January 2, 2014

Publisher: eKensington

Print pages: 322

Sample

1816, Scottish Borders region

The Earl of Vere scowled. “Damn it, Serena, you can’t back out now. Not after the plans have been made. If you don’t go to London who will you marry? What do you have left here?”

Lady Serena Weir stared out the solar’s window, studying the bleak late February landscape. Snow covered the ground, more gray than white; the trees lifeless and black against the gloom. She glanced over her shoulder at her brother, James. “I could marry Cameron.”

“Do you even care for him more than moderately?”

“No, but he needs to marry, and he likes me.” She turned back to the window. Snow still covered the hills. In another month they’d be the feeding ground for the castle’s sheep and cattle. But if Mattie, her new sister-in-law, had her way, Serena would not be there to see it.

James snorted with derision. “Cameron likes your dowry. Mattie has made all the plans. She assures me you’ll have a wonderful time.”

Serena pressed her lips tightly together. The plans, he’d said, as if they had taken on a life. The plans for her to go to London for her first Season at six and twenty years of age. A little old to be making a come out. The plans meant she would leave her home. The place she had been born and raised and never before left. Tears pricked her eyelids. She would not cry. Not in front of James. If a London Season was such a good idea, why hadn’t he sold out of the army after their father died, when she was still young? Instead, he’d left her here to manage the estate while he remained on Wellington’s staff.

James had returned shortly before Christmas, with his bride, Madeleine—Mattie, as she liked to be called—and Serena’s ordered life was thrown into turmoil. She no longer knew what her future held.

Despite her warm cashmere dress and woolen shawl, Serena shivered. No matter how many fires were lit, Vere was always cold and damp, even in the solar, the warmest room in the castle. London would probably be warmer. That might be a good reason to go.

James teased her in the local dialect. “Serena, lass . . .”

She bit her lip. “James Weir, I know you did not speak Scots with Wellington.”

“Please, Sissy?” her brother said, reverting to his childhood name for her. “Stop looking out the window and talk to me.”

Serena sighed, but turned. Her brother was tall with dark brown hair, like their mother’s, whereas she had her father’s auburn curls. She’d known he would marry, but it never occurred to her that he would bring a wife home with him. Or that she would be forced to leave.

Serena fought her sudden panic, but there truly was nothing here for her anymore. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“Good girl!” He smiled. “I’ll tell Mattie it’s settled.”

James gave Serena a peck on the cheek and strode out the door.

“Do. Go tell Mattie,” Serena muttered in frustration. What didn’t he tell Mattie?

London was Mattie’s idea to rid herself of her unwanted sister-in-law. Serena had been presented with the plans au fait accompli. Somehow, she would have to make the best of it.

Early the next day, Serena and James left on the week-long journey from the Cheviot Hills to the home of their Aunt Catherine, the Dowager Marchioness of Ware. James spent the night, but left early the next morning.

Mary, Serena’s lady’s maid, was still unpacking her trunk, when her aunt entered the bedchamber.

“Let me see what you’ve brought with you,” Aunt Catherine said.

Serena tried to smile, but tears filled her eyes. Aunt Catherine was her mother’s twin and Serena wished her mother was here to reassure her. In answer to her aunt’s question, she replied, “I’m afraid none of it is fashionable.”

“You’ve had no reason to think about being stylish, have you?”

Serena shook her head.

“Will it hurt your feelings if I told you I’d suspected that?”

She was still too numb to feel much of anything. “No.”

Mary stood aside as Aunt Catherine sorted through the clothes, discarding most of them. She held up Serena’s riding habit. “Well, this, at least, seems to be in good condition and not too out of date.”

Serena grimaced. “It’s probably the newest piece of clothing I own.”

“No matter at all, my child. I knew you would need a new wardrobe. It will be much easier to toss everything and begin anew. A visit to a good modiste in York will start you. When we arrive in London, we shall visit Madame Lisette on Bruton Street.” Aunt Catherine paused. “Have you danced at all?”

“I had a dancing master when Papa was well.”

“When was that? No, don’t tell me. It was too long ago to have mattered. We’ll hire one in London.” Aunt Catherine made a face at the pile of clothes on the floor. “Other than your riding habit, is there anything you wish to keep?”

Serena glanced at the now-empty trunks and shook her head. “No, only something to wear until I have new gowns to replace the old.”

Her aunt’s kind, patient gaze stayed on Serena for a few moments. “Good. I am glad to hear it. There is nothing more unfortunate than being attached to a gown that is quite out of style and in no way useful.” Aunt Catherine turned to go. “We’ll visit York to-morrow.”

After she left, Serena said, “Mary, please leave me for a while.”

“Yes, my lady. Is there anything I can get you?”

“No, I’m fine.” Serena sat on the window seat. Her throat hurt from holding back the tears she would not allow to fall. How anyone thought she was going to find a husband at her age, she didn’t know. It was as if she’d been set adrift. How was she going to learn everything required when she’d only been in small villages? She’d never attended a proper ball or been to a modiste. Serena bit her lip to keep the tears at bay.

Darkness seemed to surround her. She pressed her head against the cold glass. Eventually the weak winter sun faded and the room dimmed. By the time a knock sounded on the door, Serena had stopped feeling sorry for herself and vowed to carry on. She was the daughter of an earl and the granddaughter of an English marquis. Rising, she went to the basin and splashed water on her face. “Come.”

“Her ladyship wants to know if you’ll join her for dinner.” Mary lit the candles. “If you’re not up to it, she’ll send a tray.”

“No, I’ll be down shortly, unless she expects me to change.”

“No, my lady, she said to come as you are.”

The next few days were spent in such a whirl of shopping Serena felt she’d been turned upside down. Never in her life had another person made her a priority.

She gazed at her aunt, then at the large pile of new gowns and packages, and laughed. “I’m sure I cannot wear half so many.”

“Well, I’m happy to hear you laugh, my dear, which you haven’t done since you arrived.” Aunt Catherine’s humorous gray eyes sparkled. “You will need many more when we arrive in Town. You will have routs, balls, dinners, afternoon teas, and morning visits to occupy you, as well as other entertainments.”

Serena trembled. A Season would be worse than she’d thought. “I had no idea.”

“No, I daresay you did not, but there is no need to take fright.” Her aunt smiled warmly. “I am extremely pleased with you. Your manners are very pretty and self-assured, and your mind is well informed. You will do splendidly.”

“But my age. I’m no longer in my salad days.”

“Serena, my dear,” Aunt Catherine said in a no-nonsense tone, “even your age may be put to advantage. Not every gentleman wants a young miss. You know how to manage a great house and an estate, and you do not want for sense. I can think of any number of gentlemen who will not look upon you amiss.”

Unconvinced, Serena merely agreed and allowed the matter to drop.

Early the next morning, Serena ordered a stable-boy to saddle Shamir.

After he’d done as she bid, he glanced toward the stable. “I’ll just get your groom, Will, to go with ye, my lady.”

Serena’s nerves were strung too tightly for company. She needed a good gallop this morning, and Will would slow her down. “No, I’ll be fine without him.”

The boy helped her mount without arguing. After she’d cleared the stable yard, Serena cantered south up a rise and gazed out over the still barren fields. The frost was not as heavy this morning, nor the air quite as cold. It was late, but spring was coming. The land tugged at her. She’d rather be planting than dancing.

A man on a large black horse appeared in the valley and stared up at her. He looked tall, but it was hard to tell at this distance. A breeze ruffled his fair hair as he rode toward her. After a few moments, Serena realized he was riding not simply in her direction, but to her. Her aunt had warned her not to ride alone. Was this man the reason for the warning? Whirling Shamir around, she gave the horse his head and rode back to her aunt’s house as if someone was chasing her.

Robert Beaumont rode toward the woman on the crest of the hill. She sat atop a raking roan, much too large for a lady. Her riding habit, a dull rust color, reminded him of autumn leaves. Her long auburn hair curled down her back, and she wore a small hat with some sort of feather—pheasant, by the way it stuck out. He wondered how the devil she kept the hat on her head with her hair down. His interest piqued, he urged his horse to a trot. As he neared, she took off at a fast gallop.

She was gone when he reached the top of the hill. Beaumont looked out over the valley. A horse and rider were in the north. How had she gotten that far so quickly? Disgruntled, he turned and rode home. After throwing his reins to a groom, he strode through the doors into the main hall and called to his housekeeper, “Norry!”

She came out from a parlor. “I’m here, my lord. There’s no reason to shout.”

“Who lives to the north?”

“Well, my lord,” she muttered, “if you were here more often, you’d know. It’s a widow lady. I can’t remember her name right off the top of my head. Why?”

Ignoring Norry’s all too familiar complaint, he pressed for more information. “Does she have any children?”

The housekeeper narrowed her eyes. “I heard all her children are grown. She moved here after her son married. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lord, I have work to do.”

“Norry, let me know if you remember. Especially if it concerns an auburn-haired female.”

“Master Robert,” she began in a censorious tone, “we’ll have none of your carrying on up here. You leave it in London.” She nodded her head curtly and left.

Beaumont clenched his jaw and stormed off to his study, cursing the fact that so many of his servants had been with him since childhood, and never let him forget it.

Shamir’s hooves clattered on the brick of the stable yard. Serena slid down from her horse and, hoping to avoid her aunt, hurried to a door on the side of the house. Serena had not yet found a way to explain to her aunt how riding calmed her fears so that she would understand.

“Serena,” Aunt Catherine called from the breakfast room.

Serena jumped. Damn, caught again. “Yes, Aunt Catherine?”

“Come here, my dear.”

She was certain her aunt planned, once again, to kindly explain why Serena could not ride alone. Though, after seeing the man on horseback this morning, she acknowledged her aunt might be right.

Well, there was no avoiding it. Serena straightened her shoulders and entered the breakfast room braced for a reprimand.

Her jaw dropped.

Two very fashionable couples were with her aunt—one older, about her aunt’s age, the other couple near her age. The men wore close-fitting dark coats and beautifully arranged cravats. They and the younger woman, shorter than Serena by a few inches, rose. Her gown was of a light brown cashmere, trimmed with dark brown ribbon, and tied under her bosom with a darker brown and gold twisted cord.

Serena shut her mouth and stood, rooted in place. The younger woman approached, smiling and holding out her hands. Serena, in her dull russet riding habit, felt like a duck to this lady’s swan.

“I am so happy to finally meet you,” the woman said. “I’m your cousin Phoebe. May I call you Serena? It is such a lovely name. We are here to help you make your debut.”

When Phoebe embraced Serena warmly, she awkwardly returned the gesture. Serena blinked back tears and her tension seeped out as Phoebe then led the way to the table.

“You’re surprised, I’m sure,” Phoebe said, in a warm voice. “I’ve just been told your aunt did not inform you we were coming.”

Serena glanced toward her aunt, who immediately introduced the others present. “Serena, do you remember your uncle Henry and his wife, Ester? Phoebe is their niece. Her husband is Marcus, Earl of Evesham.”

The tall dark-haired man inclined his head.

“Your uncle Henry has been very interested to hear of you over the years and has invited us to stay at St. Eth House for the Season.” Aunt Catherine smiled. “There is no one more able to help you through your Season.”

Serena’s throat ached. She did remember her uncle Henry, the Marquis of St. Eth, her mama’s brother. He’d come to her mother’s funeral. But her father hadn’t liked her mother’s family, and there had been very little contact after her mother’s passing. When her father died, Uncle Henry wrote her with an offer of help. She wished she’d taken it and desperately wished she’d made her come out when she was younger. “I—I don’t know what to say. Your generosity is almost too good to be true.”

Phoebe took her hand. “Please, don’t let us frighten you. We truly only wish to help. When Uncle Henry told Marcus and me about you, and asked that we accompany him here, we couldn’t allow the opportunity to pass us by.”

“I am just stunned. I had no idea Aunt Catherine would . . .”

Phoebe glanced at her husband and grinned. “Yes, isn’t that the nice thing about family? They are always there to help one, whether they tell you or not.”

Serena smiled. She’d moped long enough. She would make the best of her new life and she had help now, when she needed it. Running an estate was nothing compared to entering the ton. “I—I am a fish out of water. I never thought to have a London Season. I’ve never really been in a town, except for Edinburgh as a child and recently in York to shop. My whole life has changed.”

Phoebe nodded. “Your aunt said you have never been in Polite Society.”

Serena gave a short, mirthless laugh. “I’ve never been in any society. We have no towns near the castle and no close neighbors. Except for my dependants, I’ve spent the last eight years alone.”

Phoebe smiled reassuringly. “You’re not alone anymore. We’ll make your come out as easy for you as we are able to. And you may surprise yourself by having fun.”

The next morning, Serena rode out with Phoebe and Marcus. Unlike Will, Serena’s groom, her cousin and husband didn’t complain when Serena wanted to gallop ahead. She waited for them at the rise she’d visited the day before. “I like having you two as company. I usually ride alone, although Aunt Catherine is not at all happy about it.”

Phoebe bit her lip. “Serena, in London you may not ride alone. It’s considered fast for an unmarried lady to ride or indeed to walk unaccompanied. It will harm your reputation, and you’ll not be able to obtain vouchers for Almack’s.”

Marcus smiled at Phoebe. “Phoebe didn’t like to ride with a groom, either. It enabled me to escort her.”

She met his gaze. “Yes, that did greatly advance your cause, my love.”

The small signs of affection between Marcus and Phoebe, and between her Aunt Ester and Uncle Henry, intrigued Serena. “I have no wish to seem impertinent, but yours is a love match, is it not?”

Phoebe glanced warmly at Marcus. “Yes, indeed. I was out for over six years before I married.”

“And Aunt Ester and Uncle Henry are a love match as well?”

Phoebe nodded. “It is the tradition in my family.”

“And a very good tradition it is,” Marcus said. “Else she’d have been snapped up long before I returned to England.”

A love match seemed to be a very nice thing to have. “Do either of you know the area here? I was riding alone one morning and stopped here, on the crest. A man upon a great black horse was in the valley.” She frowned. “I left when he rode toward me.”

Phoebe shook her head. “No, I don’t know the area well. Marcus, do you know anyone up here?”

Marcus cast a gaze around again. “A large black horse?”

Serena nodded.

“Was the man fair and tall?”

“Yes.”

“Most likely Robert Beaumont.”

“Hmm,” Phoebe said. “Very proper for you to have ridden off. There is no knowing what a gentleman encountering a lady alone would do.”

One week later, Serena arrived at St. Eth House.

Phoebe met her on the pavement. “We’ll visit Madame Lisette in the morning. I’ve already written her, and she’ll be happy to design a wardrobe for you.”

Serena admired all of Phoebe’s clothes. “If she’s the one who designs your gowns, I very much look forward to visiting her.”

“I shall leave you to settle in and see you in the morning.” Phoebe bussed Serena’s cheek and left.

The comfort and opulence of St. Eth House amazed Serena. Built in the last century, it was one of the larger residences gracing Grosvenor Square and one of the few free-standing houses. The nicely laid-out gardens in the back and the smaller ones on each side of the house softened the imposing aspect. Serena’s room had a view of the fountain in the back. She stood gazing out a window when her maid entered.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” Serena smiled happily. “Feel how warm it is. What I’d have given for this comfort at Vere Castle.”

“Aye, verra warm it tis.” Mary ducked into the dressing room.

“I am beginning to feel as though this adventure was meant to be. Everyone has been so very kind.” Serena sat on the window seat and called to Mary, “How have you fared?”

Her maid had been with her for many years. Serena had been grateful, and surprised, when Mary agreed to leave Scotland and accompany her south. With matters as they were at Vere Castle, Serena did not think she would ever return home. Her goal now was to find a husband, and she decided it must be a love match.

“I’m getting on well, my lady. Rose, Lady Evesham’s maid, has been so good as to show me the newest ways to dress hair and care for your new clothes. And Lady St. Eth’s grand dresser, Perkins, is nice as well.”

“Are you comfortable here?”

“Aye, my lady, and happy, now that I havena got Lady Vere’s French maid telling me I’m doing it all wrong.”

Serena was concerned about the answer to her next question. Her groom, an older man, not used to traveling, had insisted on remaining with her. “Has Will said anything to you about how he’s doing?”

“He’ll miss Vere, but he’s happy to stay with you. Says the other grooms know what they’re about.”

London was indeed warmer and friendlier than Vere Castle, for everyone.

Serena entered Madame Lisette’s shop on Bruton Street with Phoebe and their two aunts.

Madame, a small lady, her dark hair streaked with silver, greeted them “Ah, the new mademoiselle. Bien.”

“My dear Lisette,” Aunt Ester said. “Lady Serena Weir, my niece, desperately needs your help. She requires everything!”

“Bon.” Madame walked around Serena. “I have made some designs that are comme il faut. Just the thing.”

Aunt Ester tapped her chin. “She’ll need several walking, carriage, day, evening, and two or three ball gowns within the week. That should be enough to start.”

Serena’s eyes rounded at the list her aunt rattled off. She’d never even heard of some of them. How could she hope to wear as many as her aunt was ordering? She’d have to change several times a day to make use of them all.

Madame measured her. “I have a few things ready from the information sent me, my lady.” Madame clapped her hands and what seemed like a parade of garments was carried out for their inspection. “They are très élégante for Lady Serena.”

Madame called to an assistant then left them.

Looking at the number of gowns the modiste expected Serena to have fitted, she whispered, “Phoebe. Is shopping always like this?”

“Only at first. Madame will soon learn your taste and then it’s not so chaotic. Give it some time. Once we have some carriage and walking gowns, we’ll look for hats, and shoes. Oh, and we can’t forget fans, reticules, gloves, and muffs.”

Serena plopped into a chair. “I’m exhausted just thinking about it. This is as busy as harvest time. How do you keep up?”

Phoebe chuckled. “When you already have your basic wardrobe, it is easy. Your difficulty is that, other than the few things you bought in York, you do not have a wardrobe to begin with. Once you are married you’ll need more new clothes.”

“But won’t the new ones do?” How many could one wear?

“Well, some of them will, because of your age, but as a married lady, one may dress differently, and there are other items a married lady needs.”

Serena looked at Phoebe in confusion. “What items?”

A wicked glimmer entered Phoebe’s eyes. “Oh, you’ll find out in time.”

Serena’s fear of her eligibility returned. “But, Phoebe, do you think some gentleman will want to marry me?”

“Serena, you have all the attributes needed to make a good, if not brilliant, marriage. What’s more important is that you find a gentleman you wish to marry. I am a great proponent of being selective.”

The ladies completed the first of their shopping and returned to St. Eth House. Phoebe followed Serena up to her parlor, sat down at the small writing table, took a sheet of paper, and dipped the nib of the quill into the standish.

“Now then,” Phoebe said, in an efficient tone, “tell me what you want in a husband. What must you have to make you happy in a marriage?”

“You make it sound like shopping.” Serena grinned. “Are you really going to make a list?”

Phoebe’s lips tilted up. “Of course. There is a reason it’s called the Marriage Mart, you know. It’s very much like shopping, although choosing a husband is more frustrating—and enjoyable—at the same time.”

Serena sat on the small chaise. “I’ve never seriously considered the question of what I would like.” She paused. “The attributes with which he must be endowed.” Thoughts jumbled, then fell into place. “Very well. Sufficient fortune to support a family. A country estate. Kindness. He shouldn’t want to rule me. I realize that, under the law, he is allowed to do so, but I could not bear it.”

She glanced at her cousin. “It would be nice if he were handsome. Though, if he met my other requirements, I could overlook that. Superior understanding. I could not abide being married to a stupid man. A sense of humor is important. As long as he is a gentleman, I don’t care about his rank. And I want a love match.”

Phoebe put her pen down. “I should warn you, the heart is an independent organ. It is very difficult to tell it whom to love and whom not to. We must hope yours chooses wisely.”

Robert, Viscount Beaumont rose when Phoebe entered the library, and watched as his besotted friend, Marcus, strode quickly to greet her. Their unbridled joy at seeing one another caused Robert to shudder.

Marcus took her hand. “Ah, there you are, my love.”

His friend turned her hand over to kiss the pulse at her wrist. They’d been married for over a year and their son was eight months old, but he always greeted her as if they were still courting. Marcus smiled when she blushed.

Beaumont tried to clear his head. That kind of marriage wasn’t for him. He could never cede control to a woman as Marcus had to Phoebe. Experience was a harsh teacher, and Beaumont would not love again.

Robert bowed. “Phoebe, how well you look. I’ve always said that Marcus stole you from me.”

“Robert, what a bouncer. You had no notion of marriage, and I would never have accepted anything less.”

He flushed. “With you, my dear, anything would have been possible.”

She shook her head. “You are a desperate flirt.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes. “You are very lucky I don’t take offense, Beaumont.”

“Pistols at dawn!” Robert cried, but couldn’t keep the humor from his tone.

Phoebe laughed. “I remember the first time I heard you and Marcus insulting each other. I told him he had been very cruel to you. I was quite wrong. What a pair you are.”

Beaumont smiled wickedly. “Ah, but, my lady, if only you would have walked with me.”

“Enough, Beaumont, else I will throw you out on your ear.” Marcus scowled, but his lips twitched. “I’ll not stand here and watch you make love to my wife.”

“You could leave . . .”

“Oh, no, you must stop.” Phoebe gasped, chuckling. “I will shortly be in tears.”

Robert opened his mouth again, but Phoebe said, “Really, Robert, enough.”

She collapsed on the sofa next to where her husband stood. Once she’d taken her place, the gentlemen returned to their seats.

“I swear,” she said with a gurgle of laughter, “I am never so diverted as when I listen to the two of you.”

Marcus snaked an arm around her. “How was your day, my love?”

“It went well, very well indeed. We have much more to do, but we made a start. Robert, would you like to join us for dinner to-morrow? It will be just family.”

“I shall be delighted to join you.” He enjoyed taking his pot-luck with Phoebe and Marcus. One never knew what their cook would serve.

“Good. We’ll see you at seven. What are your plans afterward?”

“I’ve arranged to join a party at Lady Re . . .” Robert broke off, realizing Phoebe would not approve. “Nothing at all.”

“Would you like to accompany us to Lady Sale’s ball? It will be quite unexceptional.”

Robert regarded Phoebe suspiciously. “Why?”

She gave him an innocent look. “Why for the pleasure of your company, to be sure.”

Marcus pulled her a little closer, and Robert wondered fleetingly what his life would have been like if things had been different.

“My love, don’t you remember?” Marcus said. “To-morrow we’re attending the theater. That new comedy. Robert, what is it called?”

Beaumont not only knew what it was called, but intimately knew Collette, the starring actress. “Love in a Village.”

“Yes, that’s it. Will you join us?”

Some small part of Robert warned it was a trap, but he ignored it. “Yes, I’d be very happy to attend with you. Nothing I’d like better.”

The door opened and a nursemaid brought in eight-month-old Lord Arthur, Marcus and Phoebe’s son. Arthur bounced with excitement, threatening to fall out of the nursemaid’s arms into his father’s. Once safely in Marcus’s grip, Arthur looked around and spied his best friend.

“Uf, uf.” The baby held his hands out to Robert.

“Apparently Arthur has a preference for you. I don’t understand his taste.” Marcus grimaced. “Still, the baby is young yet and has time to come to his senses.”

Robert took Arthur and jiggled him on his lap. The baby smiled, showing new teeth. “You are growing to be quite a handsome young man. Mind, you don’t decide to look like your father. Your mother is much better looking.” Robert cuddled the baby, breathing in the child’s sweet scent.

Marcus gazed thoughtfully at Robert. “Isn’t it about time you think of setting up your own nursery? You’re past thirty, you know.”

Robert frowned. “Have you been talking to my grandmother?”

An hour later, Phoebe walked swiftly into the morning room at St. Eth House.

“Phoebe!” her aunt greeted her. “What brings you here? I was sure you would be playing with Arthur.”

“He decided he liked male company more than mine. Although, I imagine it won’t be long before he wants me again.” She was one of the few tonnish women who chose to nurse her son.

“I have come to ask Serena to join us for dinner and the theater to-morrow evening.” Phoebe smiled at Serena. “Would you like that?”

Serena’s eyes sparkled with joy. “Oh yes, of all things! I have never seen a play.”

“Perfect,” Phoebe said. “We will expect you around seven o’-clock to dine with us.”

“Who else will form your party?” Ester asked.

“I don’t know yet.” Phoebe glanced at her aunt. “This has been very last minute. Perhaps Lord and Lady Rutherford. Rutherford always enjoys a good comedy. Serena, you’ll want to meet Anna. She is great fun and a good friend.. . .