"I will not allow you to hush up my engagement," Harriet declared. "It is a fact, whether you believe it or not. I will go to London in order to learn how to handle myself in Society and for reasons of my own. But I will not step foot out of Upper Biddleton if you think you are going to put me on the Marriage Mart as an innocent young heiress. Even if I were not engaged, I am far too old for that role."

"Bravo," exclaimed Felicity. "Well said, Harriet. I will be the innocent young heiress and you can be the older woman of mystery. And the beauty of it all is that neither of us will have to work to find husbands. We can simply enjoy ourselves. It is settled, then. We are all going to Town."

"I do hope," Effie said with a pointed look at Felicity, "that we will not find ourselves dealing with any more disastrous incidents such as occurred here in Upper Biddleton. One ruined female in this family is quite enough."

Gideon saw the letter addressed to him the minute he walked into the morning room at Hardcastle House. He plucked it off the silver salver that contained the day's post. He knew before he even broke the seal that the letter was from Harriet. Her handwriting was like everything else about her, full of energy, highly original, and distinctly feminine.

He realized immediately that the most likely reason for Harriet to be writing to him so soon was to inform him that she feared she was pregnant.

Gideon was aware of a deep surge of satisfaction and possessiveness at the prospect. He conjured up an image of Harriet rounded and soft with pregnancy and another of her holding his babe in her arms. They were both extremely pleasant pictures.

He could just imagine Harriet sketching a fossil with one hand while she held an infant to her breast with the other.

In the beginning Gideon had told himself it would be better if she were not with child. She would have enough to deal with as it was, just facing the prospect of marriage. He knew it was a very unsettling notion for her.

For his part, Gideon had wanted to put some of the gossip in Upper Biddleton to rest, if possible. For Harriet's sake, it would have been nice to be able to make it clear to all concerned that there would be no rush to the altar.

She was, after all, a rector's daughter.

But a hasty marriage with a special license was quite acceptable, he decided. It had the decided advantage of making it possible for him to move Harriet straight into his bed. The thought sent a rush of heat through his veins.

"Good morning, Gideon."

Gideon glanced up from Harriet's letter as his mother, Margaret, Countess of Hardcastle, floated through the doorway. A light, fragile-looking woman who was, Gideon well knew, much stronger than she appeared, Margaret always seemed to hover an inch or so above the ground. There was an airy, delicate quality about her that was well suited to her silver hair and the pastel colors she favored.

"Good morning, madam." Gideon waited until the butler had seated the countess and then he sat down at the table. He placed Harriet's letter next to his knife. He would read it later. He had not yet told his parents about his engagement.

As usual, Gideon's father had rallied nicely shortly after learning that his son had arrived at Hardcastle House late last night. Gideon fully expected him to appear at breakfast.

"I see you have a letter, dear." Lady Hardcastle nodded to the footman, who poured coffee for her. "Anyone I know?"

"You will know her soon enough."

"Her?" Lady Hardcastle's spoon fluttered in midair over her coffee cup. She gave Gideon a birdlike look of inquiry.

"I have not yet had a chance to tell you that I am engaged, have I?" Gideon smiled briefly at his mother. "But as my father appears to have come through his recent crisis with flying colors, I probably should mention the fact."

"Engaged. Gideon, are you serious?" Some of the birdlike quality evaporated from Lady Hardcastle's eyes. It was replaced by shock and uncertainty and, perhaps, a hint of hope.

"Very serious."

"I am so relieved to hear this, even if I do not know her. I had begun to fear that your experience in the past had put you off the idea of marriage permanently. And as your dear brother is no longer with us—"

"I am the only one who can provide an heir for Hardcastle," Gideon concluded bluntly. "You need not remind me, madam. I am well aware that my father has been increasingly concerned about my failure to do my duty in that respect."

"Gideon, must you always put the worst possible interpretation on your father's remarks?"

"Why not? He puts the worst possible interpretation on mine."

There was a commotion in the doorway at that moment. The Earl of Hardcastle appeared. He was escorted by one of the footmen, who was holding his arm, but it was obvious his lordship was feeling much better. The fact that he was bothering to come downstairs to breakfast was ample proof that he was no longer experiencing the pains in his chest that had made him send for Gideon.

"What's this?" Hardcastle demanded. His tawny golden eyes, so like those of his son, were slightly dimmed with age, but they were still remarkably fierce. The earl was a year short of seventy but his posture was that of the athletic young man he had once been. He was big, almost as large as Gideon. His thinning hair was as silver as that of his wife's. His broad, strong-boned face had softened very little over the years. "You've gone and gotten yourself engaged?"

"Yes, sir." Gideon rose from the table to help himself to the hot dishes on the sideboard.

"About time." Hardcastle took his seat at the head of the table. "Damnation, man. You might have bothered to mention it earlier, you know. It is not exactly a minor event. You are the last of the line and your mother and I were beginning to wonder when you would do something about it."

"It is done." Gideon selected sausages and eggs and went back to his chair. "I shall arrange for my fiancée to visit as soon as possible."

"You could have told us first, before you made an offer," Lady Hardcastle said reprovingly.

"There was no time." Gideon forked up a sausage. "The engagement took place with no advance notice out of necessity. The wedding may have to take place just as quickly."

The earl's eyes filled with fury. "Good God, man. Are you saying you have compromised another young woman?"

"I know neither of you believes me, but I never compromised the first. However, I am indeed guilty of compromising the second." Gideon felt his mother's shock and his father's anger pouring over him in waves. He concentrated on his sausages. "It was an accident. But it is done. And there will be a marriage."

"I do not believe this," the earl said tightly. "As God is my witness, I do not believe you have ruined another young woman."

Gideon's fingers tightened on his knife, but he kept his mouth shut. He had vowed he would not quarrel with his father on this visit, but he knew now there had never been any real hope of avoiding a scene such as this. He and his father could not be in the same room together for more than five minutes without exploding into a quarrel.

Lady Hardcastle gave Gideon a quelling look and then turned to her irate husband in concern. "Calm yourself, my dear. If you carry on this way you will bring on another attack."

"It will be his fault if I collapse at this very table." The earl jabbed a fork in Gideon's direction. "Enough. Give us the details and spare us any further suspense."

"There is not much to tell," Gideon said quietly. "Her name is Harriet Pomeroy."

"Pomeroy? Pomeroy? That is the name of the last rector I appointed to Upper Biddleton." The earl glowered. "Any connection?"

"His daughter."

"Oh, my God," Lady Hardcastle breathed. "Another rector's daughter. Gideon, what have you done?"

Gideon smiled coldly as he slit the seal on Harriet's letter and opened it. "You must ask my fiancée how it all came about. She takes full responsibility for everything. Now, if you will excuse me while I read her note, I shall soon be able to tell you whether we will be requiring a special license."

"Have you gotten the poor gel with child?" The earl stormed.

"Dear heaven," Lady Hardcastle whispered. Gideon frowned as he quickly scanned Harriet's letter.

My Dear Sir:

By the time you read this I shall be in London learning how to be a proper wife to you. My Aunt Adelaide (you may recall my mentioning her) has taken control of her husband's money at last. She has summoned us all to Town. We are going to give Felicity her Season and Aunt Effie informs me that I shall be given a Social Polish which will enable me to avoid embarrassing you in the future. It is the chief reason I have agreed to go.

To be perfectly truthful I would much prefer to stay here in Upper Biddleton. I am very excited about the tooth I discovered in our cavern. (I must remind you again to tell no one about it. Fossil thieves are everywhere.) But I understand that as a rector's daughter I lack a great deal of knowledge about how to go on in Society. As Aunt Effie says, you will need a wife who knows about such things. I trust I shall learn them quickly so that I can get back to my fossils.

I am hoping that while in London I shall be able to research and identify my tooth. It is a cheerful thought and makes the notion of the trip much more palatable.

We leave on the morrow. If you wish to reach me you may do so in care of my Aunt Adelaide. I have enclosed her direction. I pray your father is feeling better. Please extend my regards to your mother.