N ANSWER TO his grandmother's summons, Anthony strolled into the drawing room and found her standing at the window, gazing down at the fashionable carriages returning to Upper Brook Street from the ritual afternoon promenade in the park.

"Come here a moment, Anthony," she said in her most regal voice. "Look out at the street and tell me what you see."

Anthony peered out the window. "Carriages coming back from the park—the same thing I see every day."

"And what else do you see?"

"I see Alexandra arriving in one of them with John Holliday. The phaeton drawing up behind them is Peter Weslyn's—and Gordon Bradford is with him. The carriage in front of Holliday's belongs to Lord Tinsdale, who is already in the salon, cooling his heels with Jimmy Montfort. Poor Holliday," Anthony chuckled. "He sent word he wishes to speak privately with me this afternoon. So did Weslyn, Bradford, and Tinsdale. They mean to offer for her, of course."

"Of course," the duchess repeated grimly, "and that is exactly my point. Today is exactly like all the others for nearly a month—suitors arriving in pairs and trios, jamming up traffic in the streets and cluttering up the salons downstairs, but Alexandra has no wish to wed, and she's made that clear to the lot of them. Even so, they keep parading into this house with bouquets in their hands, and marching back out of it with murder in their eyes."

"Now, Grandmama," Anthony soothed.

"Don't 'Now, Grandmama' me," she said, startling Anthony with her vehemence. "I may be old, but I am not a fool. I can see that something very unpleasant, very dangerous, is happening before my own eyes! Alexandra has come to represent some sort of challenge to your foolish sex. Once Alexandra discovered how Jordan had felt about her, and Carstairs took her under his wing, she began to change and shine almost overnight. When that happened, her connections to this family, along with the huge dowry you and I decided she should have, created a uniquely desirable package to any bachelor needful or wishful of acquiring a wife."

The duchess paused, waiting for an argument from her grandson, but Tony merely regarded her in noncommittal silence. "Had Alexandra shown the slightest partiality for one man, or even a preference for onetype of man at that point," the duchess continued, "the others might have given up and gone away, but she did not. And that is what has brought us to the untenable pass for which I blame your entire sex."

"My sex?" he echoed blankly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that when a man sees something that seems to be just beyond the grasp of other men, then of coursehe must try to grasp it to prove he can take it." She paused to glower accusingly at an amazed Anthony. "That is a nasty trait which males possess from the time of birth. Walk into any nursery and witness a male babe with his siblings. Whether they are older or younger than he, a male babe will try to snatch whatever toy everyone else is quarreling over. Not, of course, that he wants the toy, he merely wants to prove he can get it."

"Thank you, Grandmama," Anthony said dryly, "for that sweeping condemnation of half of the world's population."

"I am merely stating fact. You do not see my sex lining up to enter the lists whenever some silly contest is announced."

"True."

"And that is exactly what has happened here. More and more contestants, drawn by the challenge, have entered the lists to try and win Alexandra. It was bad enough when she was merely that—a challenge—but now she has become something worse, much worse."

"Which is?" Anthony said, but he was frowning at his grandmother's astute assessment of what had already become a very complex, trying situation.

"Alexandra has become a prize," she said darkly. "She is now a prize to be won—or else taken—by the first male bold enough and clever enough to carry it off." Anthony opened his mouth, but she raised a bejeweled hand and waved his protest aside. "Do not bother to tell me it won't happen, because I already know it has: As I understand it, three days ago, Marbly proposed a short jaunt to Cadbury and Alexandra agreed to accompany him.

"One of her rejected suitors heard that Marbly had boasted of his intention to take her to his country seat in Wilton instead, and keep her there overnight. He carried the tale to you. You, I understand, caught up with Marbly and Alexandra an hour from here, before the Wilton turnoff, and brought her back, telling Marbly that I had requested her company—which was wise indeed of you. Had you demanded satisfaction, the scandal of a duel would have blackened Alexandra's reputation and compounded our problems tenfold."

"In any case," Tony put in, "Alexandra knew nothing of Marbly's intentions that day, nor does she now. I saw no reason to distress her. I asked her not to see him again, and she agreed."

"And what about Ridgely? What was he about, taking her off to a fair! All London is talking about it."

"Alexandra went to fairs as a child. She had no way of knowing she shouldn't go."

"Ridgely is purportedly a gentleman," the duchess snapped. "He knew better. What possessed him to take an innocent young lady to such a place!"

"You've just hit upon the rest of our problem," Anthony said wearily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alexandra is a widow, not a maid. What few scruples 'gentlemen' possess rarely apply to their behavior with experienced women—particularly if the woman happens to dazzle them witless, which Alexandra does."

"I would hardly describe Alexandra as an experienced woman! She's barely a woman at all."

Despite the grimness of the problem, Anthony grinned at his grandmother's patently inept description of the intoxicating young beauty with the dazzling smile and stunning figure. His grin faded, however, as the problem again came to the fore. "This whole thing is so damn complicated because she is so young and yet she's already been married. If she had a husband now, as does the Countess of Camden, no one would blink an eye at her little larks. If she were older, Society would not expect her to live by the same rules that govern younger girls. If she were plain, then those suitors she's rejected out of hand would not be nearly so inclined to try to blacken her reputation out of spite and jealousy.

"Have they been doing that?"

"Only two or three of them, but they've been busy whispering in the right ears. You know as well as I how easily gossip stimulates gossip, and when it catches fire it begins to spread in every direction. Eventually, everyone hears enough of it to start believing there must be some truth in it."

"How bad is it?"

"Not bad, not yet. At this point, all her rejected suitors have accomplished is to cast an unsavory light on some tiny, harmless misadventures of hers."

"For example?"

Anthony shrugged. "Alexandra spent last weekend at Southeby, attending a party there. She and a certain gentleman made an engagement for an early ride and left the stables at about eight. They did not return until after dusk, and when they did come back, it was seen that Alexandra's clothing was torn and in disarray."

"Dear God!" the duchess expostulated, clutching at her heart in agitation.

Anthony grinned. "The gentleman was seventy-five years old and the vicar at Southeby. He had intended to show Alexandra the location of an old cemetery he'd discovered by chance the week before, so that she might admire some fascinating grave markers he'd seen there. Unfortunately, he could not remember its exact location, and by the time they found it several hours later, Alexandra was completely lost and the old gentleman was so exhausted from the exertion of riding that he was afraid to get back on his horse. Naturally, Alexandra could not have returned without him, even had she wanted to, which of course she didn't."

"What about her gown?"

"The hem of her riding habit was torn."

"Then the whole episode was too trifling to mention."

"Exactly, but the tale has been repeated and exaggerated so many times it's now become an instance of questionable conduct. The obvious solution is for us to employ some old dragon to act as Alexandra's chaperone wherever she goes, but if we do that—particularly in light of the recent gossip—everyone will think we don't trust her. Besides, it would spoil all the fun of her first Season for her."

"Rubbish!" the duchess said stoutly. "Alexandra is not having fun, and that is precisely why I asked you to attend me here. She is jaunting about hither, thither, and yon, flirting and smiling and wrapping men around her little finger for one reason only, and that is to prove to Jordan she can do it—to show him posthumously that she is beating him at his own game. If all her suitors dropped off the face of the earth, she wouldn't notice and, if she did, she wouldn't care a pin."

Anthony stiffened. "I'd scarcely call an innocent jaunt to a fair, or racing Jordan's horse in Hyde Park, or any of her other harmless little peccadilloes 'beating Jordan at his own game.' "

"Nevertheless," the duchess replied, refusing to be gainsaid, "that is what she is doing, though I doubt she realizes it. Do you disagree?"

Tony hesitated and then reluctantly shook his head. "No, I suppose you're exactly right."

"Of course I am," she said with force. "Will you also agree Alexandra's current situation is placing her reputation and her entire future in serious jeopardy and, moreover, that the situation seems destined to worsen?"

Faced with his grandmother's piercing stare and her astute assessment of all the facts, Anthony shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed. "I agree."

"Excellent," she said, looking surprisingly satisfied. "Then I know you will understand when I say I do not wish to live out the rest of my days in a London house that is under siege from Alexandra's suitors, waiting on tenterhooks for another one of them to succeed at what Marbly tried to do, or to do something even more unspeakable to her—to us as a family. I wish to spend what years I have left at Rosemeade. But I cannot do that because Alexandra would have to accompany me there, which would make her future nearly as bleak as it is here, but for the opposite reasons. The only remaining solution would be to leave her here with you, which is beyond the bounds of consideration. It would cause a scandal that is not to be thought of." She paused, watching him very closely, waiting for his answer as if it were of momentous importance.

"Neither solution is feasible," Tony agreed.

The duchess pounced on that with ill-suppressed glee. "I knew you would see the situation exactly as I do. You are a man of superior understanding and compassion, Anthony."

"Er—thank you, Grandmama," Anthony said, visibly taken aback by such effusive compliments from his normally taciturn grandmother.

"And now that we've discovered we are in complete accord," she continued, "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Anything."

"Marry Alexandra."

"Anything but that," Anthony swiftly corrected, frowning darkly at her.

In response, she pointedly lifted her brows and disdainfully gazed at him as if he had just shrunk drastically in her estimation. It was a look which she had effectively employed for fifty years—and with singular success—to intimidate her peers, awe servants, silence children, and depress the pretensions of anyone who dared oppose her, including her husband and sons. Only Jordan had been immune to its effect. Jordan and his mother.

Anthony, however, was no more immune to it now than he had been at twelve, when that same look had silenced his outcry at having to learn Latin and sent him upstairs to ashamedly devote himself to his studies. Now he sighed, looking desperately around the room as if searching for some means of escape. Which he was.

The dowager duchess waited in silence.

Silence was the next weapon in her arsenal, Tony knew. At moments like this she always waited in silence. It was so much nicer—so much more dignified and refined—to wait in polite silence for one's prey to stop struggling, rather than to swoop in for the kill with a barrage of unnecessary verbal fire.

"You don't seem to realize what you're asking of me," he said angrily.

His refusal to yield gracefully and at once made her brows lift a fraction higher, as if she were not only disappointed in him, but annoyed because she was now compelled to fire a warning shot. But she fired it without hesitation, striking home, exactly as Anthony expected she would. In verbal combat, his grandmother's aim was faultless. "I sincerely hope," she drawled with just the right touch of disdain, "that you don't intend to say you aren't attracted to Alexandra?"

"And if I did say that?"

Her white eyebrows shot straight into her hairline, warning him she was prepared to open fire if he continued to be obstinate.

"There's no need to bring out the heavy guns," Anthony warned cryptically, holding up his hand in the gesture of a weary truce. Although he resented the fact that in any clash of wills she could still reduce him to the level of a child, he was also adult enough and wise enough to know that it was truly childish to argue with her when she was right. "I don't deny it. Moreover, the idea has occurred to me on more than one occasion."

Her eyebrows dropped to their normal position and she favored him with a slight, regal inclination of her white head—a gesture meant to convey that perhaps he stood a slight chance of regaining her favor. "You're being very sensible." She was always gracious to those she subdued.

"I'm not agreeing to what you suggest, but I'll agree to discuss it with Alex and leave the decision up to her."

"Alexandra has no more choice in the matter than you have, my dear," she said, so carried away with pleasure that she had inadvertently used an endearment without waiting the usual interval of weeks or even months to forgive him for his tardy capitulation to her will. "And there's no need to fret about when and where to discuss the matter with her, because I took the liberty of instructing Higgins to have her join us here"—she stopped at the sound of the knock upon the door—"now."

"Now!" he exploded. "I can't do it now. There are three men downstairs who've come to ask me for her hand."

She dismissed that problem with a regal flick of her fingers. "I'll tell Higgins to send them away." Before Anthony could utter a protest, she pulled open the door to admit Alexandra, and he watched in amazement as his grandmother's personality underwent another distinct change. "Alexandra," she said sternly, but not without a hint of affection, "your conduct has been giving us a deal of worry. I know you do not wish to worry me because I am no longer a young woman—"

"Worry you, ma'am?" Alexandra repeated, alarmed. "My conduct? What have I done?"

"I'll tell you," she said, and then she ruthlessly launched into a dissertation deliberately intended to alarm, intimidate, and coerce Alexandra into falling into Anthony's arms the minute the duchess closed the door "This dreadful coil we are all in is not entirely your fault," she began, her words coming in quick, rapid-fire succession. "But the fact remains that had Anthony not learned of your proposed jaunt to Cadbury with Sir Marbly in time to waylay you, you'd have found yourself in Wilton, compromised beyond recall, and forced to wed that blackguard. This willy-nilly jaunting about, flitting from suitor to suitor, must cease at once. Everyone thinks you are having a wonderful time, but I know you better! You are behaving in this wild, indiscriminate manner solely to spite Jordan—to show him you can match him, deed for deed. Well, you can't, my dear! Your little peccadilloes are nothing compared to the sorts of things gentlemen do, particularly gentlemen like Jordan. Furthermore," she announced in a rising tone that indicated she was about to reveal news of tremendous import, "Jordan is dead."

Alexandra gazed at her in blank confusion. "I know that."

"Excellent, then there is no reason for you to go on as you have been." In a rare gesture of affection she laid her hand on Alexandra's cheek. "Give over before you do irreparable damage to your pride and reputation, and to the family's as well. You must marry someone, my dear, and I, who truly care about you, desire that it be Anthony, as does Anthony himself."

Removing her hand, she fired off the rest of her ammunition: "You need something to occupy your mind besides amusement, Alexandra. A husband and children will do nicely for that. You've been dancing to the tune, my dear, and now I fear it is time to pay the piper. Gowns for a London Season cost a fortune, and we are not made of money. I'll leave you and Anthony to discuss the details." With a benign smile at Alexandra and a pointed one at Anthony, she swept grandly to the door. Turning back, she said to both of them, "Do plan a nice largewedding in church this time, but right away, of course."

"Of course," Anthony said dryly. Alexandra said nothing, but stood rooted to the spot.

His grandmother glowered at him and directed her last remark to Alexandra. "I've never admitted this before, but I am superstitious. It seems to me that things which do not begin well rarely end well, and your wedding to Jordan—well, it was such a sad, inauspicious little affair. A large church affair will be just the thing. Society will be all agog over it, but it will give them something better to remember than all the talk about you that preceded it. Three weeks from today should do very well, indeed." Without waiting for a reply, she closed the door, effectively cutting off any attempt by Tony or Alexandra to argue with her.

When she left, Alexandra clutched at the back of a chair for support and slowly turned to Anthony, who was grinning at the closed door. "She's actually more ruthless than I ever realized," he observed with a mixture of affection and exasperation as he turned to look at Alexandra. "Hawk was the only one she couldn't wring out with one of her looks. My father was terrified of her, so was Jordan's. And my grandfather—"

"Tony," Alexandra interrupted miserably, drowning in guilt and confusion. "What have I done? I had no idea I was bringing disgrace down on us. Why didn't you tell me I was spending too much on gowns?" Shame engulfed her as she suddenly saw herself with new clarity, leading a frivolous, expensive, aimless life.

"Alexandra!" She turned and stared blankly at his grinning face as he said, "You have just been subjected to the most massive dose of guilt, coercion, and emotional blackmail that I have ever seen anyone hand out. My grandmother didn't miss a trick." He held out his palm, smiling reassuringly, and Alexandra placed her hand in his reassuring grasp. "There is nothing wrong with her health, you are not sending us down the road to financial ruin, and you assuredly are not jeopardizing the Townsende name."

Alexandra was not much reassured. Too much of what the duchess had said had often occurred to Alex herself. For more than a year she had been living with people who treated her as part of their family and who kept her in a manner befitting a royal duchess, when she was neither. At first, she had silenced her conscience with the knowledge that the dowager duchess truly needed her companionship in the months after Jordan's death. But of late Alexandra had not been much of a companion to the elderly lady; there never seemed to be time to do more than wave to one another when their carriages passed on the street or they met one another on the stairway, leaving for their individual entertainments. "The part about Marbly was the truth though, wasn't it?" she asked miserably.

"Yes."

"Marbly doesn't fancy himself in love with me like some of the younger dandies do. I can't think why he'd have tried to abduct me."

"My grandmother has an interesting theory on that subject. It has to do with little boys and toys. Ask her about it sometime."

"Pray, don't talk to me in riddles!" she pleaded. "Only tell me why all this is happening."

Tony gave her an abbreviated version of the entire discussion he had just had with his grandmother. "The fact is," he concluded, "you're simply too desirable for your own good and our peace of mind."

"What a rapper!" she chuckled. "There has to be more to it than that."

"Exactly how much are you enjoying the Season?"

"It's everything you said it would be—exciting and elegant and the people are so—elegant—exciting, and I've never seen such, such elegant carriages and phaetons or such—"

Tony's shoulders shook with laughter. "You're impossibly poor at lying."

"I know," she admitted ruefully.

"Then suppose we stick to the truth, you and I."

Alexandra nodded, but still she hesitated. "How do I like the London Season?" she repeated, seriously considering the question. Like all the well-born young women in London during the Season, she slept until midmorning, breakfasted in bed, and changed her clothes at least five times each day for a round of morning calls, promenades in the park, parties, suppers, and balk. She had never been so frantically busy. Yet as she went about the occupation which was supposed to consume her every waking hour—that of enjoying herself—one question kept tolling relentlessly through her mind. Is this all there is?… Is there nothing more?

Unable to face him, Alexandra walked over to the windows and then said, "The Season is all very amusing, and there is diversion everywhere, but sometimes it seems as if everyone is working very hard at playing. I will miss London when I leave it, and I know I will look forward to returning, but there's something missing. I think I must need work to do. I feel restless here, even though I've never been so busy. Am I making any sense?"

"You have always made sense, Alexandra."

Reassured by his gentle tone, Alexandra turned around and faced him squarely. "Alexander Pope said that amusement is the happiness of those who cannot think. I don't entirely agree with that, but as a goal in and of itself, I find the pursuit of amusement, well, a little unsatisfying. Tony, do you never weary of this ceaseless round of aimless amusements?"

"This year, I've scarcely had time to go about." Shaking his head, he made a sweeping gesture with his hand and said wryly, "You know, I used to envy Jordan all this—his houses, his lands, all his other investments. Now that they're mine, they're like jewels that weigh a ton; they're too valuable to neglect, too huge to ignore, and too heavy to carry. You can't believe how diverse his investments are or the time it takes me to try to figure out when to do what with each one. When Jordan inherited the title at twenty, the Townsende holdings were respectable but not vast by any means. He increased them tenfold in seven years. Jordan worked like a demon, but he had time for amusements, too. I can't seem to strike the proper balance."

"Is that why you've been neglecting the ladies, who plague me to distraction, trying to discover where you plan to go next so they can be there?"

Tony laughed. "No. I've been neglecting them for the same reason you neglect your beaux. I'm flattered, but not interested."

"Hasn't any young lady suited you in all these years?"

"One," he admitted, grinning.

"Who was she?" Alexandra promptly demanded.

"She was the daughter of an earl," he said, his expression sobering.

"What happened to her," Alexandra prodded, "or is it too personal to discuss?"

"Not at all. It isn't even a unique story. She seemed to want me as much as I wanted her. I offered for her, but her parents wanted her to wait until the end of the Season before accepting an unpromising catch like me—a man of respectable birth, good family, but no title and no real fortune. And so we agreed to keep our feeling for each other a secret until the end of the Season."

"And then what?" Alexandra asked, sensing instinctively that he wanted to talk about it.

"And then someone with a title and a fortune and a very elegant address paid her passing notice. He stood up with her at a few balls, called on her a time or two—Sally fell for him like a rock."

Alexandra's voice dropped to a sympathetic whisper. "And so she married him instead of you?"

Tony chuckled and shook his head. "To the nobleman, the interlude with Sally had been nothing but a stupid, empty, meaningless flirtation."

"It—it wasn't Jordan, was it?" Alex asked, feeling a little sick.

"I'm happy to say it was not."

"In any case, you're better off without her," Alexandra announced loyally. "She was obviously either very mercenary or very flighty." One of Alexandra's warm, entrancing smiles touched her soft lips and she laughed with sudden delight: "Now that you are the most important duke in England, I'll bet she regrets turning you away."

"She may."

"Well, I hope she does!" she exclaimed, and then she looked guilty. "That is a very wicked way for me to feel."

"We're both wicked," Tony laughed. "Because I rather hope she does too."

For a moment they merely regarded one another in silence and the friendly accord they had always enjoyed. Finally Tony drew a careful breath and said, "The point I was trying to make earlier is that too much work is no more satisfying than too much amusement."

"You're right, of course. I hadn't considered that."

"There's something else you ought to consider," Tony said gently.

"What is that?"

"You ought to consider the possibility that the indefinable thing you said you felt was lacking from your life might be love."

Alexandra's unexpected mirthful reaction to that suggestion stilled his hand as he reached for a pinch of snuff. "Good heavens, I should hope it's lacking!" she said, and her musical laughter bubbled over, spilling through the room without a single note of anger to reassure Tony that her reaction was merely one of temporary bitterness over Jordan's treatment. "I have been in love, your grace, and I didn't enjoy it in the least!" she chuckled. "I'd sooner have a stomachache, thank you very much."

She meant every word of it, Tony realized as he gazed at the beautiful shining face turned up to his. She meant it—and the knowledge filled him with almost uncontrollable rage at Jordan. "You only had a small taste of it."

"Enough to know I don't like it."

"Next time you might like it more."

"It gave me a dreadful feeling inside. Like—like I'd eaten eels," she laughed. "I—"

The curse that exploded from him stopped her short. "Damn Jordan! If he were alive, I'd strangle him with my bare hands!"

"No, you misunderstand!" Alexandra said, hurrying to him, her luminous eyes searching his, trying to make him understand. "Even when I foolishly thought he cared for me, I felt horridly queasy inside. I couldn't stop worrying about every little thing I said. I wanted to please him, and I was quite turning myself inside out to do it. I think it must be a hereditary defect: The women in my family always fall in love with the wrong men, and then we worship them with blind devotion, tearing ourselves apart to please them." She grinned. "It's quite nauseating, actually."

A shout of laughter erupted from Tony an instant before he snatched her into his arms and hugged her, laughing into her fragrant hair. When their mirth had subsided, Tony gazed down into her eyes and soberly said, "Alexandra, what is it you want out of life?"

His steady gaze locked onto hers, holding her immobilized. "I don't know," she whispered, standing stock still as the man she had regarded as an older brother cupped her face between his big hands. "Tell me how you feel inside, now that you are one of the Reigning Queens of Society."

Alexandra could not have moved if someone had screamed that the house was afire. "Empty," she admitted in a ragged whisper. "And cold."

"Marry me, Alexandra."

"I—I can't!"

"Of course you can," he said, smiling at her resistance, as if he expected it and understood. "I'll give you the things you truly need to make you happy. I know what they are, even if you don't."

"What things?" Alexandra murmured, her eyes moving over his face as if seeing it for the very first time.

"The same things I need—children, a family, someone to care for," Tony said huskily.

"Don't," Alexandra cried as she felt her resistance begin to weaken and crumble. "You don't know what you're saying. Tony, I'm not in love with you, and you're not in love with me."

"You're not in love with anyone else, are you?"

Alexandra shook her head emphatically and he grinned. "There, you see, that makes the decision much easier. I'm not in love with anyone else, either. You've already met the best of the crop of eligible husbands during this Season. The ones who aren't here aren't much better. You can take my word on it."

When Alexandra bit her lip and continued to hesitate, Tony gave her a light shake. "Alexandra, stop dreaming. This is life as it really is. You've seen it. All that's left is more of the same unless you have a family."

A family. A real family. Alexandra had never been part of one—not a family with a father and mother and children; with cousins and aunts and uncles. Of course, their children would have only Tony's younger brother for an uncle, but still—

What more could any woman possibly hope for than what Tony was offering her? It dawned on Alexandra for the first time that, although she had teased Mary Ellen forever about her romantic notions, she herself had been acting like a romantic schoolgirl. Tony cared for her. And she had it in her power to make him happy. The knowledge warmed her and made her feel good inside, good about herself in a way she hadn't felt in ages. She could devote herself to making him happy, to bearing his children.

Children… The thought of holding her baby in her arms was a powerful motivation to marry this kind, gentle, handsome man. Of all the men she'd met in London, Tony seemed to be the only one who felt as she did about life.

With great effort, Jordan helped his weary friend to stand and pulled his arm over his own shoulders, bracing his weight against his side as he half-carried, half-dragged George Morgan across the shallow creek. Grinning and exhausted, Jordan glanced up, trying to gauge the time by the sun, which was low in the sky, blocked from his view by the hills and trees. He wanted to know the time, it was important to him. Five o'clock in the afternoon, he decided.

At five o'clock in the afternoon, he had first seen the uniformed troops moving stealthily through the trees ahead of him. English troops. Freedom. Home.

With luck, he could be home in three or four weeks.