“Yes?” Belinda inquired.

He fought to subdue a grin. “A word, if you please, before you rush off to change.”

Belinda frowned; she’d been about to use changing for dinner as an excuse. He gestured to the drawing room, currently empty. With a light shrug, she surrendered and led the way.

Annabel and Jane followed her. Strolling in behind them, he wasn’t surprised when they halted and faced him as he shut the door.

“What is it?” Belinda asked.

He met her gaze, then Annabel’s, and lastly Jane’s. “While I appreciate your sentiments and would hope to have your support should I require it, I would infinitely prefer that you do not try to use your undoubted wiles on Madeline.”

As one, they frowned at him.

“Why not?” Annabel asked. “We did perfectly well this afternoon.”

Belinda nodded. “Jane was particularly good.”

Jane smiled beatifically. “She wants to take care of me now.”

He was suddenly unsure just what they had done. Let alone achieved. “Just what did you say?”

“It wasn’t what we said,” Belinda informed him, “but how we said it. Madeline now knows the threat we face should you marry some lady who doesn’t take to us, and she’s wise enough to know that our belief in that threat isn’t totally without foundation.”

“Not just a figment of our imaginations,” Annabel put in.

“So, of course, being the sort of person she is, and acting in her usual capacity as de facto protector of the weak in this neighborhood, she now feels protective of us.” Belinda beamed at him. “Which is precisely how we want her to feel, and if you have any nous at all you’ll see that that’s to your advantage.”

Once again he was getting that feeling of slowly sliding out of his depth. He had a nasty suspicion that with his half sisters, he was going to be feeling that increasingly. He took a moment to regroup, then said, “I agree that today you succeeded in your aim without causing any problem, but what concerns me is…” How to put it? “If you press too hard and open her eyes too early, you’re liable to scupper my efforts. For various reasons, I have to bring her around to the notion of marriage, convince her of the benefits before I even hint at such a thing. If you jerk her to awareness too soon, then my row is going to be much harder to hoe, and-if you’ll recall-Madeline marrying me is the outcome we all desire, you three included.”

“Well, of course,” Belinda said.

“Indeed,” Annabel stated.

Jane just nodded emphatically.

He searched their bright eyes. “So you won’t make any further attempts to manipulate Madeline or tamper with her emotions?”

Belinda flashed him a brilliant smile. “Don’t worry. We won’t do anything that might make it harder for you to win her hand.”

The other two smiled and nodded.

Gervase studied their expressions, and knew that was the best he was going to do. “Very well.”

Still smiling, they bustled to the door.

“Just remember,” he reiterated as they reached it. “No more manipulating Madeline.”

They each cast him a smiling, sisterly glance as they went out, leaving him anything but reassured.


He returned to the forecourt to find Harry waiting to speak with him.

“If you have a moment, there’s, ah…something I’d like to discuss.”

“Of course.” Gervase waved to the ramparts and they headed that way.

Reaching the steps, they went up, and strolled along, faces to the wind, much as he had earlier with Madeline. Harry remained silent, clearly nervous. More used to interrogating than waiting for confidences, Gervase was wondering if there was something he should say to ease the lad’s way when Harry slowed, halted, and turned to look out to sea.

Halting a pace away, Gervase studied his profile, then looked out over the waves, too.

“It’s…about Madeline.” Harry drew in a tight breath and rushed on, “You see, we’ve-Edmond, Ben and me-well, we’ve noticed you seem quite taken with her and we wondered…well, she’s our sister and there’s no one else who might ask, so as I’m her brother…” Harry hauled in a huge breath and swung to face him. “We thought I should ask-”

“What my intentions are.” Gervase nodded, serious and quite sober. He kept his gaze on the sea, giving Harry time to recover his equilibrium. “Indeed. That’s entirely appropriate.”

He hesitated, then forced himself to go on; he might have skirted the edges of his dilemma in warning off his sisters, but given the right Harry had claimed, a right he unquestionably possessed, age or no, then he had to answer with the truth-which meant he had to articulate a problem he’d been doing his best to ignore. “The crux of the matter is I am interested in offering for Madeline’s hand, but she has yet to agree even to consider such an offer.” He paused, then went on, “As you’re aware, she is, quite literally, her own master-and I use that term advisedly. When I first…drew close to her, she noticed, of course. Through our subsequent discussions it was made abundantly plain that she absolutely refuses to credit any vision of herself as my countess.”

“But…why?”

Gervase turned to see Harry blinking at him.

“I mean, there’s no reason she couldn’t be your countess, is there?” Harry frowned. “I know we’re not that old or experienced, but it seemed as if everyone else”-with a gesture he encompassed the surrounding neighborhood-“sees her in that light, or near to it, already.”

“Indeed. There’s no impediment whatever-other than in your sister’s mind. I fully intend to change her mind, but you’ve no doubt had experience of how easy that is to accomplish, especially when she believes she’s right.”

“Ah.” Harry’s expression blanked.

“Just so. However, I am endeavoring, and”-Gervase started to stroll once more-“am determined to prevail. That, however, is going to take time and…a certain degree of persuasion.”

He was silent for a full minute, searching for words with which to convey what he knew he must. “So now you and your brothers know of my intentions, my sisters know, Sybil knows-”

“I think Muriel knows, too,” Harry said.

Gervase inclined his head. “All those who need to know, know or have guessed. The only relevant person who doesn’t know my intentions is…Madeline herself.” He held up a hand to stay Harry’s surprised query. “The reason for that is simple-she told me her entrenched views regarding the notion of herself as my wife before I could broach the subject. So to have any real chance of her accepting my offer-this being Madeline-I have to convince her to change her mind about her filling the position of my countess before I speak, indeed before she gets any inkling that making an offer is my intention, and indeed was from the first.”

Harry was silent for several minutes, working through the emotional logic, then he grimaced. “If you make an offer first, before she thinks the notion is reasonable, she’ll refuse-and avoid you like the plague thereafter, so you can never get near enough to convince her she’s wrong.”

Gervase’s reply was dry. “I thought you’d understand.”

They’d reached the end of the ramparts. Halting at the top of the steps, they surveyed the forecourt, a field of trestles and booths and awnings.

After a moment, Gervase murmured, “I’d appreciate it if you and your brothers kept your knowledge of my intentions a close secret until I succeed in changing your sister’s mind.”

“Oh, we will-never fear.” Harry flashed him a grin. “We wouldn’t want to queer your pitch.”

Gervase smiled easily back. They started down the steps.

As they reached the cobbles, Harry sighed. “Females are so damned difficult, aren’t they?”

“Indeed,” Gervase returned, jaw firming. “That, and more.”


Unfortunately, as he’d realized some time ago, females were also beings it was impossible to live without.

He kept repeating that truism to himself throughout the following day while endeavoring to keep an easy smile on his lips while about him females of every degree ran amok. Those closely related to him were the worst.

The day of the festival dawned bright and clear; by seven o’clock, as Madeline had prophesied, stall holders were filing into the forecourt, opening up their booths, laying out their wares. By eight o’clock, when after a rushed breakfast he came out to stand at the top of the castle steps, many locals with produce or handicrafts to display or enter into the various competitions were flowing through the main gate.

Burnham, his stablemaster, came to the bottom of the steps. “When do you want us to open the other gates, m’lord?”

Gervase considered the stream of people being greeted by two burly grooms as they passed through the main gate. “As soon as there’s any queue at the main gate, open the other two. Just remember to keep two men at each gate.”

Burnham touched his cap. “I’ll make sure. There’s enough of us to spell each other, so we all get a look at what’s about.”

Gervase nodded. Then, squaring his shoulders and summoning an easy smile, he went down the steps and plunged into the already swelling melee.

The unexpected talk with Harry, combined with his sisters’ helpful efforts, had brought home to him that in pursuing Madeline, his intentions were transparent to most around them and would only become increasingly so. He wasn’t hiding his interest in her from others; there was, therefore, no reason not to use others-their attitudes, their expectations-to further his aim.

Consequently, he’d made suitable arrangements for the day.

When Madeline arrived at the castle with Muriel and her brothers it was nearly nine o’clock. Gervase met her by the castle steps. Sybil came out onto the porch, Belinda, Annabel and Jane in her wake.

Greetings exchanged, Sybil, surprisingly, took charge. “Now,” she said, “I’ve insisted that as he’s been away for so long-indeed, has never been the host of the festival before-Gervase should spend the day circulating among our visitors. I’ll remain here and act as coordinator for any problems-the girls will run any errands or messages that need to be delivered.”