Amy's Adventure

Chapter 11

Amy and Lucy received an invitation the next morning from Lady Cynthia, of all people, to go for a walk after breakfast. They reluctantly agreed, only to discover at the morning meal that Miss Winters, too, was to come. That made it more palatable.

They all met in the front hall, bundled up against the cold, but Cynthia hesitated to go outside until her maid brought Hamlet downstairs in a knitted coat of bright blue wool.

"How adorable!" Lucy exclaimed and the pig grunted at her merrily. She bent to scratch his ears. "May I take his lead?"

"Perhaps someday soon," Cynthia said condescendingly. "For now I will walk him. I am quite worried about the handling he received last night..."

Lucy snickered behind her gloved hand as she headed outdoors after the proud young lady walking the pig. Amy and Miss Winters brought up the rear, Amy wondering why they had even been invited, if Lady Cynthia was going to ignore them.

"Cousin Thomas is to read the banns for us beginning this Sunday," Ellie said with a shy smile. "And we will be married in a few weeks, right before Ned must return to London. It is our dearest wish that you and your family will stay long enough to attend. Ned is to speak to your father about it this morning."

"I hope he agrees." Amy would stay for Lady Linvale and Miss Winters, if no one else.

"I have allowed Cousin Marcus to provide a dowry," Ellie added and laughed. "At least the money will not be leaving the family, although we will not spend it. Ned is arranging for lodgings outside the college, for he could not live there and be wed, and he makes enough to support a family."

They crunched up the front drive discussing what Miss Winters might need for her new home and Lucy fell back to join them. Ahead, Lady Cynthia, seemingly in her own little world, walked her pig, but her sudden howl of anger and surprise startled them out of their conversation.

"Charlie Armstrong! I know you did this!" Lady Cynthia had stooped down to brush a broken snowball off Hamlet's head when another flew from somewhere behind the hedge and hit her on the rear end. "Charlie!"

Amy chuckled and scooped up some snow, sending it sailing over the hedge.

"Hey!" a man's voice exclaimed. It wasn't Charlie, although the hoot of laughter that followed belonged to him.

Lucy made a few snowballs in quick succession and led her sister and Miss Winters quietly around the side of the hedge before handing them to Amy, who had a good arm. With a war cry, Amy pelted the major, Charlie and, surprisingly, the viscount, while the other two ladies provided her with more ammunition, trying to duck the snow being fired in their direction.

The men were smart -- they had built a wall of ice around them already, leaving only the ladies unprotected. But Amy was quick and she lobbed some well-placed balls at the enemy while Lucy packed snow in front of them as best she could.

"We see how well Miss Harte throws," Charlie taunted, "but what about you other two?"

The answer to that was a flurry of snowballs sent directly at his face by Miss Winters, who was applauded by her teammates for showing such skill. The retaliation was swift, but Lucy's low wall held, and as the ladies were shorter than the gentlemen, they were protected somewhat by the hard, white projectiles.

When the gentlemen finally called a cease fire and suggested chocolate in front of the drawing room fire, everyone was tired enough to agree. Only when they all came back up the drive to the house did they realize Cynthia and her pig were nowhere to be found. When asked, a footman informed his lordship that the lady and her pet had returned earlier.

Cynthia did not know where the kitchens were, and had to ask for directions, but she knew she had to get Hamlet out of the line of fire back on the lawn. She did not want him catching cold, and she was worried that he was not getting the right food. For that, she had to lower herself to speak to her aunt's cook.

The low, darkened kitchens, however, were teeming with activity and she and Hamlet were forced to wait at the table with a cup of tea and some biscuits while the head cook finished kneading and forming the Twelfth Night cakes. Cynthia found herself watching that lady pressing one bean into each cake, making dimples where they were placed.

An idea began forming in her head. If she were queen for the evening and ensured Marcus was given the correct slice from the other cake...

But how to find the dimples once the cakes were baked and decorated? She picked up Hamlet and without explanation, appreciation or apology, went to find her aunt. Hamlet could wait while she made what would sound like a very generous offer to be in charge of the cake decorating and serving.

After warming up by the fire, the major suggested a game.

"Miss Lucy needs a billiards lesson," he insisted.

"Miss Lucy needs to not fleece her host and his brothers," Amy whispered to her sister, whose blue eyes had lit up at the thought of doing just that.

"Only a little supplemental pin money," she whispered in return. "I rather like the idea of tipping the servants with their masters' money."

Amy shook her head at Lucy's cheek and they and Miss Winters went with the major, Charlie, the viscount and the professor, who had joined them once they came indoors, to the billiards room.

"I have played this a few times, you know," Lucy said in a coy tone that had Charlie and the second eldest Armstrong both offering to give her a few pointers.

Amy sat back with the newly engaged couple and smirked. "Watch this," she whispered to Miss Winters.

"Shall we make it a bit interesting, sir?" Lucy asked the major, batting her eyelashes at him.

"I could not take any of your money, Miss Lucy."

"I could!" Charlie cried. The viscount clouted him on the shoulder.

"Oh, I wasn't thinking of money," Lucy all but purred.

The major was staring intently into Lucy's face. "What exactly did you have in mind, Miss Lucy?"

She giggled. "A boon, perhaps? If you win, I grant you one favor. If I win, you are in my debt instead."

"That sounds fair enough." They shook hands while Lord Linvale set up the table for a game and indicated Lucy should go first.

Amy watched with mute satisfaction as Lucy asked the major to show her what angle he used with a cue, received some personal instruction and then proceeded to trounce that gentleman into the ground. He never even got a chance to play.

"That was famous!" Charlie exclaimed.

"It had to be luck," Lord Linvale scoffed.

"If you insist," Lucy said sweetly. "Want to make a wager that says I cannot do that again?"

"Against me or Charlie?" he replied.

"Either."

"All right, Miss Lucy. I wager ten pounds you will not beat Charlie. He's the best player in the family."

"Next to yourself," Charlie amended.

"I just happen to have ten pounds!" Lucy said happily. She stuck out her hand and the viscount clasped it.

"Is she truly that good?" Miss Winters softly asked Amy. "Should I be making a side bet with Ned on this?"

"Want some extra pin money?" was Amy's only reply. She watched with no little amusement as Miss Winters transacted a quick exchange with her fiancé. "Now, watch..." She settled back in her chair once more to enjoy the show.

"You are looking particularly smug, Miss Harte..."

Amy did not realize the viscount had been watching her until he spoke. "I have a lot of faith in my sister, sir."

"And yet you do nothing to capitalize on that faith? I find that difficult to believe."

"Believe it, my lord. I know my sister is capable of winning, but I seek no gain from the venture."

"You are a rare female, then, who does not wager on the 'sure thing,' Miss Harte," was Lord Linvale's bitter reply.

Amy could not answer, but she thought it rather sad that the gentleman continued to color his perception of every other female by the treatment he had received at the hand of one faithless member of her sex.

"Miss Harte is rare in the fact that she is above wagering on her own sister, regardless of her sister's skill," the vicar said kindly, coming into the room. "And for that she is to be commended. However, my money is on Miss Lucy."

Lucy had been about to start, but she paused. "With whom will you wager, sir?"

"Marcus, of course!" He strode over to his eldest brother with a grin. "If Miss Lucy wins, you will not make Cynthia the next viscountess."

There were several gasps heard in the otherwise silent room, but the viscount only laughed.

"I have not had that notion for several days now, Tom, so we should find something else to wager upon."

"You do not jest?" the vicar asked earnestly.

"No, I do not."

"Thank the good Lord!" his brother replied. "You are not angry with me for suggesting such a thing?"

"I would be if I were still considering such a move."

"Then shall we wager on our usual bottle of port?" The viscount nodded. "Will you proceed, Miss Lucy?"

"With pleasure."

Charlie, like his brother before him, did not get a chance to play.

"I don't believe it!" Lord Linvale exclaimed. Behind him, money exchanged hands between a disgruntled Charlie and a beaming major. Amy thought Major Armstrong might be happy that Lucy was beating everyone, and not just him.

In fact, the major gave Lucy's shoulder a squeeze and said she was more than welcome to fleece his brother officers at any time.

"I still say she is extremely fortunate ... What if, Miss Lucy, you played me and I went first?" the viscount asked.

"That would be fine," she calmly replied. "Shall we double that last wager, then?"

"You are going to lose that pin money, but I suppose you are determined."

"I am." She indicated that he was to begin.

Amy watched the other brothers, and Miss Winters, whisper among themselves and she wondered how much the lady had won from the professor already.

The match started out dead even. The viscount sank three balls, and then missed, and then Lucy did the same. Amy thought perhaps her sister was a bit nervous about this game, because she kept biting her lip. Lord Linvale missed his next turn, and Lucy took that opportunity to relax and sail right through until she won. Everyone applauded and the viscount bowed to his most worthy opponent.

"If you will come to my study, Miss Lucy, I shall pay up at once. And I haven't forgotten you, Tom," he called over his shoulder as he led Lucy from the room. "Your bottle of port will be sent to the vicarage."

Lucy went with Lord Linvale down the hall and into his private sanctum, and she wandered about, not touching anything, as he went to his desk.

"I must beg your forgiveness, Miss Lucy," he said as he counted out some banknotes.

"Oh? Have you done something wrong?"

"I have doubted your abilities, and am now paying dearly for it."

Lucy dimpled. "I was not offended."

"But your sister was."

"Then I will be sure to let her know you have apologized," Lucy said with a wink and took the money he offered. "And perhaps you will be a bit kinder to her in the future? She only has the best interest of others at heart."

"I am beginning to see that truth, Miss Lucy. You don't need to tell her that, however."

"I had no intention of doing so. Some things just need to be proved."

Chapter 12

Amy and Lucy were dressing for the ball when a maid stopped by with a silver tray. On it were a creamy white camellia and a small nosegay of the same flower for Lucy, and a green and lavender orchid for Amy.

"No flowers to carry?" Lucy teased, but Amy did not mind her at all. She was glad not to have to hold flowers all evening. Lucy was going to wish she could set hers down somewhere before the night was over.

Amy picked up the card under the flower and smiled. The orchid, it read in a bold, masculine hand, was from the entire Armstrong family.

"How sweet!" Lucy exclaimed, reading her own cards. "The flower for my hair is from the family. The posy is from..." She hesitated. "An admirer."

"A military one, I'm certain," Amy knowingly replied. She and Sally exchanged amused glances in the mirror as the maid affixed the orchid to her dark curls.

"Perhaps." Lucy giggled, giving it away. "That flower is perfect with your gown!"

Amy agreed and moved over to where Lady Linvale had sent up food. There was to be no family dinner that evening, but their hostess had provided sustenance to stave off hunger pangs. Later there would be cake to determine the evening's royalty, followed by a lavish buffet supper at midnight.

When Amy and Lucy finally went downstairs, Lady Linvale and her eldest were in the front hall waiting to receive guests. The girls were directed into the ballroom to wait with their father and the remaining members of the Armstrong family, but it did not take long for the Vartons and others to arrive, and soon the vicar and major had the Harte sisters introduced to a variety of early guests. Amy was particularly interested in the Owenses, father and son.

"That is a very sweet little pig you sent Lady Cynthia," she said to Bart Owens.

"She is one of our best," he replied with a shy smile.

"She? I don't believe anyone bothered to see if it was male or female..."

"We agreed, miss, that little Rosebud looked just like her ladyship," the elder Owens said.

"She?" Amy repeated, knowing she must sound like a parrot.

"Aye, miss. Rosebud is out of Petunia and Harrow - she'll be a prize-winner one day with a bloodline like that, mark my words." The Owenses beamed at each other. "Her ladyship is fair knowledgeable 'bout pigs."

Amy could not imagine anything of the sort, but was greatly amused just the same. "Er, Harrow?"

"Aye. T'other three boars are..."

"Let me guess. Eton, Westminster and Winchester." Amy named three more famous public schools.

"Aye! You're as keen on pigs as her ladyship, I gather."

"Er, no, not really. And your other sows are Daisy, Tulip and Lavender?" she guessed.

"Close, miss. Daisy, Aster and Violet."

"Daffodil shows promise," the younger Owens reminded his father.

"Aye. And Daffodil. Rosebud, as well." Farmer Owens spied Lady Cynthia and the men excused themselves to speak to her about the eventual breeding of her pig. Amy wondered if she could get close enough to hear that conversation when she noticed a certain gentleman. Lord Linvale had come into the ballroom and raised his hand to gain everyone's attention. Amy did not realize until that moment that the ballroom was now full.

"Welcome, everyone!" he called. "We're very pleased to see you here this evening. In a moment, servants will be handing out Twelfth Night cake so we might determine royalty for the evening. As you know, the gentleman and lady who find a bean in their slice will be crowned king and queen."

Cynthia had already begun to cut cake and her own piece was safely secured in front of her before she started slicing into the cake for the men. The matching piece was also set aside and she smiled brightly as her cousin approached.

"Here, Cousin Marcus!" she sang as he reached the table. "I've saved you a..." The slice was gone. While she had tried to dazzle him with her smile, one of the footmen had taken the piece of cake she was saving for the viscount. Who knew where it would turn up?

It was not turning out to be a good evening for her already. First, the pig farmers had dared approach her. Secondly, they had the nerve to tell her that her piglet was female! Now this!

It got worse. Just when she decided to scrap her plan and put her own piece of cake back into circulation, Marcus picked it up and handed it to her. He had a piece of his own in his other hand.

"Shall we eat cake together? Perhaps one of us will be fortunate tonight."

She gave him a weak smile and bit savagely into her slice, almost breaking a tooth as it connected with the bean.

"Ouch!" She spat the bean out into her hand.

"A winner! Congratulations!" Lord Linvale said warmly. "Come with me."

She tossed the bean onto her plate and followed her cousin to the front of the room, just as a few people exclaimed with delight and the pig farmer, Bart Owens, was led to her side by her aunt.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Marcus called to the crowd. "May I introduce their majesties of Misrule, King Bart Owens..." The pig farmer raised one hand and waved shyly to the crowd as Lady Linvale put an ornate paper crown on his head.

"...And Queen Lady Cynthia Shaw!" She found herself crowned in the same manner and led to a heavy chair on a dais where she was seated next to the farmer. He did not look too rustic that evening - at least he had dressed for a party - but he was still a farmer! Who raised pigs!

"What have I done?" she moaned.

"Are you not diverted?" Lucy asked her sister as they looked up at the king and queen.

"Excessively. Do you think she planned it this way?"

"How could she orchestrate anything of the sort?" Lucy asked.

"She was in charge of the cakes. Is it possible someone told her where the beans were?"

"That would be impossible! The servants are not fond of her and I doubt she has even been in the kitchens."

"And yet..." Amy had to laugh. "I would say this is a fitting end to the entire matter, except that she is now queen and we are subject to her whims." She watched as Major Armstrong approached their majesties and bowed like a good courtier. He stood and leaned forward to whisper something to young Mr. Owens, who shrugged and consulted the queen. She spoke and the major bowed once more before approaching the Harte sisters.

"I have been commanded by their majesties to open the dancing with..."

"Me?" Lucy boldly asked.

"Actually, no. Miss Harte, will you do me the honor?"

The girls exchanged amused glances. "I would be delighted," Amy replied. Fortunately, Lucy was wearing a big smile as she went to find their father, thinking to engage him in some of the games set up in the gallery. However, she was waylaid by Lord Linvale, who offered an arm and escorted her out to join the major and Amy on the dance floor. The four of them made a merry set for a round of country figures. Amy was quite happy with that arrangement.

Once the dancing and games began in earnest, the king and queen descended their thrones and began to make mischief everywhere. Lady Cynthia was the ringleader and Bart Owens, who had never done an unkind deed in his life, did everything his queen commanded.

She told him to order his father to give up his game prizes to a wealthy, well-endowed widow, which he did, but not without a lot of blushing. From both men. She made him command Lady Linvale and her partner, a retired military gentleman, to waltz backwards. She insisted he tell her Cousin Marcus that he may not dance with Miss Harte all evening. And in the meantime, she wreaked havoc of her own.

Out in the gallery, Cynthia made everyone throwing balls to do so over their right shoulders. When she was satisfied that no prizes would be won until she changed her mind, she insisted on pairing odd couples and sending them to the kissing ball. That entertained her for a good half hour. Then she spied Lucy speaking quietly to the major.

Calling for a footman, she sent the servant up to her room to retrieve Hamlet, er, Rosebud. Once she had the piglet in her arms, she carried her over to Lucy.

"I command that you carry my pig around until midnight!"

Lucy curtsied and took the pig, waiting until Queen Cynthia had turned away before sticking out her tongue. "Now I cannot dance until after supper!" she wailed. The band was just striking up another waltz and she had promised it to the major.

"If two of us can dance," he said with a grin, "why not three? I am game if you are."

Lucy was always game, and she readily agreed, her mood instantly improved. She put down her nosegay and they went out to the floor, the center of attention. The major put his hand on her waist and used his arm to support the piglet while Lucy put her other hand on his arm, holding the pig up on that side. A bit unorthodox, but the animal settled in happily enough and the couple was able to move slowly about the room. The other guests applauded their ingenuity, and the noise caught the attention of their majesties.

Bart Owens, fascinated with Lady Cynthia, had allowed himself to be led around by the nose all evening, but now he had to put his foot down. She must not play games with pigs!

"You will order them to quit dancing and put the pig down," he told Cynthia, his voice unexpectedly laced with steel.

Cynthia, who was thinking Miss Lucy very clever to incorporate her order into a dance, looked at him in surprise. "What? They are not harming her! Let them be!"

"No," he said through gritted teeth as the trio came around to their side of the room. "Stop it now!"

"All right, as you wish!" she said in exasperation and approached the couple holding her pig. "Pig farmer boy says you cannot dance with the livestock," she told them, her voice tinged with some admiration. She had not known Mr. Owens to be so forceful. "But you still have to carry her around, Miss Lucy."

"Her? Hamlet is a female?"

"Didn't you know?" Cynthia made it sound as if she had been privy to that information all along. "Her name is Rosebud. Take good care of her now," she said lightly and tripped back to her pig farmer.

"Hmmm..." the major said thoughtfully as his eyes followed his cousin's departure. "Tonight is full of surprises."

"What am I going to do with an armful of female piglet?" Lucy demanded.

"I have an idea. Come with me."

Lucy followed the major out of the ballroom, through the gallery and toward the conservatory. It was empty except for its plants and trees and the glowing braziers that kept them warm on winter evenings.

"Another tour?" she asked archly. She hadn't told Amy that the major had almost kissed her the last time she had been in this room with him.

"Perhaps. At least it affords you a quiet place to rest and you may set the pig down. Neither the plants nor I will tell."

"But the pig might escape," she teased.

"She..." He chuckled. "Why had no one thought to see if she was male or female? She will be quite protected in here and we can muzzle her later so she does not breathe a word to anyone."

Lucy giggled and set Rosebud on the conservatory's tile floor, allowing the little pig the chance to wander about. In fact, the piglet was forgotten almost as soon as she was released. Lucy was distracted by the major, who had taken both of her hands in his.

"Have I told you yet how beautiful you look tonight?"

"Only tonight?" she asked archly.

"A point well taken. You are always beautiful." He reached over and played with the curl splayed across one shoulder. "Smart, fun, adventurous, kind... You and your sister and Cousin Ellie were incredible at the Barlow home, stepping in like that and knowing what to do. You did not balk at the conditions of the house or the children and you just took charge. All of which are perfect qualifications for a soldier's wife."

Lucy's eyes widened a bit at that, but she wisely said nothing, despite the several teasing remarks that came to mind.

"I am in no position to say anything specific at the moment, Lucy - I am waiting orders right now. But in the meantime, could you love a military man?"

"I could, and I do," she softly replied. His own response was a wide smile and the flicker of something warm in his eyes that pleased her greatly. "And I would not care where those orders took you. I would follow you to the ends of the earth."

"You are a darling." He dropped her curl and moved his hand up to cup her cheek. She put one of her hands on his shoulder. Slowly they moved toward each other, their heads tilting sideways, their lips softly parted, their eyes half closed, meeting somewhere in the middle, a perfect partnership.

Meanwhile, Rosebud, snuffling along the inner wall of the conservatory, reached a door. It wasn't the double doors she had come through before, but a single entry into the room where the head gardener kept supplies so that the braziers did not burn out before dawn. The door was ajar and she snuffled and pushed until it was wide enough for her to trot on through. From there it was easy enough to find another door, this one also partly open.

Her nose told her there was food nearby and she took off at a good clip to discover its whereabouts.

Chapter 13

Amy had spent the first part of the evening dancing with every Armstrong brother save one, the Varton boys and some of the villagers before she was approached by Lord Linvale.

"This was to be our waltz," he said. "Did you replace me on your dance card?"

"I am afraid that thought did not occur to me, my lord."

"If you get a better offer, then, I hope you will take it. Otherwise, may I sit the dance out with you? I thought perhaps we could do so behind that pillar."

The pillar he indicated would shield them from Lady Cynthia unless she was right up on them, and Amy agreed. Once settled, they heard some laughter, and then applause for something, but were too far recessed to see what was happening.

"Lady Linvale should be pleased with her party so far," Amy said pleasantly.

"It is turning into a success," he agreed. "Mama says you are staying for the wedding?"

"Yes. If you do not mind the intrusion. You seem more resigned to the event, at any rate."

"I should not have made the outburst I did that day, Miss Harte." It was as close to an apology as she had ever heard from him. "Fortunately," he continued, "I received a rather wet reminder that it was none of my business."

Amy looked down at the hands in her lap. "My mother would have scolded me roundly for what I did, but I cannot be sorry for it, my lord."

"Nor should you be. It was needed. You have a fire that a lady I once knew lacked and it caught my attention."

Amy looked up at him. Was he talking about the girl who had jilted him?

"Tell me," she prompted in a soft voice.

"Miss Evans was a beautiful young lady -- blonde curls, blue eyes, cheeks like roses. She was the fragile sort, the kind of young chit every man from ten to one hundred rushes to protect from all that is ugly in life. At least, that is the impression she gave. Still gives, actually, although she is Lady Ffolkes now. Has been these past few years. I met her during her first season, and when all the other men were making fools of themselves over her..."

"As were you?"

"Yes, I was."

"It is no wonder. She sounds divine."

"Too much so. She played us all like so many musical instruments and in the end, even though our engagement was ready to be announced, she eloped one night with Lord Ffolkes. I can understand how that might have happened had he been a frequent member of her court of suitors, but he was not. Evidently he had been a second son she had grown up with in Sussex, and when his brother died, they eloped immediately rather than wait out the mourning period, as by then she would have been married to me."

"Heartless wretch!" Amy exclaimed in spite of herself.

"She explained her actions to me later, said her father was forcing her to marry me and that she had loved Ffolkes all along. I think she loved his money and his title. I was angry with her still, and I fear I was not polite."

"I have been on the receiving end of your tongue, my lord," Amy said tartly.

"I never should have spoken thusly to you, but..."

"Never mind. I shall forget it."

"You are much too good for me, Miss Harte."

"I know," she sweetly replied, earning a rare laugh from the viscount.

"You are the first person outside my family I have spoken to of this matter." He looked worried, as if he had said too much.

"Your secret is safe with me," she assured him. The dance music ended and the viscount offered his arm to escort her to supper.

"I have to greet people as they enter the dining room. Will you assist me?"

Rosebud found the dining room, where the chairs had been pushed back and the table was groaning with all manner of good-smelling treats. She raised her little snout toward sweet and savory scents on the sideboard, but the table was lower to the ground, with a white damask cover trailing over its edges and she decided to start there.

There were no people about, so she lifted herself slightly to grab the cloth with her mouth. That was successful, but did not taste very good, so she tugged and was rewarded with a plop of something on the rug next to her head. Unfortunately, it was a candlestick with an unlit candle in it. The candle was good, but it wasn't the source of the smells emanating from the table. She tugged some more. Another plop brought a bowl straight down on her head. Aha! Spiced carrots!

She ate quickly, her front hooves in the bowl, making her rather sticky, but happy. She stepped out of the bowl and stuck to the cloth under her feet. Pulling on the cloth once more, she was rewarded with a large roasted pig. Complete with an apple in its mouth. The cooked meat fell apart as it landed, but the head covered Rosebud's eyes and she squealed in surprise. She tried to escape, but the tablecloth was clinging to her hoof and all that did was bring other items crashing down around her frightened, roasted head.

"What the devil?" the viscount roared as he and Amy entered the room. "Get the pig!" he ordered.

"Which one?" She could see two pigs, one alive with two heads and one dead with none. She decided to go for the dead one as the viscount hollered for the servants to help him catch the one still alive. Alive for the moment, anyway.

One of the footmen caught the edge of the cloth with his hand, separating it from the piglet's hoof and she took off for the hallway straight through the viscount's legs.

Amy was laughing as she assisted the servants in straightening the remains of supper. A number of food items were still on the table, thank goodness, and she stayed in the dining room. Lord Linvale had dashed off after the pig.

"Blasted pig!" he exclaimed, following the squeals and shouts of laughter and surprise through the gallery and into the ballroom. He saw Cynthia and Bart at the far end of the room, beyond the dancers, who were even then being upended by an animal determined to find its owner.

His mother was dashing here and there, making certain everyone was going to be all right. The crowd swayed to and fro as the pig wreaked havoc, and the king and queen of the evening disappeared from view.

The pig gained momentum as it trotted across the polished dance floor at such a fast clip, it crashed into Bart Owens. Unfortunately, Bart had already fallen, and was now on display before the entire company in a compromising position with Cynthia.

Marcus strode forward not only to shield his cousin from public view, but also to give Owens time to pick himself up from between her sprawled legs. He was going to ask his cousin how she fared, but the farmer beat him to it.

"Are you all right, Lady Cynthia?"

Behind him, Marcus could hear his mother ushering everyone into supper and he prayed Miss Harte had everything under control in the dining room.

What was he thinking? Of course she did. She wasn't as much a managing female as she was quietly competent.

She had capably rescued Miss Varton on the pond, she had calmly managed to get Ned and Ellie together and she was more amused than dismayed at the mess in the other room. She also threw a mean snowball. Yet for all her serenity and capability, he still seemed to rile her at times. The meaning of this eluded him.

By the time he had finished thinking of Miss Harte, Owens had Cynthia to her feet. He was blushing and she was not, although her eyes were a bit bright. Fortunately, Mama appeared at his elbow and began to direct her protesting niece upstairs. She gave Marcus a look that he supposed meant he was to deal with Owens. But even that was taken out of his hands by the appearance of the elder Owens. The old farmer said curtly it was time to go home and leave the Quality to their own devices.

With a sigh, Marcus watched them leave. He walked through the ballroom, where only a few whispering groups remained, and through the now-deserted gallery to the dining room.

Passing the conservatory doors, he saw a brief flash of red inside. Entering, he found his brother, resplendent in his regimentals, on a bench kissing Miss Lucy. He had to clear his throat several times to gain their attention.

"You have missed all the entertainment," he drawled when they came up for air. "Although it does not seem as if you two care."

"I will be approaching Sir Lionel in the very near future," the major assured him.

"As soon as he gets his orders," Lucy quickly added.

"There is no need to hurry. In fact, I suggest you wait a week or so, until the scandal dies down."

"Scandal?" The kissing couple looked at each other, wondering how a few stolen moments in the conservatory could be considered scandalous.

"Cousin Cynthia and young Owens. Her pig wreaked havoc in the dining room before causing a commotion in the ballroom and revealing their majesties in a most unroyal position."

"The pig!" Lucy exclaimed. "Where is she?"

"Upstairs with Cynthia, I imagine," the viscount replied. "Why do you ask?"

"I was supposed to be carrying her. I set her down in here and..." She looked at the major. "How did she get out of here? The doors were shut!"

"Did you check the gardener's room?" Marcus asked his brother. "Or were you too distracted?"

"Marcus!" The major actually blushed. He pulled his brother aside. "We all know your views on marriage, brother, but do not be too hard on us. Ned and I are just ready for parson's mousetrap, I suppose."

He hesitated and Marcus could see he was unsure of his brother's reception of this news. Marcus only grinned and slapped the major across his shoulder blades.

"She will make you a fine wife, Rob! I daresay she can keep herself in pin money! But you know her health is none too stable. Are you sure this will be good for her?"

"I'm hoping to hear in the next week or two if I am to be posted to India."

"India!" This was the first his brother had mentioned such a far-away post.

"If that is so, I believe a change of climate will improve the lady's health."

"Oh, no!" Lucy cried from the supply room. "The door to the hallway is open!"

"That explains it, then," the viscount said. "But do not fret, Miss Lucy. I have a feeling the little pig would have found a way out regardless. She was quite determined to get the choice bits from the buffet and would have completely succeeded had not the suckling pig fallen on top of her..."

Lucy moaned, but the major only laughed.

"Mama must have been in a temper to have to clean it all up."

"She does not even know the half of it, I daresay. Miss Harte was taking care of the mess the last I saw, and while Mama surely saw the piglet doing her roasted swine imitation through the ballroom, she is too preoccupied with Cynthia's transgression to truly care what becomes of any of us. Shall we find Miss Harte and see what has been salvaged for supper?"

"I am not hungry," Lucy groaned. "I feel too guilty to eat."

"Nonsense!" the viscount said heartily.

"But Lady Cynthia will be forced to marry the farmer to save her reputation!" Lucy was clearly horrified. "And it is all my fault!"

"I said nonsense and I mean nonsense, Miss Lucy." The viscount took her hand and tucked it up underneath his arm. "At least have a cup of tea."

"May even be the making of her," Robert said in reference to his cousin.

"My sentiments exactly." Marcus escorted a pale Lucy into the dining room, which was full of people filling plates and finding places to sit at the tables set up in the parlors beyond. Talk seemed to center around the piglet's antics, but very little mention was made about Cynthia.

Amy came over with a cup of tea for her sister and then she and the viscount sent Lucy off with the major to secure a table.

"I give you credit, Miss Harte," Marcus said. "The room looks no different than it did a few hours ago."

"The damage was not as extensive as it first appeared. Most of the food was still on the table and it took your excellent servants but a few moments to remove it all, replace the cloth and set everything back as it had been. Minus a few bowls and a pig or two," she added with a grin. "All the compliments should go to them."

"And so they shall. Have you eaten?"

"No, I was waiting for Lucy. What is wrong with her?"

"Evidently the pig incident is related to her own actions and she is taking it to heart."

"She does that. Shall I have a talk with her?"

The viscount indicated Miss Lucy and his brother, who had their heads together at a table for four.

"I don't believe that will be necessary, unless she wishes to confide in you later. Shall I fix you a plate?"

"Yes, please. But no pork products, if you will."

"Yes, ma'am."

Amy went to sit with Lucy while the major joined his brother at the buffet, but neither spoke. Lord Linvale returned shortly with plates for himself and Amy, and she took hers with a grateful smile. The viscount, however, was unable to sit and enjoy his meal for long. His mother appeared at his elbow, dissatisfaction lining her face.

"How can you eat at a time like this?" she hissed. "We must discuss what is to be done about Cynthia!"

"Nothing may be done at this very moment, Mama. I suggest you get a slice of ham and join us."

"Marcus!"

"Was that in bad taste, Mama? I apologize. But there is still supper to get through and our guests to see on their way. We will deal with this later."

Lady Linvale sighed and went to get a plate of food.

Chapter 14

Lady Linvale came into her eldest son's study the next afternoon looking as if she had not slept all night. Or morning, as the case was. The last guest had departed well after three o'clock.

"You have been avoiding me!" she accused the viscount.

"You have been in bed moaning Cynthia's fate and trying to draft a letter to my uncle. In the meantime, I have already dealt with Cynthia, the Owenses and your brother." Actually, he had spoken only with Bart Owens, but if the man was successful, Marcus was prepared to put his plan into motion.

"You have? What a good son you are!" She paused and gave him a suspicious look. "What did you do?"

"I suggested that young Owens make a proposal to my cousin and if she accepted, I would work out a way for his suit to be acceptable to the earl."

"But, Marcus! Her social standing!"

"You have never been interested in such things before, Mama. Are you playing devil's advocate for your brother? Besides, no one is going to shun the wife of a prosperous gentleman farmer, are they? Is that not what I am?"

"But, Marcus! You do not have a wife!"

He thought that made no sense at all, but respectfully refrained from saying so. "And if I did?"

"That would be wonderful! Especially if it is a certain someone." She gave him an expectant look.

"Better to ask your second son when he is going to approach a certain gentleman now in residence. But you did not hear that from me," he added with a wicked grin. Better to put his mother on Rob's scent than his.

The viscountess took the bait, clasping her hands to her breast and smiling widely at her son. "How I shall love having Miss Lucy for a daughter!"

"I thought as much. As for Cynthia and Owens, I believe you may leave them to me. And do not fret, Mama. My plan includes providing Owens with a few essential tutorials on how to be a gentleman. His lordship will have no fear on that. Another point in his favor is the family's net worth. Evidently, pig farming is quite lucrative..."

"You are going to give them some funds?"

"No need! Owens truly is a prosperous country squire. All he needs is some grooming."

In Sussex, Minerva Blakeley was having a difficult time locating Lord Linvale. No one she asked had ever heard of the man! She had been to three frightfully expensive inns already, including one horrid place in London, and this fourth establishment, the Golden Goose, did not look any cheaper. Even worse, there was not a private parlor to be had.

A young woman came out into the hall while Minerva argued with the innkeeper as to why a lady of any age should not be made to eat in the taproom, and smiled engagingly at the spinster.

"I would be happy to share my parlor with a fellow traveler, ma'am," she offered.

Minerva did not hesitate to take her up on the offer, as it meant she did not have to pay for the privilege. She said she would join the lady as soon as she saw her items settled upstairs.

"You do have rooms available, do you not?" she asked the man imperiously, and he nervously offered her a large room for a reasonable fee. She accepted with alacrity and insisted he take her and her maid up immediately. After a few days of pokey rooms at exorbitant prices, she was glad she had gotten her own way. Leaving her maid to tend to her luggage, she refreshed herself and went downstairs to meet her benefactress.

"Lady Ffolkes," the pretty blonde introduced herself. "Traveling up from Brighton to London. I know company in Town will be rather sparse," she said with a sigh and sounding much put upon. Minerva could sympathize. "But I could not spend another moment in the country. And the seaside! Don't get me started on what wind and sand may do to one's complexion!"

Minerva clucked maternally and allowed her hostess to lead her to the best chair by the fire. A cup of tea quickly found its way into her hand.

"You sound as if you understand my plight," the lady said in a little girl voice. "My husband is a dear, but so boring after awhile. He is sweet, though, and allows me my way in all things. So I have decided to go shopping in Town."

Minerva, getting sleepy from the hot fire and warm tea, nodded, which seemed to encourage the lady.

"I wish I had gone to that house party, though..."

Minerva perked up. "House party?"

"Lord Marley's annual winter gathering. It would have been amusing, had I not been required to go with my husband."

"Oh." Minerva sat back, deflated. "I was rather hoping for word of Lord Linvale's house party."

"Linvale?" It was Lady Ffolkes' turn to perk up. "What do you know of Linvale?"

Minerva sniffed. "My two wonderful charges, the Miss Hartes, are visiting Linvale Hall."

"Ah, yes. The famous Twelfth Night Ball," the other lady bitterly replied. Lady Linvale had never invited her. She had befriended and discarded Linvale between two of her ladyship's parties.

"I am trying to find my future stepdaughters," Minerva said pitifully, "because their dear father is ill, but I have lost their direction. I must find them!" She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and shed a few crocodile tears. Lady Ffolkes, being a consummate actress herself, was not fooled for an instant. However, she sensed a chance to cause mischief. She lived for that.

"I do not know how you came to be this far south! Why, he lives in Berkshire! near the quaint little village of Charvil."

Minerva turned red, realizing she had been taken in. Why, Charvil was not above twenty miles from her home! And Miss Lucy knew it! When had the little tart told Linvale to tell an untruth such as that? And how had she coerced him? "How silly of me!" she said to save face in front of this stranger. "I am terrible at directions!"

"That is perfectly all right." Lady Ffolkes gave Minerva a calculating look. "Actually, I was headed that way myself before I stay in Town... Perhaps, since you are going, you could share my carriage? I would be delighted to accompany you."

Christmas had come early (or late, depending on how one viewed it) for Minerva and she hastily dried her eyes. "You would? My lady, I would be honored to travel with you! And if you could... Maybe I could be introduced to the viscount?" She had already met him, naturally, but this lady seemed bent on causing trouble, and Minerva was going to use her ignorance of this fact to gain entry to the house.

Lady Ffolkes' smile was wide and showed white, even teeth. "I would be very happy to do that for you."

Cynthia was in the drawing room when Mr. Bart Owens was announced. He was dressed in rough clothes, although he was clean and neat. She sniffed loudly to show her displeasure, even as she mentally reviewed all the changes she planned to make at the farmhouse.

"Lady Cyn..." he said, bowing awkwardly.

"Mr. Owens..." She was going to have to work on that bow, too.

"You must know why I am here, my lady."

"No. You tell me," she commanded. She was being forced into this by the dictates of society, not to mention Marcus, but that didn't mean she had to go without a proposal -- or any of the trappings that went with a large wedding, either. If she was going to be married, she was going to be a bride.

"Oh." He did not seem to be expecting that. She was not going to let him off that easily.

"I am waiting..." She tapped one little slippered foot impatiently.

"Er, yes..." Hat in hand, he got down in front of her on one knee. "Lady Cynthia, I know you like pigs, so I know you'd fit into my family ... Will you be the mother of my piglets and wife to a lonely farmer? Someone like you -- an angel -- deserves a lord, or a king. But we've been thrown together by heavenly design... Will you marry me?"

"Yes, I will," she said in a business-like manner. You will call here at 10 o'clock tomorrow so that we may discuss your training. Papa will never accept you as you are now and will toss me in a nunnery in Ireland, despite the fact we are not Catholic. I do not wish to go. So be here!" she commanded. "You may go now."

He knew when he had been dismissed, but he was not going to argue her high-handedness at the moment. He had to go home and get his best clothes ready for the next day.

Amy was visiting Lady Linvale's rooms later that day when the viscount came in and sank into a chair with a sigh.

"Is it done?" Lady Linvale asked pensively.

"Yes. Cynthia has accepted her pig farmer and we have a few days to groom him into Squire Owens."

"I should probably go," Amy said uneasily. She did not want to be accused of sticking her nose in family business.

"No, please stay, Miss Harte," the viscount requested.

"Yes, do, Amy dear," the viscountess pleaded. "We are going to need your assistance."

"Yours and Miss Lucy's," Lord Linvale said. "It is going to take all of us, I fear, to get Owens presentable enough for the earl."

"Is he such a high stickler, then?"

"Oh, dear me, yes! He always was, even as a lad," Lady Linvale told her. "Spoiled rotten, just like his daughter. Probably because he was the only son, and was groomed to become the next earl from birth. Fortunately, he's easily impressed by money, which is going to work in our favor."

"Will you assist with Owens' etiquette lessons, Miss Harte?"

"What about Lady Cynthia?"

"Time enough for her to mold him to her liking," the viscountess said with a chuckle. "Besides, she and I are going to straighten up the farmhouse, so it is available for inspection."

"She's truly going to go through with this?" Amy was skeptical.

"Yes, she is. I know it was an accident," Linvale explained, "but too many people only saw the end result and were talking about it even before the night was over. Something had to be done."

"Thomas will read the banns on Sunday when he reads Ned and Ellie's?" Lady Linvale asked her son.

"Yes, Mama."

"I wish it were all settled with Rob and Lucy, as well..." she wistfully replied.

"I believe he wishes to await his orders first, ma'am," Amy explained, having heard about it from her sister. "She will have him regardless."

Lady Linvale sighed. "I have raised a pack of idiots!"

"I beg your pardon, Mama!" the viscount indignantly protested.

"Of course you do -- you, who may be the biggest one of all."

"Oh, really!" The viscount stood, clearly affronted by his mother's words.

"That's right, bacon brain," she said sweetly. "Go pour your troubles out to Thomas. He will listen."

"I believe I shall. Is he at the vicarage?"

"No, he's down in the wine cellar. Something about a bottle of port..."

"Bloody hell!" The viscount was out of the room without an apology, but Lady Linvale only laughed in his wake.

"Thomas is at the vicarage. Marcus will go over soon enough and confide in him and all will be well. You'll see," she said sympathetically.

"I don't understand." Lady Linvale seemed to imply that Amy was upset over Lord Linvale, when she was nothing of the sort. However, his list of good qualities was growing daily. His dealings with Lady Cynthia's fate had only cemented her favor toward him. Except for one thing. Mr. Owens must be allowed to keep as much of his own personality intact as was possible. If she was to be working with the young man, she would see that it did.

"Don't you?" Lady Linvale asked slyly, interrupting her thoughts.

"Mama says you were stealing my port and here I find you at home drinking it."

"I must have already pilfered it before you caught me," the vicar said with a grin. "Have some?"

"Don't mind if I do."

The sky was already dimming, but a fire in Thomas' study brought a warm glow to the room that invited one to sit and have a slow, leisurely drink.

"What is only your mind?" Thomas asked once his brother was settled.

"Who said I had anything on my mind?"

"When have you not? Especially since father died. After all, isn't that why Mama sent you to me?"

"She..." He paused. "Drat that woman!"

"She knows us too well," the vicar said with a smile. "I imagine you are having to deal rather heavily with Cynthia," he added sympathetically.

"Not at all." Marcus took a deep pull on his glass of port. "She will marry. End of discussion."

"Then you are worried about our uncle?"

"No, that is all in the works," he confidently replied.

"Then the problem is a lady."

Marcus flushed, but his brother, used to providing calm counsel, did not tease.

"She will make an excellent wife," the vicar said gently.

"I know! She's perfect in too many ways, even down to the fact that she does not blindly do as I say. She's too perfect!"

"You don't trust her." It was not a question. He knew too much of Marcus' past and his current situation.

"What if she plays me for a fool? It has happened before."

"She is not Lady Ffolkes, Marcus. She's honest and loyal and has a sense of humor. She throws a mean snowball and she knows how to deal kindly with children and animals. Yes, she has a little temper ... We all have our faults. She tends to be overprotective of her sister, but she dotes on her, as well as Mama. She has helped draw Cousin Ellie out of her shell."

"But..."

"She's caused you to open your heart again, Marcus. Don't discount that. If you go slow and don't rush this, I think you will find the lady more than willing to reciprocate your feelings. She has reason to be leery of you, as well, if you recall."

The viscount blushed once more. "I am not proud of my first words to her. I was just..."

"Bowled over and hiding behind words that hurt her feelings so you would not be forced to feel again."

"I know." He sighed and took another sip of port. He knew Thomas, of all his brothers, would understand. He was glad he had called.

The vicar changed the subject by inviting his brother to dine with him that evening. There was parish business to discuss, and he did not think Marcus was ready to go rushing back to the manor just yet with his newfound understanding.

Chapter 15

Mr. Owens was brought in to see the major and the two Harte sisters that next morning. They were gathered in the ballroom.

"No, we're not going to make you take dancing lessons, Owens," Major Armstrong said with a laugh when he saw the stricken expression on the poor man's face.

"We are here to help you acquire a bit of polish," Lucy explained.

Amy said nothing, only thought Mr. Owens looked like a fish out of water. Or a lamb headed for slaughter. She disliked seeing someone being made into something he wasn't. Still, she had agreed to help.

"When making introductions," the major was saying, "you always introduce the lower-ranking person to the higher rank first. Like this -- Miss Harte, may I acquaint you with Miss Lucy? Lucy, this is Miss Harte."

"How do you do?" Amy automatically replied.

"Very well, thank you." Lucy giggled.

"But how do you know who has the higher rank?" Mr. Owens asked.

Amy gave him a gentle smile and asked the major if she could have a slate and chalk from the schoolroom.

"I'll see if there is any up there." He left the room in search of supplies. When he returned, it was to find the other three seated in little gilt chairs under a tall, sunny window.

"There are so many other ranks that fit in among these," Amy explained as she scribbled on the slate, "but Lady Cynthia no doubt knows them like the back of her gloved hand, so we will concentrate only on the main titles. Do you read, Mr. Owens?"

"Yes, Miss Harte."

"That's excellent." She finished writing. "Obviously, the king would be the highest, so we will not write him down, and there is little chance of meeting the prince or the royal dukes out here. After them comes a duke..." She pointed to the word at the top of her list. "Then a marquess, an earl, a viscount, a baron and a baronet. They are all ‘Lord So and So,' except for a baronet, who is ‘Sir First Name Last Name.' A knight also is a sir, but his title does not get passed on to his heir."

"I'm a knight," Mr. Owens told them.

"You are?" three voices asked in amazement.

"Well, it wasn't for much," he said shyly. "I just provide the hogs for the Regent's banquets."

The major looked at the ladies in wonder. "The things I miss when I'm on the continent!" he exclaimed. "Does Marcus know this?"

Mr. Owens seemed bewildered by the question. "Yes, sir, he does. He is the one who recommended me."

The major hooted with laughter. "Marcus is a sly one! Why do you not go by Sir Bart, then?"

"It doesn't mean much," the farmer said. "I only earned it for something I do anyway. Besides," he grumbled, "his Highness is notorious for not paying his bills on time."

Amy and the others laughed, and Mr. Owens blushed. "We must not call so much attention to Mr. Owens," she said, noting his high color.

"You won't go around calling me Sir Bart, will you?" he pleaded.

"Oh no, not if you do not wish it," Amy soothed. "I fear you will have to use it in front of the earl, though."

"Miss Harte is right," the major agreed. "My uncle will be more impressed with a knight than a mere mister."

"Some of your brothers are ‘mere misters,'" Lucy pointed out.

"True, but they also have my parents' bloodlines behind them. A belted farmer is better than one who isn't."

When Lord Linvale joined them an hour later, Mr. Owens was making a smooth bow and addressing the ladies appropriately. The men, as the major had explained, were much easier.

"Once you get to know them, calling them by their last name or title will suffice. Isn't that correct, Linvale?" he asked his brother with a cheeky grin.

"Correct, Armstrong. I see you all have been busy, but it is time to break from your lessons. I have asked for tea in the drawing room, and some of those butter tarts you like best, Miss Lucy."

Lucy did not need to be told that twice. Grabbing the major by the hand, she hauled him out of the ballroom with her. Amy laughed at her sister's enthusiasm, but she also wondered if his lordship had asked for the tarts, or if they had been ordered by his mother. Someone (or several people) seemed to have a hand in trying to put some meat on Lucy's slim frame. Kippers, another favorite, had appeared at breakfast, and now there were the tarts.

"With a basket of hothouse strawberries and some cream," Lord Linvale whispered to Amy as she took the arm Mr. Owens thoughtfully offered. The farmer gave her an odd look.

"My sister is inordinately fond of strawberries," she said.

"Your sister is a very nice young lady, Miss Harte. As are you!" he hastily added as they followed the viscount out of the room.

"A word to the wise, Owens," Lord Linvale said over his shoulder. "Never play billiards with Miss Lucy. Not for money."

"I don't even know how to play," Mr. Owens said honestly as Amy and the viscount laughed about the warning. This admission stopped Amy in her tracks.

"Does your uncle like to play?" she asked Lord Linvale.

"He is rather fond of the game..."

"Then Mr. Owens must have a rudimentary understanding of how it is played." She continued walking toward the drawing room.

"That will not be a problem," the viscount assured her. "We will have Rob and Miss Lucy show him how to play after our tea."

Amy could find no fault with that suggestion.

Later, after assuring herself that Sir Bart was learning how to play billiards, an interesting thought occurred to Amy. The best person to tell, she decided, would be Lord Linvale. She went to his study, where he had retired after tea. She knocked and he bid her to enter.

"Miss Harte!" He rose from behind his desk and came forward. "To what do I owe this honor?"

She looked at him intently, searching for signs of insincerity, but found none. "You knew Mr. Owens is a knight and did not tell anyone?" she asked. It wasn't part of her idea, but the fact was on her mind and she blurted it out.

Indicating a chair for her by the fire, he waited until she was settled before he continued. "Does it make a difference?" he asked.

"No, not to me. It might be important to others, however."

"I am not concerned at the moment. If I had needed it to convince Cynthia to accept Owens, it might have entered the conversation. I will definitely bring it up when my uncle arrives."

"The earl! That is why I came to see you! I have an idea!"

"I am open to all suggestions in this situation."

"I am very glad to hear it. It concerns billiards. You said your uncle likes to play."

"I did."

"Then I propose that you match him against my sister first."

"She will infuriate him!"

"Exactly," Amy sweetly replied. She was proud of her sister's prowess, honed to razor sharpness through many hours spent indoors recovering from or trying to avoid illness. Amy wondered if she should suggest cards after dinner, if only to allow Lucy to show off that talent, as well. "After Lucy wins a couple of games, you could present Mr. Owens -- excuse me, Sir Bart -- as an opponent. By the time your uncle finishes with him, he will find the gentleman much more agreeable than the lady."

"The idea is a sound one, Miss Harte. Will Miss Lucy consent to this scheme?"

"Why not? Unless your uncle is a better player than she..."

The viscount chuckled. "Even Owens might be a better player than he. I said he enjoys billiards, but he is not very good at the game."

Amy laughed. "That is perfect. I wonder how your mother and cousin are faring at the farmhouse?"

"I am sure they are in their element. I have no doubt Farmer Owens has quit the house by now and is complaining of the invasion over a pint down at the Stag." He named the village pub.

"Do you really think this will work?" It was the thought that weighed heaviest on her mind.

"I am surprised, Miss Harte, that you are being so generous towards my cousin. She has been horrid to you."

"No young lady likes to be forced into marriage, my lord, especially not through such an odd sequence of circumstances." If she had not been witness to some of it, she might not have believed it happened the way it did.

"A young lady would rather receive a half dozen proposals?" he teased.

"One half-hearted one and a practice proposal?" she countered with a grin. "It is what every girl dreams of!"

He chuckled. "I did jump to conclusions several times..."

"Several? Every time I turned around!" She was no longer angry with him about that. Instead, she felt as if they had settled into a friendship where she could be her usual teasing self. She gave no thought at all to any relationship beyond that. "I had better check on the billiard players."

"Yes, you should. Are you going riding with us tomorrow morning?"

They were to assess Owens' equestrian skills. The earl, it seemed, was also fond of the hunt. Amy wondered if his lordship was any good at it. "I shall, but Lucy is not a very good rider and would rather stay indoors by the fire." She rose to leave, but a thought gave her pause. "What do you think of your brother and my sister? If he is posted somewhere cold or treacherous, will he break Lucy's heart?"

The viscount looked alarmed. "He had better not! He will have to answer to me -- and Mama!" he hotly exclaimed.

"Truly? But I thought..."

"It is one thing to think my brothers are being pursued, Miss Harte, but for Robert to trifle with Miss Lucy's affections is beyond the pale."

Amy relaxed, reassured by these words, even after Lord Linvale's past actions and comments to the contrary.

"I shall speak to my brother this very day," he said.

"I would appreciate if you would say something. I would not have Lucy or my father upset for the world."

"I confess I have not seen Sir Lionel for several days, except at meals."

Amy laughed. "He has discovered your excellent library, and he is also writing an article on Ancient Egypt. He only appears for meals because we make him. Still, I appreciate your hospitality where we all are concerned. Cousin Minerva must not interfere with our family again."

"No, indeed. I could not allow it, not after meeting the lady."

She smiled. "Thank you. I will leave you to speak with your brother while I do my duty and make sure Papa has had tea." She curtsied and left.

After Miss Harte was gone, Marcus rang for a footman and asked that Major Armstrong join him in the study at his convenience.

"You sent for me?" the major asked only moments later.

"How does it fare with young Owens?"

"You never told us he has been knighted!"

Marcus waved his brother to the chair recently vacated by Miss Harte and poured out two glasses of brandy. "I was in London a couple of years ago and was fortunate -- or unfortunate -- enough to be invited to a dinner at Carleton House." He settled down next to his brother and handed over a glass.

"Was this the same year you..."

Marcus nodded. "Yes, it was. At any rate, I was invited and I went. The food was incredible, of course, but the pork was definitely inferior to the ham and bacon we enjoy from Owens' farm."

"You didn't say so aloud!" It was more a statement than a question. "To the Regent!"

"No, not to his face. But afterwards -- and I can thank our good friend and neighbor Lord Bidwell for this -- Biddy said the finest hogs came from Owens' farm. I had to agree, not knowing His Highness was right behind me."

The major laughed. "This, no doubt, sparked a wager in which you bet the Regent had tasted no better pork in the country."

"Naturally. And you will agree it could only be an easy win for me."

"Of course."

"Owens sent a couple of hogs to Carleton House, Prinny was suitably impressed, the guests at his next dinner exclaimed over the ham and the rest is history."

"You never told anyone!"

"It was not for me to tell. If Owens wants to bandy about his knighthood, he has my blessing. If he chooses to keep mum, who am I to tell?"

"Until now."

"Yes, but it was Owens who told you, not me."

"And yet you hoped it would come out on its own."

"I confess I was counting on Owens taking care of that himself, else I might have had to tell Mama to pass the information along to Cynthia."

"You're a sly one, Marcus. Owens amazed us all this morning!"

"Speaking of ‘us all'..." Marcus paused.

"You want to discuss Miss Harte?"

"Miss Lucy."

"What about her?" Robert narrowed his gaze.

"I only wish to warn you..."

"Good God, Marcus!" the major exploded. He rose to his feet, sloshing brandy. "Are you still warning your brothers away from predatory females? Miss Lucy is not one of those, I assure you, and neither is her sister!" He began to pace in front of the fire, heedless of the drink in his hand.

"I am not..."

"You're not inclined toward romance, so you think we should not be either? I am only waiting for orders before I make a real offer to the lady! You know that!"

"Sit down, Rob," Marcus said calmly. "I am not here to steer you away from matrimony."

The major stopped. "What made you change your mind?"

"A pair of intelligent blue eyes, I think, or it could have been the level headedness of the lady..."

His brother roared with laughter. "It's about time you changed your mind! Have you spoken to her yet?"

"Not yet. You have to speak to yours first! What do you mean, leaving Miss Lucy hanging while you wait for your next post? Do you love the chit or not?"

"With all my heart, Marcus! That is why I cannot condemn her to a posting that will endanger her health."

"Do you think she cares? Don't you know she only wants to be with you, no matter what her health? There is also a question of childbirth -- that is risk wherever she lives, either with you or here with Mama while you are elsewhere."

The major sat down and drained what was left of his brandy. "You're right. I need to speak with her now. Before I get my orders. I don't want her to think it is dependent on them."

"Quite right," his brother agreed. A discreet knock sounded on the door. "Yes?" Marcus called. It was Porter.

"The post has arrived, my lord," he announced, coming into the room and offering a stack of mail with a bow. "Including Major Armstrong's expected packet from Whitehall."

The two brothers stared at each other in dismay.

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