‘Oh, Sally-all our rakes, and in magnificent style!’

It was true. As Lady Sally turned the pages of the calendar slowly and the ladies viewed the pictures, it became evident that the conservatory at Saltires was one of the hottest places in the kingdom. The pictures were magnificent. There was the Duke of Kestrel, looking handsome and athletic mounted on his coal-black horse, Thunderer. There was Cory, Lord Newlyn, adventurer par excellence with the wicked twinkle in his eye that had melted the heart of every lady for miles around. Lucas Kestrel looked every debutanté’s dream and every chaperon’s nightmare in his army uniform, whilst Richard Kestrel was dark and dangerous in evening dress. Deb felt her breath constrict in her throat and turned the page quickly, to where Ross Marney was depicted, virile and good looking in navy uniform, with the wind ruffling his dark hair and his blue eyes smiling.

Deb saw Olivia put a hand up to her throat and saw the pink colour stain her cheeks and smiled to herself that, for all their difficulties, Olivia and Ross were not indifferent to each other.

‘Good gracious,’ Olivia said, her voice not quite steady, ‘Mr Daubenay certainly knows how to present a gentleman looking his best. This book should make his reputation as a water colourist, Sally.’

‘I hope so,’ Lady Sally said, smiling. ‘He did have remarkably good raw material to work on!’

Lady Benedict was fanning herself ostentatiously. ‘I do believe that I need to sit down, Sally,’ she said, ‘and perhaps a cool drink, after that display of unabashed manhood. One scarcely knows where to look.’

Deb knew it was evident from the reaction and from Lady Sally’s self-satisfied smile that the project would be a raging success. None of the ladies of the ton would be able to resist parting with their money for such a good cause-and for the benefit of ogling a dozen personable gentlemen.

‘You will have ladies beating a path to your door to buy a copy, Lady Sally,’ she said, with feeling.

Lady Sally laughed. ‘I plan to hold a ball at the end of October to launch the book and I am trying to prevail on all the gentlemen to attend. I am hoping it will be quite a sensation. In fact…’ she ushered them back into the drawing room and rang the bell for refreshments ‘…I had another idea. I thought to auction the original of the book as well as sell copies. I suspect there might be much competition for the original version.’

The ladies were much struck by this and whilst they drank their cooling lemonade they discussed the plans for Lady Sally’s ball. Helena Lang, whose father the vicar disapproved so heartily of the calendar, was extremely upset that she would not be able to attend the London ball, and Lady Benedict also expressed her disappointment that her husband’s ill health kept her, as always, in the country.

‘What would be simply marvellous,’ she said, eyes lighting up, ‘would be if you were to hold a special private view here, Sally, before auctioning the calendar up in London. It would attract a great deal of notice-why, the Hertfords and the Prince of Wales might even attend!’

Helena Lang clapped her hands. ‘Oh, please, Lady Sally! That way I may persuade Papa to allow me to be present…’

Deb’s heart sank. She felt peculiarly out of sorts at the thought of Lady Sally’s calendar heroes displaying their undeniable physical prowess before the ton. However, since everyone else thought it a marvellous idea, she was obliged to concur and walked back to Midwinter Marney with Olivia in rather a bad mood.


‘Is Lord Marney at home?’ Olivia enquired casually of the butler as they went under the Doric portico and through the big front door.

‘Yes, my lady,’ Ford replied. ‘Lord Marney and Lord Richard Kestrel returned a little while ago and are down in the stables.’ He hesitated. ‘Shall I ask them to join you for tea, madam?’

Deb pulled a face and shook her head, for the thought of Lord Richard’s company was the final strain on her poor temper, but unfortunately Olivia was stripping off her gloves and appeared not to notice her sister’s disapproval.

‘Please do, Ford,’ she said. ‘We shall all take tea together.’

Deb sighed and went through to the drawing room, whilst Olivia went upstairs to remove her bonnet. The maid was already laying out afternoon tea in preparation for their return. Deb reflected that her sister’s household ran like clockwork. Olivia was so efficient. Nothing ever seemed to go awry in her life.

There was the sound of voices raised in the hall and the gentlemen came in.

‘If you wanted to go to Newmarket this week, I should be delighted to accompany you, Ross,’ Lord Richard was saying.

Although she had known that he was present, Deb found that she was so flustered to see Lord Richard again that she dropped her poetry book on the floor. It skidded across the polished wood and bumped against the leg of the rosewood table. She bent to pick it up and a sheet fell out. Cursing herself for her clumsiness in loosening the pages, Deb whisked the paper up and hoped that Lord Richard had not noticed her carelessness with his gift. She stuffed the loose sheet inside the cover and put the book under her arm.

‘Good afternoon, Deb,’ Ross said, coming over to kiss her cheek. ‘Did you enjoy your meeting of the reading group?’

‘It was quite pleasant,’ Deb said. She could feel herself blushing under Richard’s scrutiny with all the self-consciousness of a green girl.

‘How do you do, Mrs Stratton?’ he said. His tone was scrupulously courteous, but the message in his eyes was very different, warm and speculative, and it heated Deb down to her toes. ‘Were you studying Christopher Marlowe this afternoon?’

‘We were reading Henry Vaughan,’ Deb said coolly. She knew that she had blushed; she could feel her face radiating the heat like a glowing fire. Life was going to be excessively difficult if she could not conquer this curious susceptibility she had to Richard Kestrel. It seemed to get worse every time she saw him.

Olivia came in and Richard turned to greet her, giving Deb the breathing space she desperately needed. She took the opportunity of surreptitiously trying to put her book back together again. However, when she looked at the loose sheet she realised that it was not poetry at all and could not have come from the same book. It was a curious page of printed symbols. There was an anchor and a seagull and a ship and some wavy lines that she thought must represent the sea. Deb frowned. Her first thought was that it looked rather like a coded message, with the symbols representing certain words…

‘May I pass you a cup of tea, Mrs Stratton?’ Richard Kestrel said, at her elbow. Deb jumped. She had not noticed his approach and now she put the book and the sheet aside on the rosewood bookcase and reluctantly allowed Richard to draw her over to the long French windows that looked out over the garden. Olivia and Ross were sitting on the sofa, conversing in low voices over the relative merits of chicken or lamb for dinner. Deb sighed. She supposed that she should be grateful they were talking at all.

Rather than accept a tête-à-tête with Richard as he so clearly wished, Deb spiked his guns by raising her voice to include the whole group.

‘Did Olivia tell you that we saw a copy of Lady Sally’s watercolour book this afternoon, Ross?’ she asked. ‘We thought that you looked very fine.’

Ross laughed. He looked pleased. ‘Thank you, Deb. I imagine that Lady Sally’s calendar will cause quite a stir.’

‘It will cause a riot,’ Deb agreed ruefully.

‘You also observed that Lord Richard’s picture looked most elegant, did you not, Deb?’ Olivia said sweetly. ‘I remember you commenting specifically on it on our way home.’

Deb bit her lip. It was true that she had made an unguarded remark to Olivia on the subject, but she had hardly expected her sister to repeat it. Richard was laughing at her, his brows raised quizzically.

‘I am flattered, Mrs Stratton.’

‘I suppose you looked quite well to a pass,’ Deb said ungraciously, fidgeting with her teaspoon, ‘but then, Mr Daubenay is a very talented artist.’

She heard Lord Richard smother a laugh in his teacup. ‘I imagine he must be, to make something of such unpromising material,’ he agreed.

Deb frowned. It was difficult to try and depress a man’s pretensions when he had no vanity to deflate. Despite the fact that Lord Richard Kestrel was one of the most handsome men of her acquaintance, it appeared that he actually had very little personal conceit. It was rather annoying when she so earnestly wished to take him down a peg.

‘I am sure that you do not need me to add my praises to the positive cacophony of other ladies,’ she said. ‘If you wish for acclaim, then you need only wait for the private view, when I am persuaded you will be drowned in a sea of feminine admiration!’

In response, Richard put his hand on her wrist and drew her slightly apart. Her hand shook slightly; the teacup rattled and she placed it quickly on the windowsill.

‘You mistake me, Mrs Stratton, if you think I wish for general acclaim,’ he said in an undertone. ‘Yours is the only good opinion I seek.’

Deb’s eyes widened. ‘I may lead a sheltered life, Lord Richard, but I recognise a line of flattery when it is spun for me.’

Richard laughed. He leaned closer so that his lips brushed her ear and all the hairs down the back of Deb’s neck stood on end.

‘If you wished your life to be less sheltered, you could reconsider my dare,’ he murmured. ‘A private view of our own would be far more enjoyable…’

Deb gasped. She threw a hasty glance over her shoulder, but Ross was now moodily perusing The Times and Olivia was apparently engrossed in the Ladies Magazine and neither of them was paying their guests the slightest attention. Deb could not believe that they were so insensitive to the atmosphere in the drawing room when she felt as though she was about to spontaneously combust. Her head was buzzing with tension and awareness and Lord Richard was still holding her wrist lightly. The touch of his fingers against her bare skin was sufficient to send a prickly kind of sensation all the way along her nerves.