Her ladyship's black eyes studied her carefully while the petit four was consumed. "Not just in the usual way and an Anstruther-Wetherby to boot, heh? What's your grandfather say to this match, miss?"

"I have no idea," Honoria answered calmly. "But you're laboring under a misapprehension. I'm not marrying anyone."

Lady Osbaldestone blinked. "Not even St. Ives?"

"Particularly not St. Ives." Deciding she might as well eat, Honoria selected a small tea cake and nibbled delicately.

Her declaration had struck Lady Osbaldestone dumb. For a full minute, her black eyes, narrowed, rested on Honoria's profile, then her ladyship's face cracked in a wide smile; she cackled gleefully. "Oh, you'll do. Keep up that pose, miss, and you'll do for Devil Cynster nicely."

Haughtily, Honoria looked down her nose. "I have no interest in His Grace of St. Ives."

"Oh-ho!" Her ladyship poked her arm with a bony finger. "But has His Grace an interest in you?"

Her eyes trapped in her ladyship's black gaze, Honoria wished she could lie. Lady Osbaldestone's grin grew wider. "Take my advice, girl-make sure he never loses it. Never let him take you for granted. The best way to hold such men is to make them work for their pleasure."

Adopting a martyred expression, Honoria sighed. "I really am not going to marry him."

Lady Osbaldestone, suddenly terrifyingly sober, looked at Honoria through old black eyes. "Girl-you don't have a choice. No-!" She pointed a skeletal finger. "Don't poker up and stick that Anstruther-Wetherby chin in the air. There's no benefit in running from fate. Devil Cynster has all but declared he wants you-which means he'll have you-and if that chin is any guide, it'll be a good thing, too. And as he's too experienced to pursue where there's no reciprocating sentiment, you needn't think to deny it." Her ladyship snorted. "You'd have to be dead to be immune to his temptation-and you don't look too desiccated to me."

A blush stole into Honoria's cheeks; Lady Osbaldestone nodded. "Your mother's dead-so's your grandmother-so I'll give you the right advice in their stead. Accept fate's decree-marry the devil and make it work. Handsome may be as handsome is, but underneath it all he's a good man. You're a strong woman-that's the way it should be. And despite any thoughts of yours, the devil, in this case, is right. The Cynsters need you; the Anstruther-Wetherbys, strange to tell, need you as a Cynster, too. Fate has landed you precisely where you're supposed to be."

Leaning forward, she held Honoria's gaze mercilously. "And besides, if you don't take him on, who do you imagine will? Some namby-pamby chit with more hair than wit? Do you hate him so much you'd condemn him to that-a marriage with no passion?"

Honoria couldn't breathe. A gust of laughter reached them; the rustle of silk heralded an approaching lady. "There you are, Josephine. Are you grilling poor Miss Anstruther-Wetherby?"

Lady Osbaldestone finally consented to release Honoria; she glanced up at the newcomer. "Good afternoon, Emily. I was merely giving Miss Anstruther-Wetherby the benefit of my experienced counsel." She waved Honoria to her feet. "Off you go-and remember what I said. And take those cakes away-they're fattening."

Shaken, her features stiff, Honoria bobbed a curtsy to Emily, Lady Cowper, then, head high, let the crowd swallow her. Unfortunately, many ladies were waiting to waylay her, to quiz her on her new relationship.

"Has St. Ives taken you to Richmond yet? The trees are quite lovely at present."

"And where are you planning to spend the festive season, my dear?"

Sidestepping such inquiries required tact and skill, difficult with her mind reeling from Lady Osbaldestone's lecture. Spying Amanda and Amelia half-hidden by a palm, Honoria sought refuge with them. Their eyes lit up when they saw the cake plate; she handed it over without comment.

"Mama said we should come and see what 'at homes' are like," Amanda said around a miniature currant bun.

"We're to be brought out next year," Amelia added.

Honoria watched them eat. "How are you?"

Both girls looked up, openly, without any trace of pain. They both screwed up their faces in thought, then Amanda offered: "All right, I think."

"We keep expecting him to come for dinner-just like he always did." Amelia looked down and picked up a last crumb.

Amanda nodded. "Laughing and joking, just like that last night."

Honoria frowned. "Last night?"

"The night before he was shot."

Honoria blinked. "Tolly came to dinner the night before he died?"

Amelia nodded. "He was in great spirits-he usually was. He played spillikins with the young ones, then after dinner, we all played Speculation. It was great fun."

"That's…" Honoria blinked again. "Nice-I mean, that you have such good memories of him."

"Yes." Amanda nodded. "It is nice." She appeared to dwell on the fact, then looked at Honoria. "When are you going to marry Devil?"

The question hit Honoria right in the chest. She looked into the twins' eyes, four orbs of innocent blue, and cleared her throat. "We haven't decided."

"Oh," they chorused, and smiled benignly.

Honoria beat a hasty retreat and headed for an empty alcove. Inwardly, she cursed. First Lady Osbaldestone, now Tolly's sisters. Who else was lining up to shake her resolution? The answer was unexpected.

"How are you coping with being absorbed into the clan?"

The soft question had Honoria turning, to meet Louise Cynster's still-weary eyes. Tolly's mother smiled. "It takes a little getting used to, I know."

Honoria drew a deep breath. "It's not that." She hesitated, then, encouraged by Louise's calm expression, forged on: "I haven't actually agreed to marry Devil-just to consider the idea." With a gesture that encompassed the room, she added: "I feel like a fraud."

To her relief, Louise didn't laugh or turn the comment lightly aside. Instead, after a moment scrutinizing her face, she put a hand on her arm. "You're not certain, are you?"

"No." Her voice was barely a whisper. After a minute, she added: "I thought I was." It was the truth-plain, unvarnished; the realization left her stunned. What had he-they-done to her? What had happened to Africa?

"It's normal to feel hesitant." Louise spoke reassuringly, with no hint of condescension. "Especially in such a case, where the decision is so much your own." She glanced at Honoria. "My own case was similar. Arthur was there, ready to lay his heart and all that came with it at my feet-everything hung on my whim." Her lips curved, her gaze becoming lost in reminiscence. "It's easy to make decisions when no one but yourself is involved, but when there are others to consider, it's natural to question your judgment. Particularly if the gentleman concerned is a Cynster." Her smile deepened; she glanced again at Honoria. "Doubly so if he's Devil Cynster."

"He's a tyrant," Honoria declared.

Louise laughed. "You'll get no argument from me on that score. All the Cynsters are dictatorially inclined, but Devil dictates to all the rest."

Honoria humphed. "He's inflexible-and far too used to getting his own way."

"You should ask Helena about that someday-she has stories that will curl your hair. You won't need the tongs for a week."

Honoria frowned. "I thought you were encouraging me."

Louise smiled. "I am-but that doesn't mean I can't see Devil's faults. But for all those-and you won't find a Cynster wife who's not had to cope with the same-there's a great deal to be said for a man who will unfailingly be there to shoulder the burdens, who, regardless of all else, is devoted to his family. Devil may be the leader of the pack-the president of the Bar Cynster-but give him a son or a daughter, and he'll happily sit in Cambridgeshire and play spillikins every night."

Unbidden, the image Louise's words conjured up took shape in Honoria's mind-a large, black-haired, harsh-featured male sprawled on a rug before a blazing fire with a child in petticoats clambering over him. Watching the scene, she felt a warm glow of pride, of satisfaction; she heard the child's shrill giggles over a deeper rumbling laugh-she could almost reach out and touch them. She waited-waited for the fear that had always dogged her to rise up and swallow the image whole, to banish it to the realm of unattainable dreams. She waited-and still the image glowed.

Firelight sheened on both black heads, unruly locks thick and wild. It gilded the child's upturned face-in her mind, Honoria stretched out her hand to the man's familiar shoulder, hard and stable as rock beneath her fingers. Unable to help herself, fascinated beyond recall, she reached, hesitantly, so hesitantly, for the child's face. It shrieked with laughter and ducked its head; her fingers touched hair like silky down, soft as a butterfly's wing. Emotion welled, unlike any she'd known. Dazed, she shook her head.

Then she blinked rapidly and hauled in a quick breath. She focused on Louise, idly scanning the crowd. What had she said? "The Bar Cynster?"

"Ah!" Louise sent her an arch look, then glanced about. No one was close enough to hear. "They think we don't know, but it's a standing joke among the gentlemen about town. Some wit coined the term when Richard and Harry followed Devil and Vane to London, supposedly to denote a…certain rite of passage. With Richard and Harry, of course, there was never any doubt that they would follow Devil and Vane into the customary Cynster pursuits." Her emphasis and the look in her eye left no doubt as to what those pursuits were. "Later, when Rupert and Alasdair went on the town, it was merely a matter of time before they, too, were called to the Bar Cynster."