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“That is very kind of you, but I’m confident I can court Torie on my own.” He hesitated, remembering the impassioned way she’d labeled him “slops,” as in scraps thrown to pigs. “I will do my best. I know how much you love her, but unfortunately, she is being courted by a duke.”

“That’s a better title than viscount,” Valentine said. He looked Dominic over. “It’s a pity you’re still in deep mourning. Black isn’t very flattering, is it? Do you think if you stopped eating scones for tea, your legs would shrink?”

Dominic spared a moment to remember the life he had imagined, with a flatteringly adoring wife and children. “No,” he admitted. “These are muscles, not fat.”

“Our father wore horsehair pads on his thighs,” Valentine told him. “At least you don’t do that. Imagine if your wife caught you taking them off at night.”

“Torie would be the very best mother for us,” Florence said, palpable longing in her voice. “She likes us.”

“Flattery is key to courtship,” Valentine said. “Remember when Homer said Circes was ‘lustrous’? Actually, don’t use that word until we have a chance to define it for Torie.”

“She knows it already, because we read it aloud,” Florence said scornfully. “Torie remembers everything.”

“Well, I suggest using a more approachable word, like lily. For example: ‘Your skin is as white as a lily.’”

“And you are very silly,” his sister retorted.

Chapter 12

In the following week, Dominic endured any number of impertinent inquiries about his emotional state in the aftermath of his fiancée’s scandalous marriage to Lord Bufford. Infuriatingly, Sir William proved correct in that many interpreted her flight not as a love match, but as an escape from his foul temper.

Several guessed that the scandalous Dorney children had something to do with it, which resulted in gratuitous, unwelcome advice about how to stow embarrassing relatives out of sight.

Dominic gritted his teeth, indulged himself in a bout of scathing rhetoric in the House of Lords defending the antislavery bill, and sent Torie two bunches of flowers.

Both of which were returned by an unkempt footman wearing Sir William’s livery, his coat visibly patched at one elbow.

Rather surprisingly, Torie’s betrothal to the Duke of Queensberry hadn’t yet been announced. Perhaps His Grace and Sir William hadn’t agreed on an appropriate payment, or they were waiting for the scandal to die down.

Thinking to woo Torie, Dominic walked into Almack’s and saw the Duke of Queensberry gazing at her with an absurdly infatuated smile. Simultaneously, he was assaulted by greetings from two marriageable ladies apparently ready to overlook his temper. He left immediately, realizing that he couldn’t court Torie while society watched.

Not given his history with her sister. She was right about that.

He had to find a way to speak to her alone. His returned flowers suggested that she would flatly refuse a morning call. Besides, what if the Duke of Queensberry had arrived before him? The man who thought Torie the “silliest, most affected husband-hunting butterfly he’d ever met”? Also the “prettiest,” but Dominic didn’t like that, either. She wasn’t pretty; she was beautiful. Far more so than her sister, given that Leonora was as thin as a stalk of celery.

It wouldn’t help his courtship if he succumbed to irritation and dealt His Grace a blow to the jaw.

The next morning, when he strode into the nursery before leaving for the House of Lords, Florence danced up to him and said, “Valentine and I would like to go to this exhibition later today.”

She handed him a notice cut from the Times.

The Duke and Duchess of Huntington are honored to present the newest iteration of the highly original ducal steam-engine-powered locomotive, fitted with a new bent chimney designed by Her Grace. The public is welcome to examine the new clack box feed pipe and speak to the inventors. Those interested in steam power are particularly welcome. The locomotive will be available at Buckingham House on April 28 from 4 o’clock to 6 o’clock.

Her Grace? He knew about Huntington’s obsession with steam, but his duchess designed a chimney?

“Of course you may attend,” Dominic said, rather grateful to discover they wanted to go to a wholesome event. So far, Valentine had asked to attend a lecture about Egyptian mortuary rituals, and Florence had wanted to visit a Hammersmith churchyard at midnight in hopes of seeing an infamous ghost. “You may inform your tutor that I approve.”

“No, you should take us, because we believe Torie will attend,” Florence said.

“Why would you think that?”

“She’s interested in steam engines. She has a friend, Lord Lusker, who told her all about his investment in a Scottish locomotive. She says that someday they’ll overtake carriages as a mode of transportation.”

Dominic could imagine Lusker telling Torie “all” about steam engines. He’d seen the way she soaked up knowledge, her eyes shining at whomever was telling her about . . . anything, it seemed. In the last few months, she’d shown interest in every subject the twins brought up, including those on the Prohibited List.

It was only the work of the House of Lords that she dismissed as fiddle-faddle. Or was it bibble-babble?

Valentine wandered over and stood beside his sister, their shoulders brushing. “A duchess designed part of this steam engine, although generally ladies aren’t allowed to invent anything. If Torie could read, she would make a better chimney than the duchess’s.”