Lady Meredith waved her hand dismissively. “That was ages ago. Besides, it was a challenge to bring him around. I like a challenge.”

“I like a challenge, too,” Dorothea said, internally scoffing at the notion that the handsome marquess was genuinely interested in her. She was a country lass, with an unimpressive dowry and very little family connections. “But I fear the Marquess of Atwood is a trifle too high in the instep to have any true interest in me. And I cannot even contemplate trying to impress his father, the Duke of Hansborough.”

“Still, this was your second dance,” Lady Meredith mused.

Dorothea shrugged. “Perhaps he was showing an interest in me merely to vex his father.”

“Stranger things have been known to happen. We shall assess his sincerity when he comes to call,” Lady Meredith decided.

Dorothea’s eyes widened. “I do believe we are getting ahead of ourselves. Lord Atwood did not indicate that he would be calling upon me.”

“That does not mean he won’t present himself on my doorstep,” the marquess grumbled. “Hat in one hand, flowers in the other. If he invites you on a carriage ride, I insist that you bring Meredith along as a chaperone.”

“Dashing young men his age drive those sporty phaetons, Trevor,” Lady Meredith said mildly. “There is only room for two. Where exactly am I to sit? On Lord Atwood’s lap?”

“If you did, I would be forced to challenge him to a duel. ’Twould be a pity to end the life of one so young.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Lady Meredith reached across the table and placed her hand over her husband’s. He immediately turned his palm up and gripped Lady Meredith’s hand tightly. “There will be no duels, Trevor,” she said in a soft, yet insistent tone.

“I protect my own,” the marquess said with exasperation, “and that includes Dorothea.”

“Thank you,” Dorothea hastily replied. Though it was rather appalling to think of the marquess fighting a duel for her, it also heartened her to know there was someone who would stand by and make sure she was safe, guarded from any man who would abuse her.

Her uncle Fletcher had not shown anything near the same level of concern for any of his three nieces, though he vowed to reform just before Dorothea came to London.

“Of course you must protect her,” Lady Meredith said. “Using your intelligence and influence, not your sword or pistol.” Lady Meredith pulled her hand away and brushed a stray wisp of hair off her cheek. “Now, there shall be no more talk of violence. The very idea utterly ruins my appetite.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the marquess nodded. He speared a delicate scallop with the tines of his fork and held it toward his wife. With an impish grin, she accepted the peace offering, her lips closing suggestively over the tasty morsel.

Good. That was very nicely settled. Though she was far too often the cause of it, family discord always made Dorothea nervous. She was pleased that Lady Meredith and the marquess had so amicably settled their difference.

Only one hurdle remained. Dorothea took a deep breath. “Arthur Pengrove proposed to me earlier this evening,” she announced in a breathless rush.

Lord and Lady Dardington shared a cryptic glance before Lady Meredith’s delicately arched brow lifted. “Really?”

“There is no cause for you to look so worried,” Dorothea said with deliberate lightness. “I turned him down. Or rather, I convinced him he was far too young to take on the responsibility of a wife.”

“Thank you,” the marquess said sincerely. “Enduring a meeting with Pengrove would have been torture for me. I’m certain I would have felt as though I was kicking a rabbit when I forbade him to propose.”

Dorothea’s head swiveled in the marquess’s direction. “You would have turned him away?”

“Of course.”

The marquess nodded and returned to his meal, spearing a large piece of rare roast beef on his fork. Dorothea regarded him warily as he chewed his food with obvious relish.

“But what if I wanted to marry Mr. Pengrove?”

Lord Dardington paused, his fork halfway between his mouth and his plate. “Why in the world would you want to spend your life with Arthur Pengrove?”

“I don’t. But if I did, would you prevent it? Can you prevent it?”

“My dear girl, I can do just about anything I please,” the marquess answered in a firm tone. “And I want every gentleman within a ten-mile radius of London to be very aware of that fact.”

Dorothea swallowed her panic. It was daunting to be faced with the reality of how much power the marquess had over her, even though this was only a temporary arrangement. The prospect of having to find a man that met with his approval was unsettling. Most unsettling, indeed.

Lady Meredith must have sensed Dorothea’s distress, for she gave her husband a troubled look. “What Trevor means to say is that we have taken the responsibility for your future happiness very much to heart. We agreed to be your sponsor this Season so you would have the opportunity to meet and mingle with a variety of eligible men.

“Ultimately, however, it is your uncle Fletcher who will make the decision regarding the suitability of your future husband, since he is your blood relative. We only hope that you will at least listen to our advice before making your choice, since we are acquainted with most of these gentlemen and their families.”

“Men can be idiots when it comes to finding a bride,” the marquess said cheerfully. “In my case, it was sheer luck that brought Meredith into my life. I was too blind and pigheaded to at first see she was the very best thing that could have happened to me.”

“Oh, Trevor.”

Lord Dardington ran the tip of his finger lightly over his wife’s bare hand. Dorothea glanced away. There was so much affection and regard in that simple gesture; it made her feel like a voyeur to witness it.

Was this what she wanted for herself? A husband who treated her as an equal, who considered her opinions, who on occasion deferred to her wishes, who obviously adored her?

Or did she want a husband who basically left her on her own? One who was an amiable companion, an elegant escort, a solid provider? It was a question she pondered daily, yet she had not reached a definitive conclusion.

The one thing she did know with certainty was that she would not marry a man whom she did not enjoy kissing. Hence any man she considered a reasonable candidate earned himself an uninhibited kiss from her. It was her final test. Alas, thus far no gentlemen had passed it.

Lord Dardington pulled his attention away from his wife and once again regarded Dorothea. “It hardly takes a genius to see that Arthur Pengrove was not the man for you.”

“He is a man of good character,” Dorothea protested, feeling slightly annoyed that the marquess so clearly saw what she had not-that Arthur was very much the wrong man to be her husband.

“Yes, Pengrove is a fine man,” Lord Dardington agreed. “A kind, affable fellow who would bore you to tears within a month of marriage. And then who knows what could happen? In my experience, an unhappy wife can make for all sorts of mischief.”

Dorothea blushed to the roots of her hair. “Are you calling my honor into question, my lord?”

“No.” He gave a great sigh. “Allow me to share with you the benefits of my age and experience, Dorothea. You are far too naïve and pretty for your own good. As a discontented wife, you would be easy prey for every rake and rogue in society. And believe me, we are in no short supply of them.”

The marquess excused himself and went in search of some dessert for the three of them. Dorothea sat quietly, pondering his words.

“I hope Trevor has not caused you undue anguish,” Lady Meredith said. “This whole marriage business can be rather nerve-racking for a female.”

Dorothea nodded, her spirits lifting at Lady Meredith’s kindness and sympathy. “I had no idea it would be so complicated, so confusing.” She paused, then rushed ahead with her next question before she lost her nerve. “May I ask, were you in love with Lord Dardington when you married?”

Lady Meredith frowned. “Not at first.” She thanked the eager young footman who removed their dirty dinner plates and then turned back to Dorothea. “Is that what you want? To fall in love and then marry?”

Was it what she wanted? Dorothea felt a small shiver move through her. Slowly, she shook her head. “I suppose what I want most from the man I marry is the possibility of falling in love.”

“Well, there are all sorts of marriages that are deemed very successful by society’s standards,” Lady Meredith said. “For the most part, being in love with one’s spouse is considered rather bad form by many of the ton. Either before or during the marriage.”

“Yet both you and your two brothers married for love.”

Lady Meredith laughed. “Yes, the Barrington family is well known for its eccentricities. And I for one am very glad of it.” The older woman’s expression sobered. “I shall give you one piece of advice and ask you to consider it most carefully. Don’t rush yourself, Dorothea. I can bear witness that the old adage, marry in haste, repent at leisure, is unfortunately true.”

“Ladies, I come bearing gifts.” The marquess’s deep voice cut into the conversation. Lord Dardington appeared at their table with two footmen carrying large silver trays in tow. “’Twas too difficult to decide upon a single sweet, so I brought one of everything.”

Both Dorothea and Lady Meredith let out a squeal of delight. With broad smiles they hastily made space on the small table for all the plates. The marquess resumed his seat and within minutes they were all busy tasting and then passing around the dishes, each exclaiming over their favorites and encouraging the others to have a sample.