“I don’t recall ever having met you in London, Miss Smithfield,” Marcus said, thinking that it was a good thing he had not.

“No, we do not travel to London much.” Emily sighed. “My father used to take me occasionally when he was alive, but I have not been in nearly five years.”

“Pity. I could see you fitting in rather well in London.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. You would be a refreshing change to the simpering girls that one meets. I think you would make quite a splash.”

“Oh, I do not think so, but I appreciate the compliment. My ambitions are modest. I have no desire to make a splash, just meet some new people.”

“Well, London’s the place to do so,” Marcus assured her. “Particularly during the season. More people than you can shake a stick at.”

Emily almost mentioned she did not think one should shake sticks at people, but did not think Lord Wesleigh would appreciate her attempt at humor. Instead, she said, rather wistfully, “Well, it is no use speculating about it, because it’s unlikely I’ll ever be in London for the season.” Emily determinedly changed the subject, and they discussed music for a while. During the course of the conversation, they agreed to dispense with the formalities and were soon calling each other by their first names. Of course, as Marcus did not wish to be called Alexander, Emily agreed to call him by his preferred name, Marcus. She discovered she knew some of his favorite pieces, and offered to play for him. Marcus agreed enthusiastically, as he thought he would lose his mind if he had to look at the same four walls any longer. He told her he thought he could manage to walk down the stairs to the drawing room.

“Oh, no, my lord, I mean, Marcus. You mustn’t risk your health in that manner. You can hear the music very well from here, as I will be sure to leave the door to your chamber open.” Emily still suspected his illness might only be a pretense, and could not resist punishing him a little.

“Very well,” he said, a little sulkily.

Emily hid her smile and went to play the pianoforte, as promised. She had been playing for about half an hour when Alexander arrived to visit his friend. He found Marcus sitting upright in bed, eyes closed, and a smile on his face.

“I hope I am not interrupting anything,” Alexander said from the doorway, an ironic smile on his face.

“Alex. You startled me. No, dashed glad to see you, actually. A chap gets bored sitting in bed all day.”

“You do not look bored at the moment, however.”

“No. I have been enjoying the music.” He made a motion in the air in the direction of the drawing room. “Emily has been playing some of my favorite songs.”

“Emily, is it?” Alexander asked.

“She asked me to call her that when I insisted she call me Marcus. To tell you the truth, I was sick to death of having to answer to your name. There’s nothing improper in it,” Marcus insisted, when Alexander continued to stare suspiciously at him.

“I am sure there is not. Did she know they were your favorites or was it just a fortunate guess on her part?”

“No, I told her. She has been very accommodating this morning. She’s a very nice girl, Emily Smithfield. I can see why you admire her.”

“Indeed,” Alexander agreed, but his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “She spent some time with you this morning?”

“Yes, I told her she ought to go to London. ’Tis rather a shame she has to be stuck in the country like this. When I think of what a good modiste could accomplish . . .” Sir Marcus’s voice trailed off, as he became lost envisioning playing Pygmalion to Emily’s Galatea. He shook himself from his reverie, and continued, “Regardless, we both agreed she would benefit from a broader circle of friends she could make in London society. She finds the country somewhat confining.”

“Apparently the country is not too confining. She seems to have made one new friend already.”

Marcus smiled. “Well, I hope so. One can never have too many friends.”

“Particularly when the friend is an attractive young lady who believes you to be the heir to a dukedom.”

Marcus’s smile faded. “I do not think I appreciate your remark, or your tone of voice. If you are trying to make some sort of implication, I can only say you’re far off the mark. I do not have any designs on your lady, nor does she on me.”

“Well, I believe that you may not be interested in her, I know you don’t have any wish to be leg-shackled, but you must remember that Emily believes you to be highly eligible.”

“I think you are doing her a disservice. Her attentions to me have been those of a gracious hostess to a guest in her home, and nothing more.”

Alexander shook his head, a skeptical look on his face. “Here speaks the man who has not been the target of grasping females for the past ten years.”

“I tell you, Alex, I think all the attention has spoiled you for a good female. You cannot believe there are any decent women out there who would be interested in a gentleman for anything other than his title and fortune. For your information, Emily tried to lead the conversation to a discussion of you, but I had no desire to contradict whatever you may have told her concerning your assumed identity, and turned the subject.”

Alexander relaxed a little and looked at his friend hopefully. “She asked about me, did she?”

“Yes, she did. Although I am starting to think you don’t deserve a nice girl like Emily. Lady Cynthia might be the better match for you after all.”

Sir Marcus was prevented from saying anything else by the pillow his best friend smashed into his face.

Emily and Lydia made a trip to the vicarage early Friday morning to deliver some sewing they had done for a few of the poorer families in the parish. Emily viewed this as a perfect opportunity for Lydia and Sedgewick to spend some time alone with each other. She had been distracted from her original intention to get them together by the visit of the duke and his son, but she had not lost sight of her goal.