Plural.

“And he brought his grandson and one of his granddaughters with him,” Aunt Martha continued. “Viscount Sinclair and Miss Amy Marshall. They are delightful young people. And they were all full of praises for your singing, Frances, after hearing you in Bath. I do not wonder at it, of course.”

“I only wonder that you have not done more of it and become famous,” Great-Aunt Gertrude said.

Frances’s heart had plunged and lodged somewhere in the soles of her shoes. This was the stuff of her worst nightmares. She must somehow dissuade her aunts from inviting them all back here. She could not bear to see them again.

She could not bear to see him.

Gracious heaven, why had he come here? Just because his grandfather had wished to?

“And you accompanied them to an assembly at the Upper Rooms,” Aunt Martha continued, looking at her niece with a beaming smile. “It did my heart good, my love, to hear that you have started enjoying yourself again. We have always thought that you are too young and lovely to bury yourself inside a school and have no chance to meet suitable beaux.”

“Oh,” Frances said with a forced smile, finishing off her tea and setting the cup and saucer down on a table beside her, “I am really quite happy as I am, Aunt Martha. And I am not entirely without beaux.”

She had been to the theater with Mr. Blake and his sister and brother-in-law one evening during the past month and to dine with them on another. She had been to two services at Bath Abbey with Mr. Blake alone, and both times they had strolled back to the school by a long, circuitous route. What was between them could not exactly be called a courtship, she supposed, but she was very thankful that it could not. She far preferred a mild friendship that might—or might not—blossom into something warmer with time.

“What I would like to know,” Aunt Martha said, leaning forward in her chair, her eyes still twinkling, “is whether you danced with Viscount Sinclair, Frances.”

Annoyingly, Frances could feel herself blushing.

“Yes, I did,” she said. “He was very obliging. The earl had invited me to accompany them to the assembly at Miss Marshall’s urging, and the viscount was kind enough to dance with me after he had first led his sister out.”

“You did not tell me, Martha,” Aunt Gertrude said, “and I did not think to ask—is Viscount Sinclair both young and handsome, by any chance?”

“And charming too,” Aunt Martha said, and the elderly ladies exchanged a knowing smirk. “Now, was it one set or two you danced together, Frances, my love?”

“Two,” Frances said, horrified by the turn the conversation was taking. “But—”

“Two.” Aunt Martha clapped her hands together and looked enraptured. “I knew it. I knew as surely as I know my own name that he admired you.”

“Frances! How splendid!” Aunt Gertrude leaned forward and forgot about her shawl again. It slipped unheeded from her shoulders to the cushion behind her. The lap robe was already pooled at her feet. “Viscountess Sinclair! I like it.”

They were teasing her, of course. They were both chuckling merrily.

“Alas, I am afraid you are quite mistaken,” Frances said, trying to keep her tone light and the smile on her face. “Viscount Sinclair is to marry Miss Portia Hunt.”

“Balderston’s girl?” Aunt Martha said. “What a shame! Though I suppose it is no such thing for the lady herself. He is very handsome, Gertrude. But all may not be lost. No mention was made of any betrothal while they were here, and I have not seen any announcement in the papers since we came here, though I read them all quite conscientiously each morning. And he was pointedly interested in you, Frances, though he did not say so openly, of course. Without him I doubt I would have thought of inviting you here as a tonic for Gertrude’s spirits.”

“What?” Frances stared at her, aghast.

“It was he who suggested it.” Aunt Martha smiled smugly. “And though it was exceedingly kind of him to show such solicitude for two old ladies, something told me at the time that there was a young man with an ulterior motive. He wished to see you again himself, Frances.”

“This was all Viscount Sinclair’s idea?” Aunt Gertrude asked, looking quite charmed. “I like him already, Martha, though I have never yet clapped eyes on him. He sounds like a young man who knows what he wants and how to get it. We must invite him here to dine one evening—with his sister and the Earl of Edgecombe, of course. We came to London to see something of society after so long, did we not, yet after almost three weeks we have seen nobody—at least, I have not. But it is time I did. I already feel worlds better than I felt even an hour ago. Oh, Frances, dearest, I am only just realizing that you are actually here.”

Frances stared mutely at them.

This was his doing?

He was the one who had suggested luring her here?

Why?

He was not betrothed yet?

“But here we are rattling on,” Aunt Martha said, getting to her feet, “and you are so tired from your journey, Frances, that you are really looking quite pale. Come, my love. I will take you to your room, where you must rest until dinnertime. We will talk again this evening.”

Frances bent to kiss Aunt Gertrude’s cheek and allowed herself to be led from the room and up to a pleasant bedchamber on the floor above, which had obviously been prepared for her in the hope that she would come.

She lay down on the bed when she was alone, and stared up at the canopy over her head.

He had been here, in this very house.

He had suggested that she be sent for. Perhaps he had even suggested that Great-Aunt Gertrude’s condition be exaggerated so that she would be more sure to leave her duties behind. It would be just like him to do something so devious and high-handed.

How dared he!

Could he not take no for an answer? Could he not leave well enough alone?

Was it possible that he still wished to marry her? But when he had offered her marriage there in Sydney Gardens, he had done so entirely from impulse. That had been perfectly obvious to her. Surely when he had thought about it afterward he would have admitted to himself that he had had a narrow escape from doing something quite indiscreet.

After a whole month she was still raw with the pain of having seen him again, danced with him again, touched him, kissed him, talked with him, quarreled with him—and refused a marriage offer from him!

She was still deeply, hopelessly, in love with him.

She had been since just after Christmas, of course, and the feeling stubbornly refused to go away.

Perhaps because he stubbornly refused to go away.

And now he had contrived to see her again, using her great-aunts in a despicably devious plot to lure her to London.

Why?

He was the most irritating, provoking, overbearing man she had ever known. She deliberately set her mind to thinking of all she most disliked about him. She tried to visualize him as he had been on the road that first day when she had bristled with hostility toward him—and he had returned the compliment.

But instead she saw him turning suddenly to hurl a snowball at her and then engaging in a high-spirited, laughter-filled fight before bearing her backward into the snow, his hands on her wrists . . .

Frances sighed deeply and despite herself drifted off to sleep.

Lord Balderston had borne his lady and daughter off to the country for a few days to help celebrate the birthday of some distant relative. It was with some sense of temporary reprieve, then, that Lucius went riding in the park early one morning in the thoroughly congenial company of three male friends. The fact that a fine rain was drizzling down from a gray sky did not in any way dampen his spirits. Indeed, it added the advantage of an almost deserted Rotten Row so that they could gallop their horses along it without endangering other, more sober-minded riders. As he returned home to change for breakfast, he did not even have to hold the usual inner debate with himself about what he ought to do after he had eaten. He could not go to the house on

Berkeley Square

even if he wished to do so.

Only his grandfather and Amy were up, the others being still in bed after a late night at some ball he had not even felt constrained to attend. He rubbed his hands together with satisfaction and viewed the array of hot foods set out on the sideboard. He was ravenous.

But Amy was clearly bursting to tell him something and could not wait until he had made his selection and taken his place at the table.

“Luce,” she said, “guess what?”

“Give me a clue,” he said. “No, let me guess. You have had ten hours of sleep and are now overflowing with energy and ideas on how to use it—with me as your slave.”