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“Surely Mrs. Winters would be better suited—”

“Mrs. Winters,” Lady Somerville interrupted again with a scoff. “If I wanted Mrs. Winters to join us, I would have asked for her, don’t you think? I am choosing you, and you would not dare tell me that my choice is somehow wrong, would you?”

Clearly not expecting an answer to her questions, Lady Somerville turned toward Elise and cupped her cheek. “Look how much you’ve grown. How beautiful you are. You will be the most desirable debutante of the ton, just you wait.”

“Desirable?” Elise’s cheeks brightened, her demeanor suddenly shy.

“Yes, the gentlemen will flock to your door, begging your uncle for a chance to court you.”

“You really think so?” Elise suddenly perked up.

“Absolutely.”

Honoria stifled a grimace. “Lady Somerville is right, of course. But I hope you will not hurry to wed. The social season is the best time to meet new people, find friends, and enjoy oneself.”

Lady Somerville threw her a side-long glance. “It’s called the marriage-mart for a reason, young lady.”

“Of course. But even when going to the market, one shouldn’t buy the first fruit one is offered. It is better to look through all the aisles and make an informed decision afterward.”

“You younglings have a different perspective on marriage.” Lady Somerville paused, her gaze distant. “I envy you this.”

Honoria raised her brows in surprise. She had expected a fight or reprimand from this thistle of a woman, as Caldwell had aptly called her.

“You do?” Elise asked, turning fully to face her aunt.

“I was married four times, my dear. Not all those marriages were happy, though they got progressively better with each attempt. I wouldn’t wish you to follow my example, but Miss Hart is correct. Better not to rush such permanent things as marriage. With time, you might make a better decision.”

“Permanent?” Elise gave an unladylike snort. “Didn’t you just say you’ve been married four times?”

Lady Somerville dismissed the question with her fan. “It’s not my fault my husbands were all ill of health. But not everyone gets as lucky as I.”

Honoria couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips. She immediately covered her mouth while Elise laughed unapologetically, her melodic voice filling the carriage.

Lady Somerville’s features betrayed no hint of humor, though a devilish glint sparkled in her eyes.

* * *

“The improvements Chaos has made to the steam carriage are remarkable,” the Duke of Tyrone, a dark-haired Irish nobleman, better known among his friends as the Mad Duke, said as he put down the coffee cup before him. Caldwell sat among three of his long-time friends in the private room at their favorite gentlemen’s club, discussing their investments that he often advised upon. “The steering mechanism is far more responsive now and the speed it can reach is remarkable. No other word for it.”

It was surprising to see the Mad Duke looking tidy, composed, and—most astonishing of all—sober.

The last time Caldwell had seen the duke, he had been spiraling into a drunken abyss. Until he’d met his wife, that was. Now, people gossiped, he hadn’t touched a drink in over a year. And as far as Caldwell could see, it was true.

“You should invest in that,” Caldwell remarked, directing his comment to Viscount St. Clare, the golden-haired devil, as he accepted a cigar from his silver case. “It will make us profoundly rich.”

The viscount exhaled a plume of smoke with a rueful smile. “I would have, had I not spent a considerable amount of money renovating my dear wife’s estate at the time.” He paused, then added with a chuckle, “Or perhaps I wouldn’t have, after hearing how the new boiler nearly blew a hole through his garden wall.”

“To be fair,” the Mad Duke said with a laugh, “he fixed it. Built a self-regulating valve. The thing actually works. I’ve seen it.”

Lucien Drake, the only untitled gentleman among the group, leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “Until the next explosion, no doubt.”

“That’s progress,” Caldwell said, unfazed. “Chaos learns from every failure and comes up with a better version each time. He will prevail.”

“Right, but don’t you think our money is better spent on the railway?” St. Clare asked.

Caldwell shrugged. “I have already told you which companies are better investments in that regard. Steam-powered engines in every iteration are the future of transport in my opinion. Carrying loads, people, and using them for agricultural purposes, all the uses are worth investing in.”

“Speaking of inventions,” St. Clare said, tapping ash from his cigar, “did you hear about the shower bath he installed at his own house?”