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Halmesbury exhaled heavily, the sound weighted with fatigue. “Thunder an’ turf! This is a grim week.”

Richard leaned back in his chair, fingers tugging absently at the folds of his cravat. The motion was agitated, though his voice remained dry. “Which part? The grotesque crime, the unexpected death in the family, the averted arrest, or the betrothal born of scandal?”

Brendan let out a disbelieving laugh, short and incredulous. “All of it. Every last bit of it.”

The silence that followed was companionable, each man seated with his own disquiet, the room echoing faintly with the creak of ancient floorboards and the distant tick of a longcase clock.

At length, the duke spoke. “I would advise you to remain vigilant. Take precautions. Until the matter is resolved, you are still very much a target.”

Brendan nodded slowly, fingers splayed against his knee, then pressed together as if in prayer. “I am. But the thought of bringing a bride into this chaos … it weighs heavily.”

“There is no avoiding it,” Halmesbury replied. “The so-called tryst between a diabolical seducer and a highborn debutante is all that is being talked about. I have spread word of your impending nuptials far and wide. The sooner it becomes fact, the sooner the outrage fades.”

Brendan gave a low, strangled sound and leaned back, thudding his head lightly against the chair’s curved backrest. “I feel as if I am attempting to douse house fires using a mere teaspoon.”

Richard gave a humorless chuckle, eyes glinting. “It will pass. Just see the wedding through. Once that has occurred, Society will find something else to wag their tongues about. Some new travesty of judgment to replace yours.”

Chapter

Ten

“All men can see these tactics whereby I conquer, but what none can see is the strategy out of which victory is evolved.”

Sun Tzu, L’Art de la Guerre (The Art of War)

JULY 29, 1821

“Hugh! It is not suitable attire! You must tell Lily to change.”

“I think Lily looks lovely.”

“But … but … it is red!”

“More of a burgundy, I think.”

“And gold!”

“What is your issue with gold? She wore gold ribbons with her ball gown last week.”

“It is not the same!”

Lily peered down at her dress. The deep burgundy silk gleamed softly in the daylight filtering through the tall sash windows, its folds catching subtle highlights of claret and plum. Despite Mama’s distress, she could not contain the huge grin of joy that had her cheeks stretched so widely the muscles in her face were aching.

Signora Ricci had not disappointed. The talented modiste had created a gown that was utter perfection for Lily. The elegant cut, the delicate gold embroidery about the cuffs and hem, and the way the fabric flowed like poured wine conspired to make her feel radiant. She had never felt more beautiful.

“It is clearly not meant for wearing during the day!”

“It is her wedding, Christiana. It is customary for a young woman to wear one of her best gowns for such an occasion.”

“And her hair! It is far too inappropriate!”

“She has beautiful hair. Quite like yours, wife.”

Lady Moreland stamped her foot in outrage. “I forbid this! Lily shall not leave our home wearing such a frock! She must change and do her hair in a manner appropriate to a debutante.”

Lily paid no mind, still stunned by how mature she appeared. The gown was better than even she had envisioned when Signora Ricci first described it a few days earlier.

“Aunt.” Sophia’s voice was calming amid the family chaos. Her cousin had always been calculating in her approach to life, clear in her goals and acting with decisiveness. Since her marriage, Sophia’s confidence had flourished, lending her the poise and authority of a formidable countess of the realm. “Lily has selected a gown that is appropriate for her complexion. She is no longer a debutante.”