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“How delightful it is to see you again, Clarissa,” the marchioness said as she enfolded Mama in a warm hug. “I hope the journey has not been too terribly trying.”

“Welcome, Stephanie,” the marquess said, helping her alight next.

“We are so glad you came,” the marchioness said, hugging her in her turn while the marquess was greeting and shaking hands with Matthew and Owen. “Now our gathering is complete. Mildred and Thomas arrived an hour ago with Peter.”

She turned to hug both Owen and Matthew and welcome them to Redcliffe.

“We were very much hoping you would arrive in time for tea,” she said. “You must all be parched at the very least. I will have the tray held back fifteen minutes longer since I daresay you will need to go to your rooms first to freshen up. Mrs. Crutchley will take you there and bring you back to the drawing room when you are ready.”

The housekeeper was awaiting them inside the hall, a comfortable-looking woman who smiled at them when she was introduced and hoped they had had a pleasant journey.

“It is even more pleasant to have it behind us,” Owen said, beaming at her.

She chuckled. “The young are always so impatient,” she said, and turned her attention to Stephanie’s mother. “This way, ma’am.” She indicated the staircase ahead of them. “I believe you will find everything to your liking, but you must let me know if there is anything I may do to add to your comfort.”

They had been given rooms beside one another. Stephanie’s was large and light and decorated prettily in delicate shades of lemon and spring green. The window overlooked a smooth lawn dotted with a few ancient trees, and bordered on either side with wide, colorful flower beds. Farther back there was a denser wood and a summerhouse with a flowering plant, wisteria perhaps, growing over it. What a lovely retreat in which to sit with a book or simply with one’s thoughts as one drank in the beauties of nature, Stephanie thought.

But she must leave an admiration of the view to another time. She could hear her maid busy in the adjoining dressing room and was pleased to find a jug of steaming water beside the washbasin and a fluffy towel folded beside it. She was able to wash her hands and face in comfort and check her hair in the mirror to make sure her braids were still smooth and secure about her head.

“You look as neat as a pin, Lady Steph,” her maid said. “As always. Shall I set out the blue for you for dinner later?”

“Yes, please, Hetty,” Stephanie said. “I will leave you in peace now to unpack.”

She stepped out of her room at the exact moment her mother and Matthew were leaving theirs. Owen was chatting with Mrs. Crutchley farther along the corridor.

The drawing room seemed rather full to Stephanie as they entered. But she had no chance to look around. Viscount Watley and his sister had come forward with the marquess and marchioness to greet them, and the moment she had dreaded for a few months was upon her. The Countess of Brandon was the first to greet her—with a kiss on the cheek.

“I am so happy to see you again,” she said. “I hope we will have more of a chance than we did at Christmas to get to know each other.”

“Thank you, Lady Brandon,” Stephanie said.

“Oh,” the countess said. “Was it not agreed at Christmas that we are Estelle and Justin and you are Stephanie?”

“And I am Bertrand,” Viscount Watley said, turning away from Owen and holding out his hand to her.

She looked fully at him and saw the impossibility of him even as she felt all the glorious possibility, since it was he who had wanted her here after extracting a promise that she would give him the chance to prove a point to her. It was all about courtship, Owen had said. With a view to marriage. Though that, at least, could not be true.

“Bertrand,” she said, setting her hand in his and closing her fingers about it and feeling its warmth all the way down to her toes. “And Estelle.”

“Ah, and she even pronounces your name correctly, Bert,” his sister said, sounding delighted as she linked an arm through Stephanie’s. “With its proper French pronunciation. So many people sound the d. I am forever wanting to correct them. Come and meet everyone, Stephanie, though I believe you already know most of us. The tea tray should be here any moment.”

Bertrand and Owen went with them while Mama and Matthew made their own way about the room with the marquess and marchioness. All was affable words of welcome, and Stephanie was suddenly glad she had come. It was time she faced some of her insecurities, especially the new ones Owen had put into her head the night before they left Ravenswood. And face them she must. She could no longer keep her distance from Viscount Watley. She must not even think of him by that name any longer. He was Bertrand, and she had come here on a promise. But there was nothing she had to do beyond enjoying herself if she could. The onus was on him to prove his point.

His mother had hugged her warmly out on the terrace. Estelle had kissed her cheek, insisted upon the informal use of first names, and hoped they could become better acquainted than they had at Christmas. She was Bertrand’s twin, with whom he had always been so close that they might be identical twins if that were not impossible. Estelle must know, then. Did she also approve?

Stephanie and Owen were given a warm welcome by the people they had met at Nicholas’s wedding and then at Christmas. Lady Dirkson beamed at them and got to her feet to hug Stephanie, while Viscount Dirkson winked at her and shook Owen by the hand. The Dowager Duchess of Netherby and Lady Molenor were only slightly less effusive than their elder sister in their greetings. Abby and Gil Bennington smiled at them and asked about their journey, and Katy, their eldest daughter, beamed at Stephanie. The younger two children were sitting side by side, engrossed in a book. Peter Wayne and Adrian Sawyer seemed happy to see Stephanie again. Owen stopped to chat with them. Justin, Estelle’s husband, was sitting where he had been when they came into the room, his son on his lap, rosy-cheeked and a bit heavy-eyed.

“I apologize for not coming with Estelle to greet you, Stephanie,” Justin said. “But when little boys resist their afternoon sleep in the comfort of their beds in the nursery, they are likely to doze at an inconvenient moment later.”

“But did you have a good sleep?” Stephanie asked the child, smiling at him and touching one of his plump hands.

She was favored with a wide yawn for an answer.

“Give him a moment,” Justin said. “Any time now he will rediscover his energy and we will be chasing after him until bedtime comes again. Unless we have the good sense to take him up to his nurse, that is. I am happy to see you again, Stephanie.”

There were only two people she did not know, Mr. André Lamarr, the marquess’s brother, and Maria Wiley, Justin’s sister, who must be close to her in age, Stephanie estimated. Bertrand stayed to talk with his uncle while Stephanie took a seat beside Maria as the tea tray was carried in.

“For a number of years I lived with my mother in a house not far from Elm Court,” Maria said as they settled into a conversation that would make them better acquainted. “Mama was an invalid for most of that time until she died, and I was virtually housebound, partly because I was very young, but also because she would not let anyone else but me tend her. Estelle and Bertrand were kind enough to call upon me frequently, and Estelle became my closest friend. After the year of my mourning, Justin came to take me home with him. He was still my guardian at the time. I was very reluctant to go but he insisted. He did, however, seek to soften the blow by inviting Estelle and Bertrand to come with me for a few weeks while I settled in. That was how he met Estelle. Without me, you see, it might never have happened.”