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But, she reminded herself, it wasn’t going to be a true ruination. It would merely be the appearance of ruination. She had been quite clear with Mr. Baldwin in that regard last week when he and his mother came to call. They’d strolled to the back of the garden to give the older ladies some privacy, and she had made her immodest proposal—she was becoming practiced at immodest proposals. He had, as she’d predicted, jumped at the chance to turn an easy profit. She had chosen well. Diantha knew gamblers, and she remembered his mother’s stories about him, from back when Mrs. Baldwin and Lady Harcourt were close and socialized frequently.

But the enthusiasm he had displayed for the mechanics of the proposed sequence of events, beyond what she offered to pay him for it, had inspired her to make sure he understood the meaning of the phrase “the appearance of.”

So there was absolutely no point in wishing Lord Marsden were going to be the one to do it. It was all settled, and it was cleaner this way. With Mr. Baldwin at the helm, Lord Marsden’s friendship with Lord Harcourt would not be imperiled. His reputation would remain untarnished.

Everything was unfolding as it ought to be.

She just wished he hadn’t moved his hand away from hers.

“You should have seen them try to beat the left-handedness out of him at school,” Lord Harcourt said.

“How awful!” the younger Lady Harcourt exclaimed.

She had a kind heart—too kind for her own good, sometimes, Diantha thought.

“Yes,” Lord Marsden said. “The headmaster thought it the mark of the devil.”

“No!” the countess cried.

“Can you really be so shocked, Sister?” asked Miss Morgan, the younger of the Morgan sisters, and, to Diantha’s mind, the more practical one. Diantha had gotten to know Miss Morgan a little since Lord Harcourt married his countess. She quite liked her and felt that had circumstances been different, they might have been friends.

“Certain types of men see the mark of evil everywhere, do they not?” Miss Morgan asked.

“I suppose so,” the countess said.

“I would venture to say that a certain sort of man even goes looking for such ‘marks,’” Miss Morgan mused. “Many men, I find, are unduly motivated by the perception of grievance. They search for it everywhere, and they inevitably find it.” She turned to Diantha. “Don’t you agree, Miss Brown?”

“I wouldn’t know” was all Diantha could manage. It was just as well, as she could add nothing to the conversation. As a general rule, Diantha tried to listen more than she spoke. It wasn’t that anyone had ever told her to make herself unobtrusive, just that she needed to remain employed and as such strove to be attentive but not overly assertive in social settings. When she did speak, she kept her voice calm, mild. Sometimes, such circumspection proved difficult. Here, that was not the case. To hear ladies openly discussing the shortcomings of gentlemen as a class—in the presence of several specific gentlemen—was shocking enough that she found herself at a loss for words.

“I concur,” said Lady Stonely. She was a magazine editor, yet she was a woman of few words, at least in company, so when she did speak, she tended to command attention. “Women are often chided for being too sentimental, but I find it is gentleman who have a natural tendency toward upset.”

“Indeed,” Miss Morgan said, spearing a parsnip as she added gaily, “Present company entirely excepted, of course.”

Diantha still could not believe the ladies were speaking like this.

“Eventually,” Lord Stonely said, ignoring all the talk about gentlemen and their temperaments, “Marsden learned how to do everything right-handed.”

“Truly?” Diantha exclaimed, and rather loudly, too—apparently she had forgotten her stance against overenthusiastic interjection. She had never heard of a person able to use both hands with equal facility. “Can you write with both hands?”

“Indeed, I can,” Lord Marsden said. “But left is much more comfortable, so with my school years behind me, I am reverted to my heathen ways.” He waved his knife around with his left hand, and everyone laughed.

“Can you do everything with both hands?” Diantha was still set back on her heels a bit, though she wasn’t sure why. This wasn’t, in the scheme of things, that dramatic a revelation.

“I’m not sure what else there is: writing, dining.”

“Shaving?” Lord Stonely asked, and the three gentlemen snickered in what appeared to be a private amusement.

Lord Harcourt said, “There is all manner of pastime, too: archery, cricket, polo, what have you.”

“You will recall that in school, the last time I undertook such pursuits—because I was compelled to—I was equally bad with each hand.” A murmur of laughter ran through the assemblage, and Lord Marsden turned to Miss Brown. “So I suppose the answer to your question is yes, I am equally adept, or equally incompetent, with both hands.”

As dinner wound down, Diantha would have thought the ladies would withdraw, but it seemed that, just as Lord Marsden had said, the group did not stand on ceremony on Earls Trip. As plans were made for gentlemen and ladies alike to decamp to the drawing room, she said, “I think it best that Lady Harcourt and I say our good nights.” Diantha had been keeping an eye on the dowager, who was seated between Diantha and her son. She had, heretofore, seemed happy enough. She had followed the conversation, and even joined in when it landed on the topic of what flowers and trees Lord Harcourt ought to plant on the newly refurbished Gurglewood grounds. Still, the lady often became agitated in the evenings, and Diantha thought it better to withdraw. “It has been a long day full of unfamiliar events and settings,” she added.

This was the awkward part, when she departed with the dowager as though she were a servant. But there was nothing for it, and she smiled as everyone wished her good night. When she made eye contact with Lord Marsden, he opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but then he shut it abruptly.

The dowager was in fact tired from the long day, and with the help of a maid called Polly, Diantha got her tucked in with a minimum of trouble. She retreated to her adjoining room and left the door open.

“Would you like me to sit with her, miss?” Polly asked. “Then you can rejoin the others?”