Then Demon took her hand; stilling her fears, she shuffled along the seat and let him hand her to the ground. Clutching her parasol's handle tightly, she took his profferred arm, and climbed the steps beside him.

If the house was imposing, slightly scarifying, the butler, Highthorpe, was worse. He opened the door to Demon's knock and looked down his beaked nose at her.

"Ah, Highthorpe-how's the leg?" With an affectionate smile at the butler, Demon handed Flick over the threshold. "Is her ladyship in?"

"My leg is quite improved, thank you, sir." Holding the door wider, Highthorpe bowed deferentially; he closed it after them, and turned, his starchy demeanor somewhat softer. "Her ladyship, I believe, is in her sanctuary."

Demon's smile deepened. "This is Miss Parteger, Highthorpe. She'll be staying with Mama for the nonce. Gillies will bring her bags around."

It might have been a trick of the light beaming through the fanlight, yet Flick could have sworn a gleam of interest flashed in Highthorpe's eyes. He smiled as he bowed again to her. "Miss. I'll mention to Mrs. Helmsley to prepare a room for you at once-I'll have your bags taken there. No doubt you'll wish to refresh yourself after your journey."

"Thank you." Flick smiled back-Highthorpe suddenly sounded much more comfortable. Demon drew her on.

"I'll leave you in the drawing room while I fetch Mama." He opened a door and ushered her inside.

One glance about the elegant blue-and-white room had her turning back to him. "Are you sure this is a good idea? I could always stay with my aunt-"

"Mama will be delighted to meet you." He made the statement as if she hadn't spoken. "I won't be above a few minutes."

He went out, closing the door behind him. Flick stared at the white painted panels-he didn't come back in. Sighing, she looked around.

She considered the white damask settee, then looked down at her plain, definitely old, outmoded pelisse. Putting one in contact with the other seemed like sacrilege. So she stayed on her feet and shook out her skirts, trying vainly to rearrange them to hide the creases. What would Lady Horatia-the lady who presided over such a well-appointed drawing room-think of her in her far-from-elegant attire?

The point proved academic.

The latch clicked, the door swung wide, and a tall, commandingly elegant lady swept in.

And descended on her, a huge smile on her face, her eyes alight with a welcome Flick could not imagine what she'd done to deserve. But there was no mistaking the warmth with which Lady Horatia embraced her.

"My dear!" Touching a scented cheek to hers, Lady Horatia straightened and held her at arms' length, not to inspect her dowdy pelisse but to look into her face. "I'm so very delighted to meet you, and to welcome you to this house. Indeed"-she shot a glance at Demon-"I understand it will be my pleasure to introduce you to the ton." Looking back at Flick, Lady Horatia beamed. "I couldn't be more delighted!"

Flick smiled warmly, gratefully.

Lady Horatia's smile deepened; her blue eyes, very like Demon's, twinkled expressively. "Now we can send Harry away and get acquainted."

Flick blinked, then realized, as Lady Horatia turned to Demon, that she was referring to him.

"You may come back for dinner." Lady Horatia raised a brow-the gesture appeared haughtily teasing. "I presume you are free?"

Demon-Harry-merely smiled. "Of course." He looked at Flick. "I'll see you at seven." With a nod for her and another for his mother, he turned and strolled to the door; it shut softly behind him.

"Well!" Lady Horatia turned to Flick, and smiled exultantly. "At last!"

Chapter 15

Despite their languid elegance, when Cynsters acted, things happened in a rash. After luncheon, Horatia whisked Flick into her carriage, off to a family afternoon tea.

"Grosvenor Square's not far," Horatia assured her. "And Helena is going to be as delighted as I to meet you."

"Helena?" Flick sifted through the names Horatia had mentioned over luncheon.

"My sister-in-law. Mother of Sylvester, better known as Devil, now Duke of St. Ives. Helena is the Dowager. She and I only had sons-she, Sylvester and Richard, me, Vane and Harry. Sylvester, Richard and Vane are all married-" Horatia glanced at Flick. "Didn't Harry tell you?"

Flick shook her head; Horatia grimaced. "He always was one to ignore details. So-" Horatia settled back; Flick dutifully paid attention. "Sylvester married Honoria Anstruther-Wetherby over a year ago. Sebastian, their son, is eight months old. Honoria's increasing again, so while they'll doubtless come to town for the Season proper, the ducal couple are presently in Cambridgeshire.

"Which brings us to Vane. He married Patience Debbington last November. Patience is increasing, too, so we don't expect to see them for a few weeks, either. As for Richard, he married quite unexpectedly in Scotland before Christmas. There was a spot of bother-Sylvester, Honoria, Vane, Patience and Helena-and a few others-went north, but all seems to have settled comfortably and Helena is in alt at the prospect of more grandchildren.

"However," Horatia declared, reaching her peroration, "as neither Honoria nor Patience, nor Richard's Catriona, were young misses in need of help and guidance, neither Helena nor I have ever had a young lady to fuss over." Eyes bright, she patted Flick's hand. "So I'm afraid, my dear, that you'll have to put up with the two of us fussing over you-you're our last chance in that arena, you see."

Flick smiled spontaneously. "On the contrary, I would be glad of your help." Her gaze drifted over the fashionable ladies and gentlemen strolling the pavements. "I've no real idea how one should go on in London." She looked down at her pretty but definitely not chic gown, blushed slightly, and caught Horatia's eye. "Please do hint me in the right direction-I would be very unhappy to be an embarrassment to you and D-Harry."

"Nonsense." Horatia squeezed Flick's hand fondly. "I doubt you could embarrass me if you tried." Her eyes twinkled. "And certainly not my son." Flick blushed; Horatia chuckled. "With a little guidance, a little experience, and a little town bronze, you'll do very well."

Grateful for the reassurance, Flick sat back and wondered how to broach the question uppermost in her mind. Horatia clearly viewed her as a future daughter-in-law, which was what she hoped to be. But she hadn't yet accepted Demon, and wouldn't, not until… Drawing a determined breath, she looked at Horatia. "Did D-Harry explain that I haven't agreed…"

"Oh, indeed. And I can't tell you how grateful I am that you had the wit not to accept him straightaway." Horatia frowned disapprovingly. "These things should take time-time enough to organize a proper wedding, at least. Unfortunately, that's not the way they see it." Her tone made it clear she was speaking of the males of the family. "If it's left to them, they'll sweep you past a cleric and into bed with the barest 'by-your-leave'!"

Flick choked; misinterpreting, Horatia patted her hand. "I know you won't mind my plain speaking-you're old enough to understand these things."

Flick went to nod and stopped herself; her blush was because she did know, and appreciated Horatia's insight-that was certainly how Demon had imagined it. Only, being him, he'd transposed the cleric and the bed. "I think time-at least a little time-is a necessity in this case."

"Good!" The carriage rocked, then halted; Horatia looked up. "Ah-here we are."

The groom opened the door and let down the steps, then handed Flick, then his mistress, to the pavement. Horatia nodded at the magnificent mansion reached by a sweeping set of steps. "St. Ives House."

The afternoon had turned gloriously fine-tables, chairs and chaises were set out on the lawn of the enclosed gardens. At Lady Horatia's side, Flick left the house, stepping past the deferential butler and onto the terrace. She saw a small host of well-dressed ladies, ranging in age from very old to a girl barely out of the schoolroom, congregating on the lawn.

There was not a gentleman in sight.

Parasols dipped and swayed above smart coiffures, protecting delicate complexions. Other ladies simply sat back, glorying in the weak sunshine, smiling, laughing and chatting. While substantial, the noise was not overpowering-indeed, it subtly beckoned. There was a gaiety, a relaxed sense of ease pervading the group, unexpected in conjunction with its blatantly tonnish air. This wasn't fashion and brittle frivolity-this was a fashionable family gathering; the distinction was clear.

The large number of guests was a surprise; Horatia had assured her she would meet only family members and a few close connections. Before she managed to fully grasp the reality, a beautiful older woman came sweeping up to meet them as they descended the steps to the lawn.

" 'Oratia!" The Dowager exchanged kisses with her sister-in-law, but her gaze had already moved on to Flick. "And who is this?" A glorious smile and bright eyes softened the abrupt query.

"Allow me to present Miss Felicity Parteger-Helena, Dowager Duchess of St. Ives, my dear."

Flick curtsied deeply. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace."

As she straightened, Helena took her hand, directing an arrested, inquiring glance at Horatia.

"Felicity is Gordon Caxton's ward."

With one blink, Helena had the reference pegged. "Ah-the good General." She smiled at Flick. "Is he well?"