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Madeline—the beauty—looked pointedly at Viscount Watley, but he had his eyes on Stephanie.

“Have you spoken with Viola and my father yet, Lady Stephanie?” he said. “I know Viola wishes particularly to have a word with you.”

“I have not,” she said.

“Allow me to take you to her now,” he said, detaching himself from the group and offering his arm.

“Thank you,” she said. Did the marchioness really wish to talk with her? Or had Viscount Watley needed an excuse to detach himself from the group, in particular the beauteous Madeline?

The Marquess and Marchioness of Dorchester were talking with guests Stephanie did not know. The marchioness turned away from the group, however, when she saw her stepson approaching.

“Ah, there you are, Bertrand,” she said. “And Stephanie, just the person I have been hoping to speak with. Are you enjoying your stay with your brother and Winifred?”

“I am indeed,” Stephanie said. “I have been longing to see them in their new home. It is quite as lovely as Winifred described it in a letter, and the village is very welcoming. I can understand why they are so happy there.”

“I hear there is a new baby at Ravenswood,” the marchioness said. “Another boy?”

“Evan,” Stephanie said. “He was obliging enough to be born before I went to spend Easter with my brother Ben. Gwyneth and Devlin were ecstatic. So were the children, though I believe Awen was disappointed that she could not immediately play with the baby.”

The marchioness glanced at Viscount Watley. “You really must not feel obliged to stand there enduring our woman talk, Bertrand,” she said. “Do go away and enjoy yourself. Shall we find a quiet corner to sit for a few minutes, Stephanie? If there is such a place, that is. Matilda must be feeling very gratified by how crowded these two rooms are. But I do believe Adrian is a well-liked young man. Bertrand was at Oxford with him, though a year or two behind, I believe.”

“Winifred is fond of him,” Stephanie said. “Apparently he was kind to her when she was a girl on the verge of womanhood but not quite there. A frustrating time. I remember it well.”

The marchioness spotted a couple of chairs two people were just vacating. The chairs were half hidden behind a potted plant. She and Stephanie were sitting on them a few moments later.

Adrian Sawyer was in the midst of a large group of laughing young people a short distance away. A group of older guests had found seats close to the fireplace and were deep in conversation with one another. In the other room, Stephanie could see the nodding plumes of Lady Dirkson. It looked as if she was trying to organize a set of dancing. The chamber orchestra had paused in its playing while the leader listened intently to her.

“I was surprised to discover last Christmas that your mother and I had never met before,” the marchioness said. “Members of the ton almost invariably cross paths a few dozen times during their lives.”

“When Papa used to come here in the spring to fulfill his parliamentary duties,” Stephanie said, “Mama always chose to remain at Ravenswood. We children were the beneficiaries of her dislike of London. Papa’s homecoming in the summer was always a cause for great rejoicing, I remember. Mama was a constant in our lives, for which fact I am far more grateful now than I probably was at the time.”

“Marcel and I were delighted to meet her and Mr. Taylor,” the countess said. “What an interesting gentleman he is. They have agreed to spend a few weeks with us at Redcliffe Court in the summer. My three former sisters-in-law, sometimes irreverently referred to by the younger generation as the triumvirate or even the Holy Trinity, will be there too with their spouses. I am exceedingly fond of them all, largely because they were furiously angry on my behalf after their brother’s death and absolutely refused to let me go even after I had resumed my maiden name and fled with my daughters to Bath and then Dorset to live with my brother for a while. But I digress. Marcel’s brother usually comes to Redcliffe for the summer. There will be younger people too this year—Abby and Gil and my grandchildren, Estelle and Justin with young David, and Maria Wiley, Justin’s sister. And Adrian and Peter—and Owen, I hope. Bertrand is going to ask him. And of course Bertrand will be there himself. Our neighbors at Redcliffe will be abuzz with the news of so many visitors. The young people will be beside themselves with excitement. It should be a lively summer.”

It would not take a genius to guess where all this was leading, Stephanie thought.

“We would be extremely happy if you would come with your mother, Stephanie,” the marchioness said. “I would love to get to know you better.”

“Are you inviting me at the request of Viscount Watley?” Stephanie asked.

The marchioness laughed softly. “I have never mastered the art of being subtle,” she said. “The answer is yes, but I readily agreed because it occurred to me that I really would like to know you better. You intrigue me. Will you pardon me for saying that I admire the way you determinedly ignore high fashion, even on a formal occasion such as this, and persist in being your own person? That is not an insult. It is quite the opposite, in fact. And dare I say that I was equally intrigued by the way you seemed not to welcome the blatant attempts Matilda made to throw you and Bertrand together at Christmas. You were very polite, but you clearly did not enjoy being forced beneath the kissing bough with him or into waltzing with him, though he did ask you himself on that occasion—a second before she could suggest it. I suppose too you could have chosen half a dozen other accompanists for your vocal solo without even having to rack your brains. But Matilda foisted Bertrand upon you, and it was clear to me that you did not welcome her interference. Yet you must be aware, even tonight, how much he is quite ruthlessly courted by almost every eligible young lady in London, not to mention their mothers.”

I admire the way you determinedly ignore high fashion.

Really?

This was it, then. A time of decision. Should she simply refuse the invitation, make an excuse of some previous commitment, and there would be an end to the matter? Or would she have the courage to give him the chance she had more or less agreed to allow him? The chance to prove to her that she was not less than anyone and he was not more than anyone.

He had actually asked his father and the marchioness to issue this invitation.

She drew breath and released it without speaking as it occurred to her that she could have been safely betrothed to Mr. Courtney by now. She could be planning a summer wedding at Ravenswood. She could have been…safe. All this would not be happening.

“Do you have the courage to walk into the lion’s den, knowing the triumvirate will almost certainly take an active interest in you again?” the marchioness said, her eyes twinkling. “But I beg your pardon. I would seem to be goading you into proving that you are no coward.”

Stephanie laughed. “I would be delighted to come,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Marcel will be as pleased as I am,” the marchioness said, squeezing Stephanie’s hand. “So will Bertrand. Oh, this is going to be a very interesting summer.”

To say the least, Stephanie thought.