"Fascinating stuff, Sammie," Lucille broke in quickly, "but it's not necessary to go into detail." She shoved the platter of biscuits at Sammie.

Sammie accepted a sweet, and swallowed her guilt at manipulating her sisters in such a shameful manner.

Emily cleared her throat, then imparted in an undertone, "Well, so long as it's for science, I heard that some women wash themselves you know where with vinegar afterwards."

Sammie stared at her in stunned surprise. Finding her voice, she murmured, "Is that so? And, er, why would they do that?"

"To wash away the you know what." Emily's face turned crimson, and she quickly reached for another biscuit.

Fascinated, Sammie opened her mouth to question Emily further, but Lucille interjected, "Well, I heard…" She paused, glancing quickly around the room as if to ensure no one had entered, then leaned forward. Her rapt audience strained forward, Sammie leaning so far she nearly slid off the cushion. Lowering her voice to a whisper, Lucille continued, "some women go so far as to douche themselves with vinegar."

Emily's eyes rounded. "Never say so!"

"Or lemon juice," Hermione added, nodding. "Although that is more difficult to come by." She picked up the decanter and refilled everyone's glass to the rim. "But I heard tell of some women using sea sponges."

"What do they do with them?" Sammie asked, wondering where on earth she might obtain a sea sponge.

"Soak them in vinegar-"

"Or brandy," Emily broke in.

"Then insert them you know where" Hermione finished.

"And, urn, what does that do?" Sammie asked, hoping you know where was where she thought it was.

A delicate burp escaped Emily's bow lips. "It prevents the you know what from going you know where and making a baby."

"Oh, yes, I understand that's quite common," Lucille said, "But I also heard that there's a device gentlemen can put on their you know what that keeps the you know what from going you know where." She waved her hand in front of her face and loosened her lace fichu. "My goodness, it's hot in here!"

"Well, I heard," Emily said, "about a method that requires the man to remove himself from you know where before he you know whats."

The group froze for several seconds, then Hermione collapsed into giggles. "Good heavens, Emily, I'm not certain I wanted to know that!"

A spurt of laughter sprang from Emily's lips, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Her giggles were contagious, and within seconds the four of them were bent double with laughter.

"Well, I for one would not dream of employing any of those methods," Lucille said, wiping tears of mirth from her cheeks with the hem of her gown. "I very much want to be a mother."

"As do I," said Hermione. "Although the thought of giving birth is more than a little scary. One of us needs to have a baby so she can tell the rest of us how it feels. Emily, I vote you go first."

"Me?" Emily glared at her sister. "Why don't you go first?"

Hermione turned to Lucille. "You've been married the longest, Lucille. You should have the first baby."

"All right. Since you insist, I shall give birth before the year is finished."

"Oh, but that's impossible," Emily scoffed. "It takes nine months and it's now already July."

Lucille simply raised her brows, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth. Realization dawned in Sammie and she gasped.

"It's not impossible," Sammie said, looking at Lucille with wonder, "if she's already with child."

Silence reigned for several seconds, then pandemonium broke loose as they all squealed in unison, laughing, crying, hugging, and talking all at once.

"How long have you known?"

"How are you feeling?"

"You don't look like you're with child!"

"Does Mama know?"

Lucille laughed. "Heavens, slow down! I've known for several weeks, but I wanted to tell Richard first, and he didn't return from visiting his mother until yesterday."

"Is that why you didn't go with him?" Hermie asked.

Lucille nodded. "We suspected I might be with child, and we did not want to risk me taking such a long trip. The doctor confirmed our suspicions while Richard was away. As for the rest, I'm feeling marvelous and my condition will become obvious within the next several weeks. I told Mama the good news earlier today, but I made her promise not to tell you, as I wished to do so myself."

Another round of hugs ensued, then Sammie sat back and listened to Emily and Hermione bombard Lucille with questions.

A pang of longing resonated through her, and she wrapped her arms around herself. How would it feel to carry the child of the man you loved inside your body, feeling it grow? A child you'd created together? Based on Lucille's radiant face, it was a beautiful, wondrous feeling.

Having a child. How marvelous that it was the best news in the world for Lucille.

How sad that it would be an utter disaster for her.

For a moment her heart flooded with yearning for a loving husband and a child, but she ruthlessly pushed back such impossible desires into the deepest recesses of her soul. Her choices were to become a dried-up spinster or to pursue a passionate adventure-and now that she knew how to prevent pregnancy, there was nothing to stop her.

Except Lord Wesley.

But surely she could convince him.

Couldn't she?

Yes, by informing him in a logical manner of all the reasons they should enter into a liaison, coupled with the information she'd gleaned from her sisters, she would surely convince him.

But just in case, she supposed it couldn't hurt to practice flirtatious looks in the mirror.

Chapter Eleven

From the London Times:

The Bride Thief Posse reports that in order to cover more territory, they are allowing any man with a marriage-age daughter to join their ranks. Gentlemen seeking to join must make a monetary contribution to the reward offered for the Bride Thief's capture.


All Sammie's plans regarding Lord Wesley went awry the next morning. Just as she finished her solitary breakfast-forced upon her by uncharacteristically oversleeping, which she attributed to a bit too much celebrating the evening before with her sisters;-Hubert dashed into the breakfast room. His footfalls thumping against the parquet floor set up an unholy pounding in her head, and she pressed her fingers to her temples in a feeble attempt to stem the throbbing.

Before she could beg him to tiptoe, he thrust a wax-sealed envelope at her and said breathlessly, "This just arrived for you. 'Twas given to Cyril at the stables by a lad he'd never seen before."

"Indeed?" Her name was neatly scripted on the front in an unfamiliar hand. "Who is it from?"

"I don't know, but perhaps it's from him."

Sammie stilled. "Him?"

"Lord Wesley. Wouldn't it be grand if this were an invitation to use his Herschel again?"

The hope shining behind Hubert's spectacles tugged at her heart. Setting the note on the table, she grasped both his hands and squeezed. Carefully choosing her words, she said, "You shouldn't set your heart on him inviting us back, Hubert. While he was very kind-"

"Oh, but he told me I was welcome to return."

"He did? When?"

"When we left his home, as you settled yourself in the coach. He said he was sorry we had to leave so soon, especially since I clearly hadn't finished taking my notes. He said I was welcome to return any time to finish." A flush brightened his cheeks. "I'm anxious to do so, but I hesitate without him specifying a date and time."

A lump settled in her throat, and she swallowed to clear it. "That was most generous of Lord Wesley."

"He's a fine gentleman," Hubert agreed, his breathing returned to normal. "Even with his title and position, he was…" he shrugged his thin shoulders and averted his gaze.

"Kind to us," Sammie said softly.

Their eyes met and understanding flowed between them, two people more accustomed to ridicule than acceptance. His Adam's apple bobbed in his thin neck. "Yes. I think that's why I like him-besides him owning a Herschel. It's because he was nice to you."

Dear Hubert. Heavens, could she love the boy any more than she already did? She squeezed his hands again and smiled at him. "What a coincidence. I like him because he was nice to vow."

A lopsided grin pulled at one corner of his mouth. "Well, everyone says we think alike." He jerked his head toward the letter. "Are you going to read it?"

"Of course," She reached for the missive while Hubert seated himself opposite her and spread strawberry jam on a thick slice of bread for a second breakfast. After breaking the envelope's wax seal, she withdrew two ivory vellum sheets.


Dear Miss Briggeham,

My name is Anne Barrow and I live in a small village about an hour's ride north of Tunbridge Wells. Although we've never met, I am writing to ask, nay plead, for your help. I have been so very desperate, you see. When word of your abduction by the Bride Thief reached my ears, I knew you were my last chance.

My father has arranged for me to marry a man I loathe. I have begged and pleaded with Papa, but he refuses to listen. My betrothed is a cruel, ruthless man who has already tried to force himself upon me. In exchange for me, my betrothed will pay Papa's huge gambling debts. I am devastated that my own father would sell me like this. He will not stop gambling and drinking, and even though I do not wish debtor's prison on him, I cannot marry this man. Papa made his choice, and now I must make mine.