hat did you do?” Belle asked, her voice containing more than a twinge of sarcasm. “Ask yourself for permission to marry her?”

Dunford grinned. “Something like that.”

“This is something straight out of a very bad novel, you know. The guardian marrying his ward. I can’t believe you’re doing it.”

Dunford didn’t believe for a moment that Belle had not been working actively toward this very end for several weeks. “Can’t you?”

“Well, I can, actually. She suits you perfectly.”

“I know.”

“How did you propose? Something terribly romantic, I hope.”

“Actually I haven’t asked her yet.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a trifle premature, then?”

“Asking Ashbourne to invite us out to Westonbirt? Not at all. How else am I supposed to arrange some time alone with her?”

“You’re not engaged yet. Technically you don’t deserve any time alone with her.”

Dunford’s smile was one of pure male arrogance. “She’ll say yes.”

Belle’s expression grew irritated. “It would serve you right if she refused.”

“She won’t.”

Belle sighed. “You’re probably right.”

“At any rate, much as I’d like to get a special license and marry her next week, I’m going to have to accept a more conventional engagement period. The ton will be titillated enough by the fact that she’s my ward, I want no undue speculation about her character. If we marry too hastily, someone is bound to do a spot of sleuthing and find out we were unchaperoned for over a week in Cornwall.”

“You’ve never cared overly much about ton whispers before,” Belle mused.

“I still don’t,” he said sharply. “Not for myself at least, but I will not expose Henry to any scurrilous gossip.”

Belle bit back a smile. “I’ll be expecting that thousand pounds posthaste.”

“And you shall have it—gladly. Just so long as you and Blackwood head out to Westonbirt along with us. It will seem more of a house party if three couples are there.”

“Dunford, I’m not going to stay with Alex and Emma when John and I have a home not fifteen minutes away.”

“But you will come out to the country next week? It would mean a great deal to Henry.”

And anything that meant a great deal to Henry obviously meant a great deal to Dunford. Belle smiled. He’d fallen hard for this girl, and she couldn’t have been happier for him. “Anything for Henry,” she said with a magnanimous wave of her arm. “Anything for Henry.”

A few days later Dunford and Henry left—with Caroline’s blessing—for Westonbirt, the Ashbourne estate in Oxfordshire. At Dunford’s rather vocal urging, Alex and Emma had hastily arranged a house party for their closest friends—Dunford, Henry, and the Blackwoods, who promised to come by each day although they insisted on spending their nights at their nearby home, Persephone Park.

The carriage’s occupants numbered four, Lady Caroline steadfastly refusing to let Henry go unless her maid and Dunford’s valet acted as chaperones during the three-hour trip to the country. Dunford had the good sense to keep his grumblings to himself; he didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize this precious week he’d been given. Alex and Emma, as a married couple, were proper chaperones, but they also had a soft spot for romance. Belle, after all, had met and fallen in love with her husband under their not-always-so-watchful eyes.

Henry remained silent during most of the trip, unable to think of anything she wanted to say to Dunford in front of the servants. Her mind was brimming with things she wanted to tell him, but it all seemed so personal now, even down to the sway of the carriage and the color of the grass outside. She contented herself with frequent glances and secret smiles, all of which Dunford noticed, for he was quite unable to take his eyes off her the entire trip.

It was mid-afternoon when they turned onto the long, tree-lined drive that led to Westonbirt. “Oh, it’s lovely,” Henry said, finding her voice at last. The immense structure had been built in the shape of an E, to honor the then-reigning Queen Elizabeth. Henry had always preferred more modest structures, like Stannage Park, but Westonbirt somehow managed to possess a homey air despite its size. Perhaps it was the windows, which glinted like cheerful smiles, or the flower beds, which grew in wild abandon all along the drive. Whatever it was, Henry fell in love on the spot.

She and Dunford disembarked and made their way up the steps to the front door, which had already been swung open by Norwood, Westonbirt’s elderly butler. “Do I look presentable?” Henry whispered as they were shown into an airy parlor.

“You look fine,” he replied, looking rather amused at her anxiety.

“I am not too rumpled from the trip?”

“Of course not. And even if you were, it would not matter. Alex and Emma are friends.” He gave her hand a reassuring pat.

“Do you think she will like me?”

“I know she will like you.” He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “What has gotten into you? I thought you were excited to make this trip to the country.”

“I am. I’m just nervous, that is all. I want the duchess to like me. I know that she is a special friend of yours, and—”

“Yes, she is, but you are even more special.”

Henry flushed with pleasure. “Thank you, Dunford. It’s just that she is a duchess, you know, and—”

“And what? Alex is a duke, and that didn’t seem to stop you from practically charming the breeches off him. If he had met you before Emma, I’d have had quite a fight on my hands.”

Henry blushed again. “Don’t be silly.”

He sighed. “Think whatever you like, Hen, but if I hear one more worried comment come out of your mouth, I shall have to kiss you into silence.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really?”

He exhaled and rested his forehead against his hand. “What am I going to do with you, minx?”

“Kiss me?” she said hopefully.

“I suppose I’ll have to do just that.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips gently against hers, carefully avoiding any deeper contact. He knew that if his body touched hers in any way, even just his hand on her cheek, he would be unable to stop himself from hauling her roughly into his arms. There was nothing he’d rather do, of course, but the Duke and Duchess of Ashbourne were expected at any moment, and Dunford had no particular desire to be caught flagrante delicto.

A discreet cough sounded from the doorway.

Too late.

Dunford pulled away, catching a glimpse of Henry’s pinkening cheeks as he swerved his gaze to the doorway. Emma was trying very hard not to smile. Alex wasn’t trying at all.

“Oh, God,” Henry groaned.

“No, just me,” Alex said affably, trying to put her at ease, “although my wife has, on more than one occasion, accused me of confusing myself with the one of whom you speak.”

Henry smiled, very weakly.

“Good to see you, Ashbourne,” Dunford muttered, getting to his feet.

Alex led his heavily pregnant wife to a comfortable chair. “I expect it would have been much better to see me five minutes hence,” he murmured in Dunford’s ear as he crossed the room to Henry. “Delightful to see you again, Henry. I’m glad to see you’ve conquered our dear friend here. Between you and me, he didn’t stand a chance.”

“I... uh...”

“For goodness sake, Alex,” Emma said, “if you say one more thing to embarrass her, I shall have your head.”

Only Henry could see Alex’s face as he tried very hard to appear contrite, and she had to put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud.

“Perhaps you would like to be introduced to the virago in the yellow chair?” he said with a quirky half-smile.

“I see no virago,” Henry said archly, catching Emma’s smile from across the room.

“Dunford,” Alex said, taking Henry’s hand as she rose to her feet, “this woman is as blind as a bat.”

Dunford shrugged, sharing an amused look with Emma.

“My darling wife,” Alex said. “May I present—”

“That’s ‘darling virago wife’ to you,” Emma said pertly, her eyes twinkling mischievously at Henry.

“Of course. How remiss of me. My darling virago wife, may I present Miss Henrietta Barrett of Cornwall, lately of your Aunt Caroline’s guest room.”

“I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Barrett,” the duchess said, and Henry rather thought she meant it.

“Please call me Henry. Everybody does.”

“And you must call me Emma. I wish everybody would.”

Henry decided instantly that she liked the young, flame-haired duchess and wondered why on earth she had been so apprehensive about meeting her. She was, after all, Belle and Ned’s first cousin, and if that wasn’t superb recommendation, she didn’t know what was.

Emma stood up, ignoring the protests of her concerned husband, took Henry’s arm, and said, “Let’s be off. I am so eager to talk with you, and we can be much more frank without them.” She flicked her head in the direction of the gentlemen.

Henry smiled helplessly. “All right.”

“I cannot tell you how happy I am to finally meet you,” Emma said as soon as they reached the hall. “Belle has written all about you, and I am so excited that Dunford has finally met his match. Not that I don’t think you are lovely in your own right, but I have to admit, mostly I’m just pleased that Dunford has met his match.”

“You are frank.”

“Not half as much as you, if Belle’s letters are any indication. And I couldn’t be more pleased.” Emma grinned at Henry as she steered them down a wide hallway. “Why don’t I show you ’round Westonbirt while we chat? It’s really a lovely home, for all its size.”

“I think it’s magnificent. Not at all forbidding.”

“No,” Emma mused, “it’s not. Funny, that. It was meant to be, I think. But anyway, I am glad you are also frank. I have never had very much patience for the doublespeak of the ton”

“Nor I, your grace.”

“Oh, please call me Emma. I hadn’t a title of any sort until last year, and I still haven’t gotten used to all the servants bobbing curtseys every time I walk by. If my friends don’t use my given name, I shall probably die of too much formality.”

“I should be very pleased to be counted among your friends, Emma.”

“And I among yours. Now, you must tell me. How did Dunford propose? Something original, I hope.”

Henry felt her face grow hot. “I’m not certain. That is to say, he hasn’t exactly asked...”

“He hasn’t asked you yet?” Emma blurted out. “That conniving little wretch.”

“Now see here,” Henry began, feeling the need to defend him even though she wasn’t certain of the charge.

“No offense meant,” Emma said quickly. “At least no major offense. I expect he did it so that we would turn a blind eye if the two of you happened to wander off on your own. He told us you were engaged, you know.”

“He did?” Henry said uncertainly. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Men,” Emma muttered. “Always going around thinking that a woman will marry them without even bothering to ask. I might have known he’d do something like this.”

“It means that he is going to ask me, I should think,” Henry said dreamily. “And I can’t help but be happy about that because I do want to marry him.”

“Of course you do. Everybody wants to marry Dunford.”

“What?”

Emma blinked, as if just suddenly returning in full to the conversation. “Except me, of course.”

“Well, you couldn’t, anyway,” Henry felt obliged to point out, unable to pinpoint when exactly the conversation had veered into the bizarre. “As you are already married, that is.”

“I meant before I married.” Emma laughed. “What a widgeon you must think me. I don’t usually have so much difficulty remaining on one topic. It’s the babe, I think.” She patted her stomach. “Well, probably not, but it’s deuced convenient to be able to let it shoulder the blame for all my idiosyncrasies.”

“Of course,” Henry murmured.

“I only meant to say that Dunford is very popular. And he is a very good man. Rather like Alex. A woman would have to be a fool to turn down a proposal from a man like that.”

“Except there is the little problem that he hasn’t exactly proposed yet.”

“What do you mean ‘exactly’?”

Henry turned and glanced through a window which looked out onto a cheery courtyard. “He has implied that we will be married, but he hasn’t asked me directly.”

“I see.” Emma caught her lower lip between her teeth as she thought. “I expect he wants to propose here at Westonbirt. More of a chance to get you alone. He’ll probably want to, er, kiss you when he asks, and he’ll not want to have to worry about Aunt Caroline swooping down to rescue you at any moment.”

Henry didn’t particularly want to be rescued from Dunford, so she made an inarticulate sound that was meant to convey agreement.

Emma cast a sideways glance at her new friend. “I can see from your expression that he has kissed you already. No, don’t blush, I’m quite used to such goings-on. I had as much trouble when I had to chaperone Belle.”

“You chaperoned Belle?”

“And did a dreadful job of it, too. But no matter. You will be delighted to learn I will probably be just as lax with you.”

“Er, yes,” Henry stammered. “That is to say, I think so.” She spied a bench covered in rose damask. “Do you mind if we sit down for a moment? I’m suddenly very weary.”

Emma sighed. “I tired you out, didn’t I?”

“No, of course not... Well,” Henry admitted as she sat down, “yes.”

“I have a tendency to do that to people,” Emma said, lowering herself down onto the bench. “I don’t know why.”

Four hours later Henry had a feeling she knew exactly why. Emma Ridgely, Duchess of Ashbourne, had quite the most energy she’d ever seen a person possess, herself included. And Henry had never thought of herself as a particularly languid person.

It wasn’t that Emma bustled about with nervous energy. Quite the opposite; the petite woman was the epitome of grace and sophistication. It was simply that everything Emma did or said was infused with such vitality that her companions were left breathless just watching her.

It was easy to see why her husband so adored her. Henry only hoped Dunford would one day come to love her with such single-minded devotion.

The evening meal was a delightful affair. Belle and John had not yet arrived from London, so it was just Dunford, Henry, and the Ashbournes. Henry, still slightly unaccustomed to taking her meals with anyone other than the Stannage Park servants, reveled in the company, shaking with mirth at the stories her companions told of their childhoods and adding a few of her own.

“Did you really try to move the beehive closer to the house?” Emma laughed, patting her breastbone as she tried to regain her breath.

“I have a dreadful passion for sweets,” Henry explained, “and when the cook told me I couldn’t have more than one a day because we didn’t have enough sugar, I decided to rectify the problem.”

“That will teach Mrs. Simpson to make up excuses,” Dunford said.

Henry shrugged. “She’s never minced words with me since.”

“But weren’t your guardians terribly upset with you?” Emma persisted.

“Oh, yes,” Henry replied with an animated wave of her fork. “I thought Viola was going to faint. After she had me drawn and quartered. Luckily she was in no shape to punish me, what with twelve bee stings on her arms.”

“Oh, dear,” Emma said. “Were you stung as well?”

“No, it’s amazing, but I wasn’t stung at all.”

“Henry seems to have a way with bees,” Dunford said, trying very hard not to remember his own reaction to Henry’s beehive exploits. He felt an incredible surge of pride as he watched her turn back to Emma, apparently to answer another question about the beehive. His friends loved Henry. He had known they would, of course, but it still filled him with joy to see her so happy. For what must have been the hundredth time that day alone, he marveled at his blind good luck in finding the one woman in the world who so obviously suited him in every way.

She was marvelously direct and efficient, yet her capacity for pure, sentimental love knew no bounds; his heart still ached whenever he remembered that day at the abandoned cottage when she cried over the death of an unknown baby. She had a wit to match his own; one didn’t even need to hear her speak to know she was uncommonly intelligent—it was right there in the silvery sparkle of her eyes. She was terribly brave and damn near fearless; she’d have to be to try to—and succeed at—running a modest-sized estate and farm for six years. And, Dunford thought, a half-smile creeping onto his lips, she melted in his arms every time they touched, turning his blood to fire. He ached for her every minute of the day and wanted nothing more than to show her with his hands and lips the depth of his love for her.

So this was love. He almost chuckled out loud right there at the dining table. No wonder the poets spoke so highly of it.

“Dunford?”

He blinked and looked up. Alex was apparently trying to ask him a question. “Yes?”

“I asked,” Alex repeated, “if Henry has given you similar cause for alarm in recent weeks.”

“If you don’t count her continued adventures with the beehives of Stannage Park, then she has been the soul of dignity and decorum.”

“Really?” Emma asked. “What did you do?”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Henry replied, not daring to glance at Dunford. “All I did was reach in and pull out a bit of honeycomb.”

“What you did,” he said sternly, “was nearly get yourself stung by a hundred angry insects.”

“Did you really put your hand into a beehive?” Emma leaned forward interestedly. “I should love to know how to do it.”

“I should be forever in your debt,” Alex interjected, directing his words at Henry, “if you would endeavor never to teach my wife how.”

“I wasn’t in any danger,” Henry said quickly. “Dunford likes to exaggerate.”

“He does?” Alex asked, raising his brows.

“He was very anxious,” she told him, then turned to Emma as if she had to explain. “He gets very anxious.”

“Anxious?” Emma echoed.

“Dunford?” Alex asked at the very same time.

“You must be joking,” Emma added, in a tone that suggested there could be no other possible alternative.

“Suffice it to say,” Dunford cut in, eager to make short work of this line of conversation, “that she managed to take ten years off my life, and that is the end of the subject.”

“I suppose it will have to be,” Henry said, looking at Emma with a little shrug, “as he has made me promise never to eat honey again.”

“He did? Dunford, how could you? Even Alex hasn’t been that beastly.”

If her husband objected to the implication that he might be a little beastly, he made no comment.

“Just so that I do not go down in history as the most overbearing man in Britain, Emma, I did not forbid her to eat honey.” Dunford turned back to Henry. “I merely made you promise not to procure it yourself, and frankly, this conversation has grown tedious.”

Emma leaned toward Henry and whispered in a voice that could be heard clearly on the other side of the table, “I have never seen him this way.”

“Is that good?”

“Very.”

“Emma?” Dunford said, his voice frighteningly casual.

“Yes, Dunford?”

“It is only my extreme good manners and the fact that you are a lady that prevent me from telling you to shut up.”

Henry looked frantically at Alex, positive that he was about to call Dunford out for insulting his wife. But the duke merely covered his mouth and started to choke on something that must have been a laugh, for he hadn’t taken a bite in several minutes.

“Extreme good manners, indeed,” Emma replied tartly.

“It certainly cannot be the fact that you are a lady,” Henry said, thinking that Dunford must be very good friends with the Ashbournes if Alex was laughing at what might have been perceived as an insult to Emma. “Because he once told me to shut up, and I have it on the best authority that I am a lady as well.”

This time Alex started to cough so violently that Dunford felt compelled to whack him on the back. Of course, he just may have been looking for an excuse to do so.

“And whose authority is that?” Dunford asked.

“Why, yours of course.” Henry leaned forward, her eyes glinting devilishly. “And you should know.”

Emma joined her husband in a duet of coughing spasms.

Dunford sat back in his seat, a reluctant smile of admiration creeping across his face. “Well, Hen,” he said, waving his arm at the duke and duchess, “we seem to have made short work of these two.”

Henry tilted her head to the side. “It wasn’t very difficult, was it?”

“Not at all. Presented no challenge whatsoever.”

“Emma, my dear,” Alex said, regaining his breath, “I think our honor has just been impugned.”

“I’ll say. I haven’t laughed so hard for ages.” Emma stood and motioned for Henry to follow her into the drawing room. “Let’s be off, Henry, and leave these gentlemen to their stuffy cigars and port.”

“There you have it, minx,” Dunford said as he rose to his feet. “You’ll finally be able to find out what goes on when the ladies retire after supper.”

“Did he call you ‘minx’?” Emma asked as she and Henry exited the room.

“Er, yes, he calls me that sometimes.”

Emma rubbed her hands together. “This is better than I thought.”

“Henry! Wait just a moment!”

Henry turned around to see Dunford striding quickly toward her. “If I might have a quick word with you,” he said.

“Yes, yes, of course.”

He drew her aside and spoke in a low whisper that Emma, no matter how hard she pricked her ears, could not hear. “I need to see you tonight.”

Henry thrilled at the urgency in his voice. “You do?”

He nodded. “I need to speak with you privately.”

“I’m not certain...”

“I’ve never been more certain. I’ll rap on your door at midnight.”

“But Alex and Emma—”

“Always retire at eleven.” He smiled rakishly. “They enjoy their privacy.”

“All right, but—”

“Good. I’ll see you then.” He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. “Not a word of this to anyone.”

Henry blinked and watched him return to the dining room.

Emma was at her side with remarkable speed for one who was seven months pregnant. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing, really,” Henry mumbled, knowing she I was a bad liar and yet trying to attempt to brazen it out nonetheless.

Emma snorted her disbelief.

“No, really. He just, ummm—he told me to behave myself.”

“To behave yourself?” Emma said doubtfully.

“You know, not to make a spectacle of myself or anything like that.”

“Now that is a clanker if ever I heard one,” Emma retorted. “Even Dunford must realize it would be impossible for you to create any kind of scene in my drawing room with only me for company.”

Henry smiled weakly.

“It is apparent, however,” Emma continued, “that I’m not going to get the truth out of you, so I won’t waste my valuable energy trying.”

“Thank you,” Henry murmured as they resumed their walk toward the drawing room. As she strode alongside Emma, she clenched her fist into an excited little ball. Tonight he would tell her he loved her. She could feel it.