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In truth, she wasn’t ready to marry yet. Not when she’d just found her brother. Besides, she loved Celestia like a sister. Eyeing Celestia’s rounded tummy, Lenora smiled. No, she wasn’t going anywhere until she’d come to know her new nephew or niece.

Regardless, though she knew Celestia meant well, it made Lenora deucedly uncomfortable to be the object of such conjecture. Landry protected her from the worst of the smitten swains with a steely glare or a stern word. He was a most protective brother, and she adored him for it.

Well, most of the time.

On occasion, she wished he’d let her defend herself. She was capable of a smart setdown if the need arose.

Nonetheless, after each social event, numerous flowers arrived along with poems and an assortment of gifts from chocolates to a custom pink quill in its very own ivory velvet case. That novelty had been one of Lenora’s favorites. And, of course, the would-be suitors crowded the salon for days afterward.

All of the attention was exhausting and made Lenora feel rather like a mare on the auction block. To be precise, Landry had bestowed a ridiculously generous dowry upon her, and she couldn’t be certain her beaux’ interest wasn’t influenced by her wedding portion.

In point of fact, the Season was known as the Marriage Mart. Lenora had endured two Seasons so far, and in truth, preferred the months when the elite fled London for their country estates.

This year, their household hadn’t departed for Faringcroft Park, Landry’s country seat, due to Celestia’s pregnancy. She wanted to be near her family in London when the babe arrived.

Most women preferred the tranquility of country life, but not Celestia. She adored London’s hubbub and racket. The bustling activity, the people, the nonstop energy, as she called it.

“Lenora is in no hurry to wed,” Mama murmured, a trifle more subdued as they strolled along. Or perhaps she was hopeful that was the case?

Landry had said as much too.

“You’ll only marry because you want to, Lenora. You shall have your pick of a husband,” he’d said before giving her a fond peck upon the top of her head. “Take your time. I would have you as happily married as I.”

Landry had scandalized le beau monde by cocking a snook at Society and marrying a commoner. That he was blissfully happy and a powerful lord tempered much of the disapproval. Not all of the censure, however. But then there were always those prepared to judge others.

Neither Landry nor Celestia seemed to care a jot.

“Well, I cannot say I like it,” Mama pointed out, leveling another would-be admirer a look that would freeze mangoes off the trees in the Caribbean. Mangoes did not tolerate freezing temperatures—another tidbit Lenora had learned by way of a fascinating book.

“Those scoundrels”—Mama tossed a vexed look over her shoulder—“ought to know better. Ogling young women in such a bold manner. Hmph. They’re fortunate the good Lord doesn’t smite them for their impure thoughts.”

Smite them? Impure thoughts?

The earth would be uninhabited if God went about slaying people for their thoughts.

A vision of purple lightning bolts flashing from the sky and simultaneously striking the men came to mind. Hiding a grin, Lenora quickly turned her head to inspect a picture window display. At least a dozen porcelain dolls ranging in size from six inches to two dolls that stood over four feet tall stared sightlessly back at her.

She hadn’t a doubt their cost was very dear. Likely more than a servant made in a year. As a child, she’d always yearned for a beautiful doll with long curly black hair, wearing a ruffled yellow gown and dainty blue slippers. Although money wasn’t a concern now, she was too frugal to consider such a triviality.

Besides, what did a grown woman of twenty need with a doll?

Seeking the toy store’s signage—Tippton’s Novelties & Nostalgia - Toys for All Ages—she tucked the name into her memory. She’d need to buy a gift for the baby when it arrived in a few months.

Realizing Celestia had asked her something, Lenora drew her attention away from the display. “I beg your pardon, Celestia. I didn’t hear you.”

“I asked if you wanted to go inside the toy store,” Celestia said.

“No, thank you,” Lenora declined. “Perhaps another time.”

They neared the arcade’s northern entrance.

Celestia smiled at the dapper beadle attired in a top hat and a double-breasted, navy-blue tailcoat adorned with white accents. Two neat rows of six silver buttons, nearly the same shade as the overcast sky, gleamed upon his barrel chest. Brandishing a polished mahogany scepter topped with an ornate silver ball, he held himself with the regal dignity of the loftiest monarch.

Cordially greeting each arriving guest or bidding them farewell, a genial twinkle lit his merry blue eyes. He swept into a flourishing courtier’s bow. “Ladies.”

Over the top of his broad back, Lenora perused the bustling tableau a few feet away. With a small jolt of alarm, she realized a pair of young, profoundly brazen footpads had set upon an elderly noblewoman and what might’ve been her lady’s maid.

The taller, older blighter viciously shoved the companion to the ground while the other attempted to wrest the reticule from the lady’s frail wrist. The elderly dame wasn’t having any of it, however. At once, she began thwacking him with her parasol. The plethora of pink and black feathers adorning her bonnet writhed with each blow she landed.

Not that a parasol was necessary in London in October. An umbrella was most prudent. The lacey accessory did, nevertheless, make a rather admirable weapon.

“Let go, you impudent bounder,” the woman demanded in an imperious tone.

Thwack.

“Blighter. Blackguard. Rotter.” Thwack. Thwack. “Thinking to rob an old lady.”

Before Lenora gave a thought to the possible danger or her imprudence for interfering, she sprang into action. She grabbed the flabbergasted beadle’s staff and charged at the assailants.