Given they suspected there was someone in the vicinity who was ill-disposed toward his family, his sisters in particular, and that Portia and Penelope were frequently out of doors, one step away from running wild, he could only be grateful for Simon's hovering presence.

As he watched the trio on the lawn, it became obvious Portia did not share his view; even from the study, he could see the haughtiness with which she stuck her nose in the air and said something — something cutting enough to make Simon scowl.

Penelope ignored the pair of them. They continued to snipe at each other over her head. Making a mental note to mention to Simon that arguing with either of his younger sisters was an activity best avoided, Luc turned and strolled to an armchair and the reports he'd yet to peruse.

As one, he, Martin, and Lucifer had taken refuge in his study; beyond the doors, pandemonium — and their wives — reigned. It was, they knew without stating it, best to keep their heads down.

At Devil's suggestion, Lucifer had asked to be given a general overview of Luc's investment strategy. Martin had pricked up his ears, and asked to be included in the fun. He presently had them both working through the reports he'd used to decide on his last three investments — all speculative, all potentially high-yielding, all presently bidding fair to adding considerably to his wealth.

Glancing at Martin's and Lucifer's bowed heads, Luc smiled, settled into the armchair, and gave his attention to what might be his next venture.

Entirely unexpectedly — quite how it happened he wasn't sure — Luc found himself walking in the cool of that evening with Helena on his arm. When she directed him — imperiously as usual — to the shrubbery, his antenna rose, but he complied. With the westering sun gilding the tops of the high hedges, he escorted her into the first courtyard, then through to the next, to where the rectangular pool lay reflective and still.

Helena gestured to the wrought-iron seat set before the pool. He led her there, then waited while she sat. At her wave, he sat beside her, fixed his gaze on the pool, and waited, determinedly impassive, to hear whatever she wished to say.

To his surprise, she laughed, genuinely amused.

When he looked at her, she caught his eye. "You may lower your shield — I am not about to attack."

Her smile was infectious, yet… he knew well enough not to relax.

She sighed and shook her head at him, then looked out over the pool. "You are still in denial."

He wondered if feigning ignorance would get him anywhere; he doubted it. Sitting back, stretching out his legs, crossing his ankles, he followed her lead in watching the fish streak like quicksilver through the dark water. "I'm very happy — we both are."

"That does not require saying. Yet… you are not, to my thinking, as happy as you might be, as you would be, if the truth was faced."

He let silence stretch, acknowledging the reality in her words. "In time, I daresay we'll come to it."

Helena made a sound not generally associated with Dowager Duchesses. " 'Come to it'—what does that mean? I will tell you this, time will not help you. Time will only deny you days of happiness you might otherwise have."

He met her gaze, saw something in her pale eyes that was both humbling and compelling.

She smiled, shrugged, looked back at the pool. "It happens to us all — we each have to face it. For some, it's easier than others, but each one must at some point understand and knowingly accept. At some point, we each have to make the decision."

He hadn't thought… he started to frown.

Helena glanced at him; her smile deepened. "Ah, no — one cannot escape. That is true. One can only accept and reap the benefits, or instead, spend one's life fighting the invincible."

He laughed, albeit wryly. He understood all too well what she meant.

She said no more; neither did he. They sat as the shadows lengthened, both, he was sure, dwelling on only one thing. Eventually, she rose; he did, too. He gave her his arm, and they walked back to the house.

On Friday morning, from the window of his study, Luc watched Amelia and Amanda playing with Galahad, wondered, briefly, what confidences they were sharing. Briefly recalled his conversation with Helena, but a more immediate duty beckoned.

Carrying the paperweight he'd fetched from the windowsill back to his desk, he anchored the last corner of the plan of the house and grounds.

"They're setting up the tables here." Martin pointed with a pencil to the western edge of the lawns. "And there'll apparently be a fiddler and drummer over here — far enough from the house so their noise won't interfere with the quartet in the ballroom."

Lucifer glanced at Luc. "Are any of the people they've hired — musicians, extra hands to help in the kitchen or anywhere else — unknown to you or your staff?"

Luc shook his head. "I checked with Higgs and Cottsloe. Everyone they've brought in are locals — none has been out of the area this year."

"Good." Lucifer studied the layout of the house and the gardens surrounding the lawns. "If you were going to break in at night, from which direction would you come?"

"If I knew about the hounds, from here." Luc pointed to the area to the northeast beyond the rose garden. "That's woodland, quite dense. It's a remnant of the original demesne and has never been cleared. It's readily passable, but the trees are old — even in full daylight, the paths are shadowy and dark."

Martin nodded. "True. But if you didn't know about the hounds, then this would be the better way in." He traced a path from the west boundary of the gardens, across the lane to the home farm, then along the edge of the shrubbery. "Or, alternatively, if one came down from the ridge, then late at night coming in beside the stables might seem wise."

"Good cover all the way," Luc agreed. "However, I can assure you the hounds will send up an alarm if anyone approaches along that route."

Lucifer grimaced. "We'll have to hope he's smart enough to realize about the hounds."

His hands in his pockets, Luc stared at the plan. Martin glanced at him. Luc met his gaze. "I'd better warn Sugden. If anyone does come that way, and the hounds set up a cry, Sugden can release them. They'll run any intruder to earth, and hold him until we get there."

Lucifer grinned. Evilly. "Nice idea."

"Another thought," Martin offered. "Let Patsy and Morry charm the children at the gala. They're well behaved enough. Sugden could keep them on their leashes and show them off. No one would think that odd, given they're champions. And it would serve to draw our thief's attention to the existence of the kennels."

Martin straightened, meeting both Luc's, then Lucifer's dark eyes. "While it might satisfy us to run the felon to earth, it would be better all around if we could catch him in the act first."

Luc nodded. So did Lucifer.

They all turned back to the plan.

"All right." Luc pointed to a bedchamber on the first floor.

"That's the room Helena's in. So how are we going to protect her?"

They spent most of the morning discussing the possibilities; they'd had to wait until then to learn all that their wives' had planned, and, most importantly, the when and where of each organized activity.

With all the details in place, they'd hatched their own plans. During the gala and ball, there'd be the three of them, plus Simon, Sugden, and Cottsloe, all keeping watch over Helena. Later, once the guests were gone, Amelia, Amanda, and Phyllida would watch from various places inside the house, while Martin, Sudgen, and Lucifer patrolled the grounds, leaving Luc and Simon — presently the most familiar with the house and the rooms everyone was in — to guard the long corridors.

Once they'd finalized their arrangements, they'd dispersed. Luc had gone to the kennels to speak with Sugden and run a quick eye over the pack.

Returning to the house, he hesitated, then strolled to the music room. He paused in the corridor outside the door… from the parlor beyond came Amelia's voice. And Phyllida's and Amanda's. Grimacing, he walked on.

Climbing the main stairs, he paused at the first floor, then, jaw firming, took the flight to the top floor.

Portia, Penelope, and Miss Pink were downstairs, eschewing lessons with books for more practical demonstrations; the upper central wing stood empty. Luc strolled to the nursery, opened the door, and went in.

Nothing had yet changed — he hadn't expected it would have; Amelia hadn't yet had time to put her plans into place. But she would. Soon.

Walking to the window, he looked down over the valley, and pondered that fact, what it would mean, how it made him feel.

A son — that was the least fate owed him after leaving him to manage alone with four sisters. His lips twisted; in truth, he didn't care. All he wanted was to see Amelia with his babe at her breast.

His conversation with Helena had cast a new slant — he hadn't considered that Amelia, too, would have her own decision to make.

She'd already made it — of that he felt certain. She was committed to him, had changed her allegiance and was carrying his child. She was his. At some primal level, he'd known that for some time — now he believed it.

His rational logical mind had at long last caught up with his primitive self.

Satisfaction and contentment welled, laced with escalating frustration. Now he was waiting to tell her all, fate was conspiring to delay his declaration.

She was rushed off her feet with preparations, dozy when he joined her in their bed at night, in the morning leaping out of it before he'd woken to plunge back into the whirl.