Kit jerked up her head, startled. "Oh… no, Your Grace."

"I must say I am glad to hear it, my dear. We shall show them that we're made of sterner stuff, what?"

"Of course," Kit murmured. She glanced down at the napkin on her lap, the scone a rather crumbly mess in the center of it, and folded it back up and set it aside, her appetite gone. Apprehension coiled in the pit of her stomach, and remained no matter how hard she tried to dispel it. She would not be the one to suggest that they leave Broadwell Manor, even to get away from the marquess; she could not break her word, nor would she cry coward. This was about the dowager's happiness, not hers.

Lord Bainbridge's words to her yesterday in the gallery told her exactly what he wanted from her, just as his kiss had told her that he was not a man to be put off.

His kiss.

Embarrassed heat scorched her face. Why on earth had she allowed him to bait her like that? To talk of seduction-she blushed again-in such a frank and open conversation? What a great looby she had been! The marquess had planned the whole thing from start to finish; he had probably been the one to suggest to the dowager that he return to the house to "check on" her. And she had fallen neatly into his trap. But her body had betrayed her. She had luxuriated in the sensation of his lips over hers, of his strong arms enfolding her body. She twitched. No matter how much she enjoyed it, she would not let him seduce her, not until he had followed through with his part of the bargain. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the bench.

"I was right, you know," commented the dowager.

"I beg your pardon?" Kit sat up in an instant.

The elderly woman regarded her with speculation. "Woolgathering, child? That is unlike you. Is anything the matter?"

Kit's blush intensified. "No. Please go on, Your Grace."

"I was merely going to say that my suspicions are correct, that my grandson and the rest of the family are plotting against me."

"Plotting against you?" Kit repeated. She flinched. She really must stop doing that. "What makes you say that?"

"Not only did they have the gall to tell me that it is high time for me to retire to the dower house in Wiltshire," she huffed, "and to stop embarrassing them with my exploits and odd starts, but this morning my grandson actually threatened to keep the children away from me unless I accede to his wishes. Of all the cheek!"

The pit in the bottom of Kit's stomach yawned wider. Oh, God, it was as she feared. They would have to act quickly, before a compromise became impossible.

"The duke may have spoken in anger," she soothed. "After all, the two of you are quite alike in your temperaments."

"Well, I suppose so," grumped the duchess. She hesitated. "I have never embarrassed you, have I child?"

"No, Your Grace," Kit insisted. She reached out and gave the dowager's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Never. And you know I am truthful enough to tell you what is de trop."

"Dear child"-her eyes grew moist, and she cleared her throat-"I do not know what I will do if I cannot see my great-grandchildren. Perhaps… perhaps it is time for me to retire."

"Do not give up hope, Your Grace." Kit's mouth hardened. "The week is not over. Something may yet be done to make the duke see reason."

"Reason?" erupted the dowager. She fumbled for her handkerchief. "That oaf will see reason when pigs grow wings."

"The duke is uncommonly stubborn," Kit admitted. "Then again, Your Grace, so are you."

"I?" The dowager drew herself up.

Kit shrugged. "You are, ma'am, and you know it."

"Oh, well, I suppose I am. But not as stubborn as he is."

Kit struggled to hide her grin; such a gesture would only goad the duchess to further heights of indignation.

Then the duchess looked toward the house. "Ah, here comes my great-nephew-we shall ask his opinion. Good morning, Bainbridge."

Kit froze.

The marquess strode down the center path with a jaunty gait, one hand raised in greeting. He cut a handsome figure this morning in his jacket of charcoal gray superfine, buff inexpressibles, and highly polished Hessians. Kit forced her gaze to focus at the level of his snowy cravat, no higher; to look into his eyes meant ruin.

"Good morning, Your Grace. Good morning, Mrs. Mallory," he called as he drew close.

"Good morning," Kit muttered between clenched teeth. She had been relieved to avoid him at the breakfast table, and yet here he was. And, from the teasing light in his dark eyes, she could see he was quite pleased with himself for having found her.

Bainbridge made an elegant leg. "You are looking well, Mrs. Mallory," he said. "I am delighted to see that your megrim no longer troubles you."

The nerve of the man! Kit glared at him. "Thank you, my lord, but I fear another pain has come along to take its place."

He grinned.

The dowager looked askance at her. Kit raised her chin.

"I have brought some good news," he announced. "If the weather cooperates, we shall picnic on the lakeshore this afternoon."

"A picnic?" The dowager raised a doubtful eyebrow. "And whose suggestion was this?"

He cocked his head toward her. "Her Grace thought it might give us all a chance to enjoy each other's company in a more informal setting, and to allow the children to spend some time with you."

Kit threw a wary glance at the marquess. A picnic? The fussy, prim-and-proper duchess had proposed a picnic? Her eyes narrowed. Fustian. Either this was Lord Bainbridge's doing, or the duke was putting the screws to his grandmother, showing her just what she would be denied if she did not capitulate. How could anyone be so cruel? She pressed her lips together.

A visible struggle between delight and despair crossed the dowager's face. "Well, I must compliment my grand-daughter-in-law on such a fine idea. The children will be delighted."

"Take heart, Your Grace," Kit said softly. "Everything will work out."

"Has something happened?" the marquess asked, frowning.

The young woman regarded him sadly. "His Grace has issued an ultimatum. If the dowager does not do what he says, he will prevent her from seeing his children."

Bainbridge swore under his breath. Then he straightened his shoulders, reached down for the dowager's hand, and bowed over it. "I assure you, ma'am, that I will not allow this to happen." He shot an intent look at Kit.

A sad smile curved the dowager's lips. "You are a dear boy, Bainbridge, but I doubt you will be able to change that ninny's mind. He can be so damnably stubborn."

"He can indeed, ma'am," agreed the marquess in a steely tone. "But so can I. Mrs. Mallory and I believe we might be able to make him rescind his decision about the children."

"Oh you can, can you?" The dowager looked pointedly between the two of them. "And what hugger-mugger is this?"

Bainbridge lanced another significant glance at Kit. "Mrs. Mallory and I spoke yesterday afternoon regarding our mutual concern for Your Grace's happiness, and we may have come up with a plan."

An odd expression crossed the dowager's face. "And what sort of plan is this?"

"Both you and the duke are very set on having your own way," Kit ventured.

"Are you calling me bullheaded, child?" demanded the dowager.

Kit did not flinch. "Yes, Your Grace. Both of you are stubborn, bullheaded, and obstinate. If both of you insist on getting your own way, then both of you will end up monstrously unhappy. Lord Bainbridge and I care for you a great deal, and neither of us wants to see that happen."

The dowager's eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at, child?"

"Very well, ma'am-I shall be blunt. We want to find a compromise, something that will satisfy both you and the duke."

"A compromise?" The dowager's painted brows shot upward.

"Yes, Your Grace."

Just as quickly, her eyebrows plummeted into a scowl. "Well, if by compromise you mean giving in to that little twit, I won't do it."

"But, Your Grace-"

"I won't do it. I will not let that young popinjay dictate to me. I will not!"

"Please, Aunt," Bainbridge began.

The dowager rose, her bosom puffed out like a pigeon's. "I had thought better of you, Bainbridge, than to ask me to surrender my dignity. I will not budge, do you hear? Not one inch!" With that, she pulled her shawl around her and swept down the garden path.

The marquess grinned as he watched Her Grace flounce into the house. "I think that went rather well, don't you?"

Kit rolled her eyes. "Well? She categorically refused us!"

"What did you expect?"

Kit put a hand to her temple. "I don't know. Suspicion, doubt, relief… anything but an explosion like that. This will not be easy."

"Did you think it would be? Did you think we would propose this cozy arrangement and have everyone agree to it just like that?" He snapped his fingers.

"No, of course not," Kit snapped, irritated.

Bainbridge rubbed his chin. "We are dealing with two very proud, very obstinate individuals."

"That much is obvious, my lord," she replied with no little sarcasm.

He sighed. "I'm saying that we must proceed with caution. I fear that both of us speaking to the dowager like this put her on the defensive; she suspected that we were trying to force her to change her mind."

Kit considered a moment, then bit her lip. "I had not thought of that," she admitted. "So what do we do now?"

The marquess clasped his hands behind his back. "I propose a two-pronged attack: I will deal with the duke while you plead our case to the dowager. Then, and only then, do we put them together to finalize the agreement."

"Do you think we can succeed in only a week?"

"We must, if we don't want them to be completely forlorn for the rest of their lives. And I, for one, don't particularly like dealing with miserable people; they tend to make everyone around them miserable, as well. Short of locking them in a room together and refusing to let them out until they agree, I see no other option."