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In the second shock of the day, Beatrice was smiling up at the duke as if they were the best of friends. Apparently, she didn’t sleep in the carriage.

Lady Alcon quickly looked the girl up and down. Beatrice had put on a low-cut morning gown in a cornflower blue that emphasized her creamy skin. She did have an excellent complexion.

Those abundant curves couldn’t be hidden, but since some men are susceptible to melon-sized breasts, she had done her best to advertise them. After all, that was all Beatrice Valentine had to offer, other than her dowry.

“Damnation,” Lord Peregrine said, perfectly audibly.

Lady Alcon startled, having forgotten him. He was staring at Beatrice with an unmistakable admiration in his eyes. It seemed both the duke and Lord Peregrine admired unfashionable curves.

He muttered something else, using even more reprehensible language.

“You dare curse before a lady?” Lady Alcon snapped, before she could stop herself.

Lord Peregrine ignored her, striding toward the couple standing by the door. “Miss Valentine, Lennox,” he said, bowing. Beatrice dropped into a curtsy. The duke merely nodded.

As Lady Alcon watched, feeling as if she were in a theater rather than a drawing room, Lord Peregrine caught Beatrice’s hands and brought them to his lips. To his lips! She had never seen him make such a romantic gesture toward Lady Regina.

The way he was smiling down at Beatrice?

It should be outlawed. In fact, she had the feeling it was outlawed, at least in polite society.

It wasn’t until the duke stepped forward and calmly removed Beatrice’s hands from Lord Peregrine’s that the truth dawned on Augusta Damaris Alcon.

She had done it.

One of her charges was about to become a duchess. She had arranged the most significant match of the Season, one that would be chattered about for a decade.

A flash of pure gloating glee went through her. After this Season, she would be the most desirable chaperone in all London, with her choice of all the available debutantes. She could invoke standards: no country maids, obviously, and only those with slender figures.

What’s more, she could charge double what she’d charged Mr. Valentine—frankly, she had taken advantage of his ignorance as it was.

She simply had to make certain that the marriage actually went through. Clearly, the world had changed since she was a girl. She had the distinct impression that Lord Peregrine had extracted himself from his betrothal to Regina, something that would have been inconceivable twenty years ago.

Lady Alcon sprang into action. First, she had to get rid of Lord Peregrine, in case the duke was irritated by the presence of competition. He might well leave of his own accord; surely, Peregrine understood that a huge fortune did not trump a duchy. Second, she would send a groom with an urgent message to Beatrice’s father. Finally, and most importantly, she had to make certain that the attachment the Duke of Lennox seemed to have formed turned into a proposal.

When she reached the three of them, she was glad to see that Lord Peregrine didn’t have that deadly look he got when he was displeased.

He turned to her with a bow. “It seems that Lennox stole the prize while my back was turned. I shall bid you good morning, Lady Alcon.”

Beatrice was blushing prettily; Lady Alcon had to admit that she was attractive, in a full-figured sort of way. Hopefully, one fleshy duchess wouldn’t start a fashion.

“Thank you for paying us a call, Lord Peregrine,” Beatrice said, curtsying.

Luckily, he made his way out the door without waiting for a cup of tea.

Lady Alcon turned to the Duke of Lennox. He did not share Lord Peregrine’s faintly amused air. Instead, Lennox wore a primitive, masculine expression that was somewhat alarming. She began blinking rapidly. “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to see you this morning.” She sank into a deep curtsy.

He bowed. “I have asked Miss Valentine for her hand in marriage, and she has agreed. Perhaps you would be so good, Lady Alcon, as to write a message to Mr. Valentine requesting his immediate presence in London?”

“Certainly,” she said, gasping a little. “As soon as we have tea, I will—”

“Now,” His Grace stated.

That one word made Lady Alcon remember just how glad she’d been—after the grief, of course—when Lord Alcon passed to his just reward, hopefully Heaven.

“Jonah,” Beatrice said, as if she’d known the man for years.

He caught up her hand and kissed it, but kept his eyes on Lady Alcon’s face, which was most uncomfortable.