"Oh?" Geoffrey's eyes lit.

"Why do you need support, Miss Dalling?" Antonia felt rather more reticent over leaping to Miss Dalling's conclusions.

"Please call me Catriona," Miss Dalling said, smiling radiantly. "I truly believe we were meant to be friends."

Antonia could not help responding with a smile. "Very well-and you must call me Antonia. But why do you need aid?"

"My mama." Ambrose, who had already exchanged names with Geoffrey, looked dejected. "She's arrived in town, deadly keen to see the knot tied."

"More than keen," Catriona decried. "Positively insistent! What with Aunt Ticehurst on one side and the Marchioness on the other, we're being hounded into marriage! We were just deciding what to do when you came up."

"Nothing too drastic, I hope. You would not wish to bring any scandal down upon your head."

"Indeed not." Catriona shook her head so vigorously her dark ringlets danced. "Any breath of scandal would avail us nought, for they would simply use that to force our hands. No-whatever we do must be done in such a way that there's no possibility Aunt Ticehurst and Ambrose's mama can use it against us."

"So what do you plan to do?" Geoffrey asked.

Catriona's brow clouded. "I don't know." For an instant, her lips quivered, then she blinked and lifted her chin. "That's why I've decided to send for Henry."

"Henry?"

"Henry Fortescue, my intended." Catriona's lips firmed. "He'll know what to do."

"A capital idea, I think." Ambrose looked hopefully at Geoffrey.

"But there's one problem." Catriona frowned. "I cannot write a letter to Henry for Aunt Ticehurst keeps a very close watch on me. We're not even out of her sight here-she's in her brougham, watching from the carriageway. I was just telling Ambrose he'll have to write for me."

"Ah…" Ambrose shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "No one more eager than I to be free of this coil." He looked pleadingly at Catriona. "But you can see, can't you, that it's not really the thing? Me writing to your intended telling him to come and see you?"

Catriona's expression turned mulish. "I don't see-"

"By Jove, yes!" Geoffrey looked horror-struck. "Dashed awkward."

"Precisely." Ambrose nodded rapidly. "Won't do-the poor fellow won't know what's afoot."

Antonia managed to keep her lips straight. "Indeed, Catriona, I do feel that any note would be better coming from you."

Catriona sighed. "But that's the problem-how can we manage it?"

No one had an answer. At Antonia's suggestion, they strolled the path, all racking their brains for a solution.

"The museum!" Geoffrey halted; the others swung to face him. Eyes alight, he grinned at them. "I read somewhere that they have desks at the museum for scholars- you bring paper and pen and they provide the desk and inkwell for a small fee."

Catriona beamed. "We can go there tomorrow-" She broke off; her smile faded. "No, we can't. Aunt Ticehurst would insist on coming too."

Geoffrey glanced at Antonia. "Perhaps…?"

Antonia read his look and inwardly sighed. Shifting her gaze to the scenery, she considered. “Not tomorrow-that would appear too precipitous. But perhaps we could arrange to make a party to visit the museum the day after tomorrow? I understand Lord Elgin's marbles are a sight not to be missed."

She looked at Catriona in time to be dazzled by the transformation her words had wrought. Smiling, Catriona was the most radiantly beautiful girl.

"Oh, Miss Mannering-I mean, Antonia!" Catriona caught Antonia's hand and clasped it warmly. "I will be your dearest friend for life! That's a brilliant suggestion."

Geoffrey humphed.

"If we present the thing right," Ambrose mused. "They'll be sure to approve." He turned to Catriona. "If we make it sound like I invited you and then asked Miss Mannering and Geoffrey to make up the party, it will allay their suspicions."

"Indeed, yes! Nothing could be better." Buoyed with purpose, Catriona flashed both Antonia and Geoffrey another stunning smile. “As I said, fate clearly intended us to meet. Nothing could have been more fortuitous!''

Two days later, Philip strolled across Grosvenor Square, basking in the afternoon sunshine. Swinging his cane as he walked, he noted that the leaves still clinging to the trees were golden and brown. They had completely changed colour since his return to London, their altered hue a record of the passage of time. To his mind, somewhat unexpectedly, that time had been well spent.

Their first days, admittedly, had been a trifle strained, but once Antonia had found her feet, their interactions had run smoothly. The Little Season would commence tomorrow evening; the round of balls and parties would till the coming weeks. Given Antonia would be introduced as Henrietta's niece, no one would remark on his presence by her side. No eyebrows would be raised when he waltzed with her. A subtle smile curved his lips. Even more to his liking was what would happen every night when they returned to Ruthven House. He had been at pains to establish their nightly routine. At the end of every day, they would repair to his library, comfortable and at ease, she to drink her milk and favour him with her observations, he to sip his brandy and watch the firelight gild her face.

As he climbed the steep steps to his door, Philip realised he was smiling unrestrainedly. Abruptly sobering, he schooled his features to their usual impassive mien. Carring opened the door, bowing deeply before relieving him of his gloves and cane.

Philip glanced at the hall mirror, then frowned and straightened one fold of his cravat. Satisfied, he opened his lips.

"I believe Miss Mannering and Master Geoffrey have gone to the museum, m'lord."

Philip shut his lips. Turning, he shot Carring a narrow-eyed glance, then headed for the library.

The museum? Philip wandered about the library, ultimately halting before his desk to idly flip through his mail. He glanced at the stack of invitations piled on the desk but felt no burning desire to examine them. What to do with the afternoon? He could go to Manton's and hunt up some congenial company. Grimacing, he remained where he was. Long minutes passed as he stared unseeing out of the window, fingers tapping on the polished mahogany. Then his jaw firmed. Turning on his heel, he headed back into the hall.

Carring was waiting by the front door, Philip's gloves and cane held ready in his hands.

Philip cast him a withering look, accepted both gloves and cane, then strode out.

He reached the museum to find it unexpectedly crowded; it took him some time to locate his stepmother's niece. It was Geoffrey he found first, deep in examination of a group of artifacts purported to be Stone Age relics. Geoffrey's absorption was so intense Philip had to clap him on the shoulder to get his attention.

Blinking, Geoffrey focused on Philip's face, then smiled absentmmdedly. "Didn't expect to see you here. Antonia's over there." He pointed to the next room, a large alcove beyond one of the display cases, then promptly returned to the relics.

Exasperation growing, Philip left him to them and pushed through into the next room.

Only to discover his stepmother's niece surrounded by no fewer than five gentlemen.

Antonia looked up to see Philip bearing down upon her. She smiled warmly. "Good day, my lord."

"Good afternoon, my dear."

As his fingers closed, tightly, about hers, Antonia registered the change from languid indolence to clipped abruptness. Rapidly whipping her wits to order, she turned a suddenly wary gaze on her companions. "Ah-I believe I have mentioned Sir Frederick Smallwood, my lord."

Philip nodded stiffly in reply to Sir Frederick's bow. "Smallwood."

Disregarding the menace underlying his tone, Antonia doggedly introduced every last one of her court. “Mr Carruthers was about to favour us with the tale of the discovery of the stone implements displayed over there." Antonia smiled encouragingly at Mr Carruthers.

A student of antiquities, Mr Carruthers promptly launched into his dissertation. As his tale unfolded, encompassing numerous tangents, all described in glowing detail, Antonia felt Philip shift impatiently. When Mr Dashwood asked a question, which led to a lively discussion involving all the other gentlemen, Philip leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "You can't be so bored you consider this amusement?"

Antonia threw him a warning glance. "It's an improvement over staring at the relics."

"The trick is to keep strolling." Philip caught her hand and placed it on his sleeve. "That way, you don't end up collecting so much extraneous baggage."

His hand closed over hers, his intention plain; Antonia held firm. "No!" she hissed. "I can't leave here-I'm waiting for someone."

Philip's eyes locked on hers. The arrested look in them made Antonia's heart skip a beat. "Oh?" he said. One brown brow slowly arched. "Who?"

Antonia cast a distracted glance at her companions; their discussion was slowly winding down. "I'll explain it all later-but we have to stay here." With that, she gave her attention to Sir Frederick.

"Tell me, my dear Miss Mannering." Sir Frederick smiled engagingly. "What do you say to the age of these gold cups?'' He gestured to a large display in the centre of the room. "Are we really to believe such workmanship dates from before Christ?''

Philip raised his eyes to the ceiling. Resisting the urge to simply haul Antonia away, he clenched his jaw and endured fifteen minutes of the most utterly inane discussions. Having very little to do with younger gentlemen, he had never before suffered any similar experience. By the time Antonia abruptly straightened, he was ready to admit that young ladies of the ton might have a cross to bear he had not hitherto appreciated.