His Lordship's Vow...

Bereft of beauty as well as fortune, the exceedingly plain Miss Jane Featherstone has failed to attract any suitor during her three Seasons. Rather than be a burden to her brother and his obnoxious wife, Miss Featherstone vows to accept the first man who asks—even though she's always worshipped a lord who's far above her touch. . .

Lord Slade must marry an heiress in order to honor the deathbed vow he made to his father, and he needs Miss Featherstone's help in wooing her beautiful cousin. After her initial anger, Miss Featherstone agrees to his scheme, telling him she's doing so because she admires his Parliamentary record of humanitarian legislation and his reverence for truth. But the more he's with the two cousins, the more attracted he becomes to Miss Featherstone. What's a man of his word to do? Break a vow to a beloved father—or follow his heart with Miss Featherstone?

E-books available from award-winning author Cheryl Bolen

Regency Historical Romance:

The Earl's Bargain

With His Lady's Assistance

A Lady by Chance*

The Brides of Bath Series

The Bride Wore Blue*

With His Ring*

A Fallen Woman*

To Take This Lord (previously titled An Improper Proposal)*

My Lord Wicked

Lady Sophia's Rescue

Christmas at Farley Manor

A Duke Deceived*

Romantic Suspense:

Protecting Britannia (Texas Heroines in Peril)

Murder at Veranda House (Texas Heroines in Peril)

A Cry In The Night (Texas Heroines in Peril)

World War II Romance:

It Had to Be You (Previously titled Nisei)

* Previously published in paperback

His Lordship's Vow

Cheryl Bolen

Copyright 2012 by Cheryl Bolen

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Epilogue

Chapter 1

As much as Miss Jane Featherstone adored her lovely cousin, Lady Sarah Bertram, she most decidedly disliked riding in Hyde Park with her on this fine May day. Not because of any fault of Lady Sarah's but because of Miss Featherstone's own unpardonable jealousy. Her clandestine envy was positively illogical (and Miss Jane Featherstone had always prided herself on her ability to master the principles of logic).

It wasn't as if any of the Most Eligible Matrimonial Catches would have given a second glance to the exceedingly drab Miss Featherstone were the dazzling Lady Sarah not perched beside her.

In the ten minutes since the maidens' open barouche had passed through the gates into the bustling park, no less than five young men of title, fine looks, and amiability had sputtered their horses to a halt in order to make cakes of themselves over Lady Sarah.

And it was no wonder. Once her cousin was presented to the ton at tonight's ball, every Eligible Matrimonial Catch in the entire kingdom would be hurling himself at the beautiful girl. With hair the color of wheat sparkling in sunshine, a face as flawless and smooth as the finest pearl, and a figure that curved like that of a Roman goddess, Lady Sarah would effortlessly rise to the top of the pack of this season's debutantes.

When it was discovered the titled beauty was possessed of one of the largest fortunes in Britain, there would be no stopping the stampede to Clegg House in Cavendish Square.

Owing to the fact the beautiful heiress had not yet been presented, the young oglers could not directly start a conversation with her until Miss Featherstone did them the goodness of facilitating the introductions.

Therefore, Miss Featherstone was—for the first time since her own presentation three years previously—the object of young men's profound felicitations. Once greetings were exchanged, Miss Featherstone had no choice but to introduce these Eligibles to her spectacular companion.

And then Miss Featherstone would quietly fade into the upholstery like gray paint on tin.

Leaving young Lord Aversham worshipfully watching Lady Sarah continue down the park's broad lane, the beauty turned to her cousin, her blue eyes flashing with excitement. "All the young men I've met are ever so nice. I cannot wait until tonight."

"I dare say you'll be like a queen holding court."

"You will put me to the blush."

"I assure you, that is not my intent. We wouldn't want any redness to mar your lovely complexion."

Lady Sarah was too honest to feign maidenly modesty. Not a day of her life had passed that her remarkable beauty not been commented upon. "Nor would I. That's why I'm wearing this hideously wide brimmed bonnet today."

Miss Featherstone shook her head. "Your bonnet is not hideous. Everything you wear bespeaks impeccable taste." Indeed, thought Miss Featherstone, she had never seen a lovelier bonnet. Where most ladies of her acquaintance changed the trim of the bonnets to coordinate with their clothing, Lady Sarah's entire bonnet perfectly matched the pale yellow of her morning gown. Had she the luxury of a different colored bonnet for each dress?

"Do you really, truly like the gown I shall wear tonight?" Lady Sarah asked.

"I do, though I dare say if you wore a horse blanket you would still be the prettiest girl at the ball."

"You're much too kind, my sweet Jane."

Miss Featherstone sighed. "Would that I could feel more kindly toward Lavinia." She had prayed to no avail that she and her brother's abrasive wife rub along together better.

Lady Sarah's eyes slitted. "That horrid woman is positively odious! I will never understand how your brother could ever have chosen to marry her."

"Her generous dowry helped." Unfortunately, none of the Featherstones had a . . . well, a feather to fly with.

"Then he probably doesn't love her at all. That's the problem when one is possessed of fortune. One never knows if a gentleman is in love with her or her money."

"I believe he does love her, but you need have no fears of fortune hunters," Miss Featherstone assured. "Men would fall horribly in love with you even if you were as poor as . . . well, as poor as me."

"Your lack of fortune does explain why you've received no offers, for you are possessed of a great many attributes."

Miss Featherstone adjusted the brim of her bonnet to shield her eyes from the blazing sun. "Pray, my dear cousin, enlighten me on these attributes."

"You may not be beautiful like me, but you really are pretty. In a quiet way."

"You obviously have been too much around my Papa."

"That has nothing to do with my opinion, I assure you. I am possessed of good vision. Your face is pretty. You are ever so clever. And there is nothing offensive in your figure."

"If one is given to admiring flagpoles." Miss Featherstone nodded at a pair of giggling girls who were strolling by, parasols protecting their fair faces from the sun.

"Many men prefer slender women. Remember, it's women like me—women with generous endowments—who grow portly with age."

That was true. But, then, many men preferred portly women. Look at the Regent himself! Most of the women with whom he'd been romantically linked tended to be as rotund as he.

As they followed along in the procession of fine carriages toward a copse of trees, Miss Featherstone gloried in the sun's warmth, her thoughts snaking around her own abominable envy. There was no reason to feel in competition with Lady Sarah. She loved her cousin, and she knew she could never compete with her in the higher echelons of society.

Miss Featherstone had always understood her own future would be with an equally plain man of no particular distinction. The problem was that not even a plain man of no particular distinction had ever honored Jane Featherstone with an offer of marriage.

Which was a pity. Papa was nearly seventy, and when he was gone, Jane would become the burden aunt in her brother and Lavinia's household—a prospect as unwelcome to Lavinia as it was to Jane.

When their coach neared the Serpentine, she thought she recognized Lord Slade riding alone on a striking black mount. Her back straightened. Her gaze narrowed. And as she realized he was riding toward them, her heartbeat clanged against the walls of her chest.

Since the very day Miss Jane Featherstone had come out of the schoolroom, she had secretly worshipped the man. Long before he succeeded to his title, she had admired his brilliant orations in the House of Commons. Many an afternoon she had spent in the galleries there watching him—and her dear Papa, who was one of his staunchest allies against the beastly Tories. She had filled a book with newspaper accounts of him and tucked it in a drawer beneath her jewel box.

Not only did she vastly admire his intelligence and political philosophy, but she also thought he was perhaps the most physically appealing man she had ever seen.

Of course, he likely would not remember someone as plain as she. Before he moved up to the House of Lords upon his father's death, he had come to their home often to discuss political reform with her father and their colleagues in Commons.

Because she served as her father's hostess and because her father rather indulged his only daughter, Miss Featherstone had been permitted to join in on those conversations.

As he drew nearer, his eyes appreciatively raked over Lady Sarah, then flicked to Jane, and a smile of recognition lighted his tanned face. Dear heavens! The man was going to stop and speak to them. She was quivering so, she doubted she would be able to summon her voice.

Their scarlet-liveried driver pulled up when he saw that Lord Slade had stopped.

"Good afternoon, Miss Featherstone. I see you're also enjoying this fine, sunny day." From his wide shoulders to the squared planes of his face to his casually tossed deep brown hair, the man exuded the most ruggedly handsome masculinity she had ever beheld.

He eschewed the trappings of dandies and dressed in riding clothes with neither shiny top hat nor shiny boots. His buff-colored breeches stretched over long, muscled legs, and his brown boots would have been more appropriate in the country than here in the middle of London. That he was not a slave to fashion rather endeared him even more to Miss Featherstone.

"Indeed, my lord," she managed, thankful her voice had not betrayed the rattling within her.

He nodded, then his flashing black eyes perused Lady Sarah.

Jane realized he was expecting an introduction to the Incomparable. "Lord Slade, may I present my cousin, Lady Sarah Bertram?"

Lady Sarah bestowed her brilliant smile upon her latest admirer, and they exchanged greetings.

After saying all that was proper, his attention was once again directed at Miss Featherstone. "Then you two are related on your mother's side? Was Lady Mary not sister to the Earl of Clegg?"

Had Miss Featherstone's departed mother—the Lady Mary to whom his lordship had just referred—appeared on this meandering trail, Jane could not have been more stunned. Lord Slade had remembered her mother was the daughter of an earl. "Yes. The Earl of Clegg–who was my mother's brother–is Lady Sarah's father."

"Then you're the granddaughter of Harold Berkley?" he said to Lady Sarah.

Everyone in the ton knew that Harold Berkley's significant banking fortune had been settled on his first granddaughter, who just happened to be the astonishing creature sitting there in her father's barouche in Hyde Park.

Lady Sarah smiled. "Indeed he was. Did you know him?"

A pity her cousin's lengthy lashes swept down upon her cheeks, Jane thought. Could anyone be more beautiful? Pangs of jealousy spiraled within her. What a beastly pity Jane could never appear to such advantage to his lordship.

"I did not have that pleasure, but he was banker to my father—who greatly admired him."

"As did I," said Lady Sarah, her voice lifting into the sweetest possible tones.

"Tell me, my lady, why is it I have not yet met you before?"

"I have not been presented. Well, actually I was presented to the queen yesterday."

"And she comes out tonight," Jane added. "Will you attend the ball at Spencer House, my lord?"

His crooked smile returned. "You may be assured I will." He doffed an invisible cap, favored them with his infectious smile, and took his leave.

When he was out of earshot, Jane turned to her cousin. "What did you think of Lord Slade?"

Lady Sarah shrugged. "I didn't think about him one way or the other. I will own, I was prepared to dislike him excessively. Papa, you know, detests the man's radical ways in Parliament. He's always grumbling about Lord Slade."

"Then I dare say Uncle grumbles about Papa, too, for he and Lord Slade are rather two peas in a pod."

"It's no secret, of course, that Papa and your father do not agree on matters of government, but your papa is family; so, Papa never maligns him."

"Gentlemen are ever so much nicer than ladies." How could Lady Sarah not be in awe over his Sublime Lordship? Had the dust kicking up from hooves clouded her vision?

"You're right. Papa never speaks ill of Lavinia, and you must own everyone speaks ill of Lavinia."

Jane nodded absently. Incomprehensively, Lady Sarah still had displayed no great admiration for Lord Slade. "Did you not find Lord Slade uncommonly handsome?"

Lady Sarah shrugged again. "He's . . . older than what I normally find attractive."

"He's not even thirty!"

"And I'm not quite eighteen!"

"Then you're attracted to young men closer to eighteen?" How very peculiar.

Lady Sarah nodded. "Up to my brother's age."

Lord Harry was two and twenty. "But most men of that age—unless they've had the good fortune to succeed—are not in a financial position to offer for a wife- - -" Miss Featherstone thwacked her forehead. "Such consideration, though, is unnecessary to a lady of large fortune."

"Indeed. I can wed whomever I choose." She gave a stupendous smile and pronounced, "I shall be wed by September."

"If that's what you want, I'm certain you will. Why the hurry?"

"I adore the idea of having my own house. Wouldn't it be wondrous to marry a man with a family castle? With my fortune I could decorate it whatever way I choose. And, I love children. I see myself surrounded by beautiful little blond daughters. "

"What of sons? Or a husband?"

Lady Sarah Bertram scrunched up her perfect nose. "I suppose my husband will expect me to give him an heir, even though I'm not overly fond of little boys. Of course, I do long for a husband."

"Perhaps you'll meet him tonight."

* * *

"I beg that your lordship stand still," Lipton said to Lord Slade.

With a deep sigh, Slade straightened his neck and peered into his full-length looking glass. His man labored over tying the cravat Lipton had spent a goodly amount of time ironing. It was far more important to Lipton than it was to Slade that he present an admirable appearance at Spencer House tonight.

If Slade were at liberty to please only himself, he would not be standing there. He would not be going to Spencer's at all. And he would not be preparing to offer up himself like the day's catch at Billingsgate fish market.

But the earl was not at liberty to please himself. He was now head of the household. He must think of the others. Buying David's colors had nearly cleaned out his limited funds, and he would have to put off the girls' come-out at least another year.

Since the exchange had decimated his father's blunt, there simply wasn't enough money despite all his measures to economize. He'd leased the London house and presently let rooms at a respectable address. He'd sold the costly carriage and three of the four horses it necessitated. He and his siblings occupied but one wing of crumbling Dunvale Castle, which could now be run with a fourth as many servants as when the old earl had been alive.

His gaze followed Lipton's expert manipulations, and he frowned deeply. Why had he made that wretched Vow, the Vow that would irrevocably alter the course of his life?

How much happier he'd been before he succeeded. Until he saw Miss Featherstone that afternoon, he'd almost forgotten how greatly he'd enjoyed those lively Whig discussions at dinners presided over by that extraordinary young woman's father. Why, there had been more intellect within those modest walls than in all of the House of Lords.

The door to his dressing room eased open, and his brother strode in. Slade thought his brother—Captain David St. John—cut a handsome figure in his Life Guards uniform. Women would be sure to swoon over him tonight. They always did.

"I thought Lipton was dicked in the nob when he told me you were going to that ball at Lord Spencer's tonight," David said, looking at Slade as if the elder brother were mentally deficient. "Didn't know debutantes were your thing."

"Heretofore, they haven't been." Slade's lips set into a grim line.

David smacked his forehead. "Oh, yes. The Vow."

Lord Slade nodded almost imperceptivity, saw that Lipton had not left even a speck of lint on his freshly pressed jacket of fine black worsted, and was satisfied with his appearance. Nothing too colorful for him. Black and white was just fine. "Shall we go?" he said to David.

* * *

It was impossible for Miss Featherstone to feel even the merest pang of jealousy when she gazed upon her cousin that night. How could one feel anything but admiration when beholding a Da Vinci for the first time? Every facet of Lady Sarah's beauty was a thing to stare at for the very pleasure it gave.

What a vision of innocence she presented with her youth, her milky, unblemished skin, and her modest dress of fine white muslin. Her golden locks swept back from the perfection of her unpainted face, and a small necklace of pearls clustered in gold completed the picture of simple elegance.

Jane had been struck by such remarkable loveliness only once before. She recalled how she had drunk in the beauty of her eldest niece the first time she saw her. Bess was six months old with creamy skin and wisps of fine blond hair when Jane's gaze first alighted on her. She thought she had never seen anything more lovely. (And, uncharitably, she wondered how Lavinia could have given birth to anything so beautiful.)

It was rather the same with Lady Sarah this evening. As lovely as she was, though, she clung to Jane like a frightened toddler to her nurse as the young ladies squeezed through the doorway and into Lord Spencer's overcrowded ballroom.

"I am so very happy you have been through this before." Lady Sarah had virtually shouted at Jane in order to be heard over the roar of at least a hundred voices and the drowned-out strains of orchestra music. "You will be able to tell me how to act."

Owing to the crush of people, Miss Featherstone did not immediately reply. They pushed themselves against the flow of bodies damp from the rigors of dancing. Miss Featherstone automatically went to her preferred corner—as far from the orchestra as possible. "You need no instruction from me," Jane said when they reached their destination. "Just smile and act as you do at any country assembly. Forget that this ballroom is adorned with gilt and silken draperies and pretend it's the council hall in Stockton-on-Wye."

Lady Sarah exhaled. "An excellent plan! You're always so terribly clever."

Part of Lady Sarah's apprehension, Jane knew, stemmed from the fact she was acquainted with very few of the two or three hundred people in Lord and Lady Spencer's bulging mansion. She was not on friendly terms with a single one of the other girls being presented with her that evening.

Miss Featherstone patted her cousin's gloved arm. "By the end of the night, you'll feel old friends with half of those in this chamber, and the callers will start pouring into Clegg House at midday tomorrow."

"I pray you're right." Lady Sarah watched the finely dressed dancers. "Have you ever tripped and fallen when you danced?"

"No, nor have I ever witnessed such an occurrence."

"I declare, that is most reassuring."

Before Lady Sarah had the opportunity to sit in one of the unoccupied chairs lining the wall, an army of admirers swooped down upon her, and she was swept onto the dance floor.

In her corner, Miss Featherstone was saved from humiliating isolation by the companionship of Miss Ophelia Lambeth. The unfortunate Miss Lambeth was even more plain than Jane. Miss Lambeth wasn't so much plain as she was . . . well, there was no other word for it. She was homely.

She was ever so tall and had the misfortune of possessing a nose that would not have been so out of proportion had it been on an eighty-year-old man of large stature instead of upon Miss Lambeth's narrow face.

"There is one recommendation for spending the better part of a ball seated," Miss Featherstone said to Miss Lambeth.

"You must reveal it to me so I can tell my mother."

Miss Featherstone smiled wickedly. "We need never worry about wearing holes in our costly dancing slippers."

Miss Lambeth's satin-covered toe pointed out from beneath her pink skirts. "Indeed. These have held me in good stead these five seasons past." Not even a hint of bitterness tinged the good-natured young woman's voice.

Lest Miss Featherstone be a hopeless wallflower, her cousin, Lord Harry, did her the goodness of standing up with her not once but twice. The fortunate girl who would one day catch the considerate young man.

Later that evening, Jane stiffened when she saw Lavinia enter the room, pause, and scan the ballroom until she saw Jane. Then, glaring, she moved across the floor to where Jane and Miss Lambeth sat. Without being invited to do so, she sat beside her sister-in-law. "I must have a word with you."

Jane forced a smile. "About what, dearest?"

"About the company you keep."

Surely she was not going to disparage poor Miss Lambeth in the lady's presence. "Pray, to whom could you be referring?"

"That cousin of yours!"

Since Jane had recently danced with him, she asked, "Lord Harry?"

"Of course not! I refer to his sister."

"Is there something about Lady Sarah to which you object?"

A prodigiously menacing expression on her face, Lavinia said, "It's not her that's the problem, it's you."

"Enlighten me, please."

"I wouldn't be concerned were I not so excessively fond of you, dear Sister," Lavinia began, "but it simply won't do for you to be seen with anyone as beautiful as that cousin of yours! Why, you'll never snare a husband."

"You must own I've failed to catch one these three years past. Have you not given up hope?"

"I pray every day you will find a man who's as wonderful a husband to you as your brother is to me."

Jane had no doubt the self-absorbed Lavinia did indeed offer up such a prayer. It was no secret she could not abide the idea of being saddled with Jane for the rest of her life.

Lavinia's gaze whisked over Jane, and she shook her head sadly. "May I offer you another suggestion? Something for your own good?"

"Pray, do."

"Why do you not get your hair shorn? Long tresses are sadly outdated, and it's my belief the shorter style would show you to better advantage."

"Would shorter hair render me as pretty as Lady Sarah?" It was most difficult for Jane to withhold her facetious smile.

"Honestly, Jane, I thought you were more intelligent than that! You will never even hold a candle to your cousin."

Lavinia's bejeweled hand wound into her own curly black tresses, revealing a handful of previously hidden gray strands. "I dare say had I shorn my hair as it is now I'd have been able to attract at least an earl when I came out."

Fifteen years had passed since Lavinia had come out. Was she still embellishing her own unremarkable entre into society? Fashionable hair could hardly have compensated for Lavinia's bulging eyes and crooked teeth, Jane thought—most uncharitably. "No earl could have been as fine as the man who won your hand."

"Of course, you're right." Lavinia sighed, then shrugged. "We'll have to wait three more years for our Bess to come out. We do have our hopes. With her beauty, a duke is not out of the question."

"I pray that you don't fill my niece's heads with such thoughts. We would not want her disappointed if she fails to make an aristocratic marriage."

"You sound exactly like Robert."

Jane's brother was exceedingly wise. Even if he had chosen Lavinia for a wife.

"I have decided to sit for a spell with you," Lavinia continued, "even though I heartily disapprove of the way you plop yourself down in the back corner, acknowledging to the entire ton that no man could possibly desire you for a partner."

"Shh." Jane's eyes indicated Miss Lambeth. "Would you wish I draw attention to my ineligibility from center front?"

"You need not announce your ineligibility at all. You may not possess fortune or beauty, but you are the granddaughter of an earl. That should count for something."

The very mention of her husband's connection to so lofty an aristocrat evoked a smug smile on Lavinia's face. She was loathe to acknowledge that her own grandfather had been but a brewer.

Jane shrugged. "Such inducements have not succeeded, I'm afraid." Secretly, Jane was congratulating herself that a man shallow enough to select a bride based on her grandfather's rank was not a man she would wish to marry.

Lavinia paid her no attention. "Will you look at Miss Bullen? Her dress looks like something a deranged gypsy would wear!"

"Shh! I fear the dancers can hear you." Jane was powerless not to cast her glance to the dance floor where Miss Bullen, dressed in a pink gown edged with three rows of purple ruffles, was gracelessly dancing down the longway with her partner, blissfully unaware of how truly hideous her dress was. It really wasn't fair that she could merit a partner when Jane couldn't.

"It's far too noisy for anyone to pay the least heed to what I'm saying."

Then Lavinia did something even more unpardonable. She pointed at a portly young woman standing in the opposite doorway. "I don't care if Annabelle Sommers does have five hundred a year, the poor girl doesn't have a prayer of getting a husband."

Miss Featherstone was mortified. "I beg that you not point, Lavinia. And, pray, please do speak in a softer voice, though I'd as lief you not speak ill of anyone." She unfurled her hand-painted fan. It was getting excessively hot. And she wasn't even dancing! Lady Sarah's dress had to be drenched.

Lavinia and Jane both watched Lady Sarah. She had not had the opportunity to speak to Jane since the first dance of the night. The young men were nearly at dagger points with each other, vying to stand up with the beautiful heiress, to procure ratafia for her, or just to get close enough to hear the melodious sound of her voice.

If one could judge from the expression on Lady Sarah's face, she was most decidedly enjoying her first ball.

"I understand the betting books at White's are full of Lady Sarah," Lavinia said. "Wagers are in on who she will marry as well as what date an announcement will be made."

Miss Featherstone was not listening. Her attention had been captured by Lord Slade, who had just entered the ballroom. He was accompanied by a handsome military officer who Jane recognized as his younger brother. Though his brother immediately latched on to an eager dance partner, Lord Slade was surveying the room as he moved into the crowd. Owing to his height, his head of dark brown hair towered over a sea of paler heads.

As he came closer, she was able to observe him in full, glorious length. This night he did not defy fashion but dressed perfectly in black, save for the snowy white linen of his shirt and cravat that tied simply beneath his square chin and matched the white in his teeth.

Regrettably, his gaze followed Lady Sarah as she stood gracefully in the longway, each of her hands linked to those of a different gentleman while she watched the couple move between the two lines of dancers.

"I declare," Lavinia said, rising, "Lady Spencer is unattended. I must go speak to her."

"Your cousin is exceedingly popular," Miss Lambeth said, half yawning as she spoke.

"One as lovely as she will not be long on the Marriage Mart."

"I dare say you're right." With a sigh, Miss Lambeth rose. "It's time to fetch Mama. She tires so easily at these events." With that, the docile Miss Lambeth excused herself.

Jane did so hate her friend to leave for then she would be quite alone in her corner. Her gaze followed Miss Lambeth as she clomped across the perimeter of the dance floor.

She did not see Lord Slade moving to her.

"Good evening, Miss Featherstone."

She spun around, looked up, and saw the handsome man not two feet away, looking down upon her.

"Good evening to you, my lord." Oh, dear, was he going to ask her to stand up with him? Her irrepressible pulse began to gallop.

"I beg that you allow me to sit by you."

She was almost relieved he was not going to ask her to dance. If any lady ever did fall down during the execution of dance steps, it would have been Miss Featherstone in her nervousness over dancing with the man she so worshipped. "I am honored, my lord."

Tonight his dress was as elegant as the afternoon's had been careless. Both, Jane thought, were magnificent. Every aspect of his grooming spoke of cleanliness. Miss Featherstone could even smell his soap as he sat next to her.

"Tell me, Miss Featherstone, are you still so passionately interested in government?"

"I am, my lord."

"I've very much missed those stimulating dinners at your home."

"As we've missed you. I dare say Papa misses you even more as a colleague in Commons."

"Just because I've moved to the upper chamber does not mean I would not still be gratified to be included among your father's guests."

"I feel certain I can speak for Papa when I say our door will always be open to you, my lord. As a matter of fact, we're a hosting a small dinner tomorrow night for some of Papa's fellow Whigs. We would be exceedingly honored if you would come."

"It's I who would be honored to attend." His black eyes met hers. "I'm honored to be invited. My political philosophy did not suddenly change because I succeeded. I will always be a Whig."

She remembered anew why she had begun to so admire him in the first place. Above all, he had always been a man of principle and high moral values. "You must own, most of your fellow lords oppose everything you have always promulgated."

"That will never stop me from continuing to work toward reform."

"I am very happy to hear that, though, of course, I already have surmised as much."

"Because you still stay well informed over measures in both houses?"

She gave a little laugh. "It's one of my hobbies."

He favored her with his disarming grin. "And the other one, as I recall, is executing wonderful architectural drawings."

The man's phenomenal memory continued to astonish her. "I don't know that I'd call them wonderful, but I love to draw classical buildings."

"One day I shall have to entice you to make a rendering of Dunvale Castle for me."

"It would take no enticement, my lord. Doing so would give me great pleasure."

His long legs stretched out in front of him, and it appeared he was content to stay right there with her. Upon reflection, she realized Lord Slade seldom attended these gatherings, even though he would be considered one of the Most Eligible Matrimonial Catches in the kingdom. "Do you not dance, Lord Slade?"

"Dancing and liking to dance are two entirely different matters."

Her eyes twinkled. "Then it appears we are in agreement upon another matter." If he did not wish to dance, though, why was here?

"It's most gratifying to be in the company of one who shares so many of my own ideals," he said. "In fact, Miss Featherstone, I came here to tonight expressly to see you."

"Me, my lord?"

He nodded. "Indeed. There is a very important question I must ask you."

Chapter 2

He'd always thought of Miss Featherstone as a girl, but as he sat beside her in the noisy ballroom it suddenly occurred to him she was no longer a girl. She had grown into a young woman. How incredulous that she had not married. What was she now? One or two and twenty? The young men must be fools if they hadn't snatched her up. He knew nothing to her detriment and a great deal to her credit.

Though her appearance did not dazzle like her cousin's, Miss Featherstone possessed a delicate prettiness that could easily be overlooked. Perhaps it was her slenderness that made him find her delicate—like a twig that could easily snap. He watched her long, graceful fingers restore a jeweled pin into her long, wavy, soft brown hair.

Even her dress of pale blue evoked delicacy. He noted that its bodice was cut a bit higher than other women's. Most ladies who did so wished to conceal their overabundance of bosom; Miss Featherstone likely did so to conceal her lack of bosom. Yet despite her boy-like chest, the lady was unquestionably feminine.

"What, my lord, is the question you wished to ask me?" She peered up at him with lichen green eyes, and he noticed the little row of freckles that sprinkled across her nose.

"The first thing I must ask is if you're still reform mad."

"Oh, most decidedly.

"And which particular reform do you see as being the most urgent?"

"It's difficult for me to say, especially since you are- - -"

"An aristocrat?"

She nodded, and he was reminded of how young and sweet she had looked opposite the dinner table from her doting father during those lively dinners. Yet she had served as his hostess most capably, despite that she could not have been much more than fourteen when she started.

"May I try to guess?" he asked.

She nodded again, barely suppressing a smile.

"You object to the fact that so many seats in Commons are controlled by a handful of powerful peers."

"It really is an outrage."

"I agree."

She favored him with a smile, and he was once again struck by the realization that she was no longer that precocious girl, but a full-fledged young woman.

"Worst of all," she continued, "is the rotten boroughs. They are a painful reminder of how antiquated our system of government is.

"I agree. Neither house is representative of the people we are supposedly serving."

"Like the thousands of people in the Birmingham who have no representation at all?"

He nodded. "While a pasture in Cornwall does?"

"Exactly!"

"May I say how much I'm looking forward to renewing those dinner conversations with the erudite Miss Featherstone? And your father, of course." He used to marvel at how well read and well informed she was—and that was before she'd officially entered society.

Not many men he knew were possessed of as much knowledge as was crammed into her youthful head. "Until I saw you in the park today I'd forgotten how very much I enjoyed those evenings I spent at your home. How long has it been?"

She shrugged. "I expect we haven't seen you since your father's last, grave illness."

"Then it's been nearly four years. I'm eagerly looking forward to tomorrow night. Will your cousin be there?"

A puzzled look passed over her lightly freckled face. "Lord Harry?"

How stupid of him to have expected the most popular debutante in London to choose to spend an evening discussing political reform at her uncle's modest home. "Actually, I was referring to Lady Sarah, but I realize now how unlikely that would be."

Miss Featherstone's gaze swept to the dancing floor where Lady Sarah was presently standing up with Lord Slade's dashing brother. "I believe my cousin will be dancing blisters on her feet for the next several nights."

"You will not accompany her to all the fetes?"

"It was important for me to be with her this first night, but I believe she will be more than capable of handling herself from here on out."

"It just seemed to me this afternoon in the park that your cousin rather deferred to you."

"How perceptive you are. We are as close as sisters—neither of us having a sister—and, owing to the fact that I'm three years her elder, Lady Sarah has always rather looked to me for guidance." She paused, casting a quick glance at her elegant cousin, "But as you can see, in one single night the pupil has surpassed the teacher."

He shook his head. "I beg to differ. Were Lady Sarah to sit at your father's table tomorrow night, your acumen of politics and literature would likely leave Lady Sarah sadly in your dust."

"You're much too kind."

"I'm honest."

"I have noticed that about you. Sometimes your honesty hinders your- - -"

Silence stretched between them while Miss Featherstone was obviously searching for a non-offensive comment.

Then he understood. "You refer, of course, to my effectiveness in Parliament?" The lady was too gracious to malign him, but he was well aware of the many times his truthful tongue had gotten the better of him on the floor of the House of Lords. And Commons before that.

To this day, Lord Haygood refused to speak to him, and he couldn't blame the man. After all, he'd referred to the Tory—on the floor of the House of Lords—as a "bloated parasite gorging on riches won by his long-ago ancestor."

"Exactly." Her eyes flashed with mirth.

"You certainly are your father's girl. A pity you weren't a male. We could use you in Parliament."

"Papa's always lamented that my brother Robert did not choose to stand for office. Of course, it is very expensive. It's understandable his wife would wish to funnel funds elsewhere. Not all of us are as wealthy as Harold Berkley was."

Money! That's why Miss Featherstone had not married. None of the Featherstones had a feather to fly with. "How well I know about that. In fact," he cleared his throat. He hated like the devil what he was about to do, but it was his duty. "In fact, that brings up the question I wished to ask you tonight."

Her thin, nicely arched brows rose.

"I intend to court your cousin, and I would be grateful if you could lubricate my way into her intimate circle. While such a request might be onerous to you, I assure you I have the best intentions."

This was devilishly difficult for him. All afternoon he'd practiced what he was going to say, and now he recited his points like a schoolboy racing through his memorized Chaucer. "Allow me to appeal to your altruism, Miss Featherstone. I remember well how that bleeding heart of yours bent and cracked over any misfortune to orphans or to others who've been oppressed, and were I to marry Lady Sarah, I vow that I will put her money to humanitarian use."

There! He had finished his plea. Had he just asked the heiress he'd met but once for her hand in marriage, he could not have felt more nervous than he did at this moment.

Miss Featherstone did not respond. Her soft brown lashes lowered, and she appeared to be examining the fan gripped tightly in her fingers.

From the turmoil he read in her expression, he already knew the answer. In his nine and twenty years, Jack St. John, Earl of Slade, had never been more humiliated.

In the same way that her brilliant father never spoke rashly but gathered his composure while rationalizing a situation before commenting, Miss Featherstone must be carefully arranging her rejection before speaking.

Finally, she looked up from the fan, and squarely met his gaze. "It pains me to have to turn you down, my lord, but you must realize the selection of a husband is something my cousin must do with no help for me—or anyone." Then she stood, looking down at him. He'd never felt so small.

"I must assume your reacquainting yourself with me was for this nefarious purpose, and I won't expect you at dinner tomorrow." She spun away.

He lunged from his chair and snatched her gloved arm. "I will be at your house tomorrow."

"Very well." She whirled back and left the chamber.

He hated what the Vow had made him become.

* * *

She raced down two flights of stairs, and on the ground level she found the French doors leading out onto the terrace which gave onto Green Park. Speeding past gathered couples who were merrily chatting, she rushed out into the vast blackness of the park. She had to get away. She couldn't let anyone see her in such a disheveled state.

Sweet heavens! She had almost burst into tears in from of Lord Slade. All because she had been so ridiculously stupid as to have thought the man was going to ask for her hand! How could she have been such an imbecile?

He had said he'd come to the ball expressly to see her. Then he flattered her prettily and said he had a question to ask her. What was a lady to think?

Now she felt like a rug he'd wiped his shoes upon.

Equally as disappointing was how far her respect for him had plummeted. She had never thought the noble lord would sink to marrying for fortune, and that is exactly what he intended to do. As pretty as Lady Sarah was, Jane knew the man could not have formed a deep attachment to her after one brief meeting. Why, he hadn't even danced with her!

How could he wish to pledge the rest of his life to a woman for the sole reason that he wanted control of her wealth? His single act—or more precisely, his mercenary intention—had stripped from him every commendable trait she'd ever admired. How could she have been so wrong about his character?

Her stride fast and furious, she paced in the park, her fists clenched tight, her eyes stinging. Her thoughts in a black swirl, she was startled when, at length, buttery squares of light seemed to burst through the darkness. Houses. How far had she gone? The pounding in her heart had by now returned to normal. She finally forced herself to stop and get her bearings. It took her a minute to realize she'd reached Buckingham House. She hadn't gone so terribly far, after all. It had gotten beastly chilly. She rubbed her arms, lamenting she'd not stopped for her shawl.

She turned around and headed back. It was so dark she could barely see where she was placing her satin slippers, but she knew she must hurry. Her reputation could be ruined if she did not immediately return to Spencer House. Besides, it was almost time for supper, and she was uncommonly hungry.

When she returned to the lantern-lighted terrace she was relieved the others had gone inside, obviously for supper. No one would witness her indiscretion. She climbed the steps and entered the house a great deal more calm than when she'd left.

The late-night supper at these balls, though, always posed a problem, owing to the fact a lady must wait until a gentleman honored her by asking to escort her to the table. It was rather embarrassing not to be paired. Often, her dear cousin, Lord Harry, would do her the honor. Would he forgo the opportunity to escort a lovely debutante in order to spare his cousin?

She reached the corridor at the same time as Lord Slade's brother. The brothers' appearances were very similar. Both were tall and possessed of dark chocolate hair, and there was also a strong resemblance in their faces. Lord Slade, though, was a great deal more muscular than his brother; some might say Lord Slade was too large. It was true, she must admit, the younger brother's build with his exceedingly trim waist and wide shoulders would be considered perfection, while Lord Slade might be considered just a large man.

His gaze met hers, and a smile flashed across his handsome face. "Miss Featherstone, is it not?"

"Indeed, Mr. St. John, or should I call you. . ." She looked at the various kinds of metal pinned onto his scarlet military jacket. "I know I should be able to know your rank, but I'm sadly ignorant of such matters."

He chuckled. "From the one and only time I had the pleasure of your company, I would have to say the word ignorant could never be applicable to you." He gave a courtly bow. "I am now known as Captain St. John."

Other couples around them began to pair up for supper. "Would you do me the goodness of allowing me to escort you to dinner?" he asked.

She only barely suppressed a huge sigh of relief as she placed her hand in his. "I would be honored, Captain."

She was happy to find Lady Sarah and Freddie Whey sitting across the table from her. "Do you know my cousin, Lady Sarah?" Jane asked the captain as he scooted in her chair.

He smiled at the lady in question. "I am beholden to Sir William for making me known to the lady. How do you do again, my lady?"

Lady Sarah fluttered her lengthy lashes. "Very well, thank you, Captain."

"I should think you must be welcoming the opportunity to sit," Jane said to her cousin. "You've danced every single set."

"Oh, la! I enjoy dancing ever so much." Lady Sarah turned to her partner. "Are you acquainted with my cousin, Miss Featherstone?"

Freddie Whey, who was a year younger than Jane, nodded. "Yes, I've had that pleasure."

"How do you do, Mr. Whey?" Jane said by way of greeting.

She was very sure his response was all that was proper, but for the life of her, she could not hear it.

As the long table filled, the drone of more than a hundred voices made communicating across the table excessively difficult.

"I must own, Captain, I was astonished you remembered me," she said over cold, diced mutton sprigged with fresh parsley. "You must have been just a boy the last—and only time—we saw one another."

"Indeed. It was five years ago, when I was seventeen."

So he was a year older than she. "However would you remember that?"

"Because Jack did not deem me mature enough for dinners at Featherstone House until I was seventeen, and the following year I was off to the Peninsula." He tossed back a sip of his champagne. "I must own, I was most curious to meet the girl Jack was always telling me about."

She gave him a quizzing look.

"You, Miss Featherstone. Jack would lament that I was not more diligent in my studies. 'Miss Featherstone is younger than you, and she knows everything,' he would tell me. So, of course, I was most impatient to meet this remarkable girl he was always blathering about."

Some of her oppression lifted away, like a gray cloud to reveal a blue sky. Lord Slade had actually admired her! "Then you must have been very disappointed when you did make my acquaintance."

"Not at all. I still remember what was being discussed that night. Penal reform. I shall always remember your insistence there should be a hierarchy of offenses, that the punishment for poaching should not be the same as for murdering. That sort of thing."

"If your memory is that remarkable, then you must have been a far better student than you say."

He vigorously shook his head. "That's why I'm a soldier. "

She was struck by how much he looked like his brother. Only his brother was far more grave. "Your facial expressions are so much like your brother's, except that you're a jollier version."

"It's no wonder. I have the good fortune to be the second son."

Her brows hiked. "You prefer being a younger son? No title? No fortune?"

He laughed out loud. "There is no fortune. There's nothing but a crumbling castle, a pile of debts, and a pack of siblings who have to be provided for. And if all that wasn't enough crushing responsibility, poor Jack was pressured into making a deathbed vow to our father that I don't think he'll ever be able to keep. And to know Jack is to know he has always prided himself on his truthfulness."

"Indeed." She wanted to ask what the Vow was, but it really wasn't her concern. Lord Slade was nothing to her. The Vow between him and his dying father was a deeply personal matter. Nevertheless, she was consumed with curiosity.

"You understand, I'm telling you this only because I know you and my brother are on some terms of intimacy," he said.

If he thought that, perhaps he might tell her what The Vow was. Of course, she had no right to ask. Absolutely no right. And she most certainly was not on any terms of intimacy with Lord Slade! She hadn't even seen him in nearly four years.

But he had actually praised her to his brother! Such knowledge had the power to make her feel as if she were walking on clouds. All these years she had believed he couldn't possibly notice anyone as plain as she (no matter how pretty her father told her she was). All these years she had rather fancied she blended in with the wallpaper. And all these years he had actually been aware of her! She was exceedingly flattered.

Even if he had destroyed her high opinion of him tonight.

Being aware of her, though, was nothing like actually being attracted to her. He was an earl, after all. His looks and title could win any woman's heart. A man who could have any woman he chose would never settle for a drab thing like her.

"Oh, yes," she said. "I've always been a great admirer of your brother. I'm sorry to learn that he's under an obligation he is unable to fulfill. Pray, is there any way I can help?" Perhaps now he would tell her more about the mysterious Vow.

He shook his head sadly. "Not unless you had a fortune."

She shrugged. "You know what they say about us Featherstones?"

"Indeed." He gave her a sheepish grin. "You don't have a feather to fly with."

They both laughed.

"The pity of it is, the money poor Jack needs will be impossible to raise. Unless he . . .well, there's nothing for it but to . . ." He looked around to make sure no one was listening, then he lowered his voice, "marry a considerable heiress."

She could stand it no longer. Now he was blathering, and he hadn't got to the point! "Why must he possess a considerable fortune? Pray, what was the Vow?"

He looked taken aback. "Did I not say?"

"No, you did not."

"Well, then, Papa asked Jack to save Dunvale Castle, to bring it back to glory. You must know the old pile is crumbling."

"Actually, I've never been to Dunvale."

"There's little to see anymore. We're reduced to occupying but two floors in one wing. It's really ghastly. The turrets have tumbled, and the keep has kaput."

She felt ashamed of herself for giggling over so serious a problem, but Captain St. John was most entertaining. "How long has the castle been in your family?"

"That's the pity of it. Since the Conquest."

"Oh, dear. I do see why your father was so keen to preserve it."

"But his request, you must own, was beastly unfair to Jack."

"Without question."

"There are also the girls."

"You mean your younger sisters?"

"Yes."

"How many of them are there?"

"Three."

"I see. Lord Slade must present them and dower them?"

He nodded. "In time, I think he'll be able to manage that. He's very clever about economizing, and he has no vices like gaming and. . .well, you know the sorts of things a lot of bloods do."

Her nose wrinkled with distaste. "Indeed."

"He's bought my commission; so, that at least is behind him."

"One down. Three to go."

"Exactly," he said, smiling.

"Allow me to pour your wine." He filled her fine crystal glass with a fine French wine. She supposed Lord Spencer had filled his cellars back in '02 after the Treaty of Amiens had provided a temporary respite from war with France.

Though she had been ravishingly hungry, her appetite vanished. How terribly she had misjudged Lord Slade. She should have known the man who had always championed the unfortunate would be just the sort to sacrifice his own happiness in order to help others. Not that marrying Lady Sarah would exactly be sacrificing his happiness. Lady Sarah was all any man could want in a wife.

But somehow she did not think Lady Sarah was the sort of wife Lord Slade would have selected, had he free choice.

She looked up and down the table and all around the room, searching for Lord Slade, but he was not there. "Where is your brother?"

"He's gone. Must have left about an hour ago."

"Without dancing?"

Captain St. John shrugged. "Now that you mention it, I don't remember seeing him on the ballroom floor all night. Of course, balls have never been to Jack's taste."

She need not ask why he had chosen to come tonight. "What about you, Captain? Do you like to attend balls?"

He glanced across the table at Lady Sarah. "Very much." His gaze returned to Jane. "It's gratifying to find so many lovely ladies all in the same room."

She could well believe he was quite the ladies' man. In temperament, the brothers were as dissimilar as she and Lady Sarah.

She pushed away her untouched plate of sweetmeats. Her heart went out to poor Lord Slade, who was so weighed down caring for his family and worrying about that wretched Vow. Not that there was anything she could do to help him. It wasn't as if she could order her cousin to fall in love with him.

Could she even try to assist him in his quest?

What a heartbreaking choice she had to make.

Chapter 3

"Oh, dearest, I just remembered we'll have to add one more plate," Mr. Featherstone said to his daughter.

Jane drew a long breath, gritted her teeth, then whirled around to face her father. "Now you remember to tell me—when the guests should be here in less than ten minutes?" She stormed to the butler-less butler's pantry to fetch one more plate, her father's shuffling gait trying to catch up with her.

"What's one more?" he asked, shrugging.

She grabbed another gilt-edged dish and hastened back to the dining room. "It's not just one more plate, it's one more mouth to feed. Do not dare to take a second helping of turbot!"

He threw up his arms. "Why are you in such a dust-up today, love? You act as if we're entertaining the king himself."

"I am not in a dust-up. I'm trying to be my father's competent hostess." Her voice softened as she met his gaze. "Pray, Papa, who is this unexpected guest?" All she'd been able to think of all afternoon was one specific guest. Lord Slade.

"A fellow by the name of Cecil Poppinbotham."

"I'm certain I would remember that name. Are you sure he's in Parliament?"

"Not yet. Wilhampton says that Poppinbotham's keen to stand for the Plymouth seat and that he's got significant funds to finance it."

"His own money?" She rearranged the plates on one side of the table in order to squeeze in one more.

Her father carried another chair to the overcrowded table. "Yes. The man's a printer. Made a fortune publishing penny pamphlets."

"I don't think I've read penny political pamphlets." Miss Featherstone stood back and admired her work. Neither the table nor the dining room was more than a quarter the size of her uncle's, Lord Clegg's; yet, the elegance of Mama's delicate plate and the baroque silver epergne could not be surpassed at any of London's finest homes.

"Oh, they're not political. They're religious. Moral tales and the like."

"Then I dare say I've purchased a few," she said. "But why does the gentleman wish to come here?"

"Apparently he wants to represent Whigs."

A rapping sounded at the door, but of course her father did not hear it—though he would never admit he was losing his hearing. "Do go and get the door, Papa. Our first guest must have come." Her thoughts flitted to Lord Slade. One who was used to a house full of servants was probably not accustomed to residents answering their own doors.

She recounted the place settings, then scurried down the backstairs to the kitchen to see if Mrs. Kling and the half-day cook should need her.

By the time she strolled into the drawing room five minutes later, each of the invited guests had assembled. Including Lord Slade.

All the gentlemen accorded her the courtesy of standing when she entered the chamber. One second of recognition, then her gender would be completely forgotten when the discussions began.

Mr. Fortorney, a longtime colleague of her father's, addressed the devastatingly handsome Lord Slade. "May I say how honored we are that you still embrace us, my lord?"Lord Slade's gaze flicked to Jane for the briefest second before he answered. "The honor is entirely mine. I had not realized until I spoke with Miss Featherstone yesterday how very much I had missed these stimulating talks." His voice lowered. "How much I miss serving in Commons."

"Oh, come now, Slade," her father said, "you cannot be sorry to have inherited a title and Dunvale Castle."

His lordship gave a bitter laugh. "While I have some affinity for the family name and for Dunvale, I have never admired the English system of aristocracy."

"Why is that?" Mr. Goldfinch asked.

"I find men admirable for the deeds they've done—not for actions of long-ago ancestors. When I'm on my deathbed, I don't want to be remembered as the Eleventh Earl of Slade. I wish to be remembered for any good I may have done for my fellow man."

"Dare I offer an opposing comment at my first foray into the Whig inner circle?"

All eyes turned to the speaker, the newcomer, Mr. Cecil Poppinbotham.

Jane took this opportunity to study the printer. She judged his age to be forty for his slickened black hair—most fashionably styled—was liberally streaked with gray. His rather gaunt face was at odds with the jauntiness of his dress. In fact, his whole manner of dress was that of a much younger man, perhaps a dandy on his first visit to Town.

The white stripe that ran vertically along his rust-colored pantaloons matched the linen of his cravat, but there all coordination ended. His waistcoat was of lime green, his jacket a deep plum, and his shoes a peculiar shade of gray. There was a certain crispness about his clothing that attested to its newness, and the tailoring seemed very fine, indeed. No doubt, he had spared no expense in his quest to be a popinjay.

Instead of thinking ill of him, though, Jane determined to be extra solicitous toward the poor fish out of water. She also realized the uninitiated like he might believe members of the House of Commons were truly common, when in actuality the majority consisted of peer's younger sons and brothers and others sponsored by powerful aristocrats.

"Please do, Mr. Poppinbotham," her father said.

"I believe it's unEnglish to lambast our system of aristocracy."

Mr. Arthur nodded. "Dare say, I agree with you!"

Mr. Poppinbotham preened. "People who oppose our system of peerage are cut from the same cloth as those who guillotine kings, meaning no offense to you, your lordship."

Lord Slade merely nodded at the newcomer, a sliver of a smile tilting at the corners of his mouth. Miss Featherstone ran an appreciative eye over the earl. The somberness of the muted browns he wore certainly did not compete with the newcomer's foppish clothing.

The drawing room door opened, and everyone eyed the gray-haired Mrs. Kling. The matronly housekeeper had kept everything in the Featherstone house running smoothly for more years than Jane had existed. "Dinner's on the table," she announced, then she returned to the kitchen.

As they moved into the dining room, Jane watched Mr. Poppinbotham with amusement as he paused in front of the gilt-framed mirror, screwed up his mouth into a self-satisfied smile, and pet his greasy hair in the same loving way one pets a favored dog. Even as he walked away, he could not quite relinquish his reflective view—until he bumped into the door jamb.

Besides her father and herself, seven others gathered around the rectangular table and began to fill their plates from steaming bowls that spread across the starchy white cloth.

After the diners had filled their plates, Mr. Featherstone said, "Tell me, Mr. Poppinbotham, what made you decide to stand for Plymouth?"

That he had not quite finished chewing his Brussels sprouts did not stop Mr. Poppinbotham from immediately responding. "I had the honor of meeting his grace, the Duke of Hawthorne, last month at the opening of a Sunday school he sponsored. At a small reception afterward, he was saying he hoped a Whig would stand for Plymouth, but it would take a man of means. By the manner in which he observed the quality of my dress, it was obvious he was referring to me. Though I'm not given to boasting, I had to, in all truthfulness, admit to his grace that I am perhaps the most prosperous prin---, er, publisher in the kingdom."

"So you announced your candidacy then and there?" Lord Slade asked.

Mr. Poppinbotham nodded. "I felt it my duty to give of myself for my country."

"Very commendable," said Jane's kindly father before turning to the earl. "You, my lord, are certainly facing an uphill battle in Lords with your support of labor unions." His gaze flicked to Jane. "What was it Lord Symthington said last week?"

"If he had to increase wages for the colliers in his mines," Jane said, rolling her eyes, "it would force him to close them. And, of course, everyone knows Lord Symthington's mines have been exceedingly prosperous."

"Indeed," Lord Slade said. "In the past year alone he's purchased a yacht large enough for the Royal Navy and a castle in Ireland that's larger than his castle in Scotland."

"He spouts much the same thing as Lord Bingley said about his prodigious stables," Mr. Goldfinch said with a chuckle.

"Yes," Lord Slade added, a gleam in his black yes. "If all the grooms were to unionize, he'd have to sell off the finest horseflesh in the kingdom. It does seem to my colleagues that if the citizenry were given decent wages, it would run the entire country into the ground."

"I had the good fortune to view Lord Bingley's stables," Mr. Poppinbotham interjected.

Lord Slade's brows lifted. "Then you enjoy the races at Newmarket?"

"No. No." Mr. Poppinbotham vigorously shook his head. "Never been to Newmarket in my life. I neither gamble nor ride."

"I expect your pr--, publishing concerns keep you enormously busy," Jane said.

"Indeed they do, Miss Featherstone."

"Tell me, Mr. Poppinbotham, does Hannah More write for you?" Mr. Featherstone asked.

"I have had the honor of publishing some of her tracts."

Lord Slade cast a glance down the table at Mr. Poppinbotham. "They must sell exceedingly well."

"Allow me to say I wish I had three of her." Mr. Poppinbotham helped himself to a second serving of turbot, leaving the serving dish empty of everything save the buttery French sauce.

"How many are employed by your publishing company, Mr. Poppinbotham?" Lord Slade asked.

The printer puckered his lips, peered at the ceiling, and mumbled numbers before responding. "I employ a dozen printers, and then there are the lads who . . .distribute our work. That amount varies considerably. I'd say there are a couple of hundred of them."

"There has been talk of a printers' union," Jane said.

Mr. Poppinbotham's brows lowered. "Yes, I've heard."

"Surely a generous man like yourself," Mr. Featherstone said, "a man who feels compelled to give to his country would not object to the unionization of the printers who work for him."

The printer flicked a glance at Jane before answering. "No, of course not, though my men are already paid a decent wage."

"Very commendable." Mr. Featherstone smiled. "Returning to Mrs. More, I met her once. A most righteous woman. What a pity her sympathies are so firmly with the Tories."

Mr. Poppinbotham's mouth gaped open. "'Pon my word, I didn't know that!"

"Like all Tories, she no doubt has a reverence for the monarchy," Lord Slade said.

"Even for mad kings," Mr. Goldfinch said with a laugh.

Jane frowned. "I beg that you not disparage our unfortunate king."

"While I'm no admirer of monarchies, I would never wish either our king or our regent ill," Mr. Goldfinch defended.

"It's not as if they have power such as the Bourbons enjoyed—and squandered." Lord Slade's gaze swept across the table. "Thankfully our Parliament holds the most power."

Mr. Featherstone nodded. "And controls the Civil List."

Jane smiled to herself, recalling how the government trimmed some of the extravagant requests in the regent's last Civil List.

"Since you don't approve of the peerage system," Mr. Poppinbotham said to Lord Slade, "does that mean you'd be happy to do away with the monarchy?"

"I'd be no happier abolishing the monarchy than I'd be tearing down my family home, Dunvale Castle. We English have a great respect for tradition."

"Miss Featherstone, I read in this morning's newspaper of your kinswoman," Mr. Goldfinch said.

Jane's brows lifted. "Lady Sarah?"

Mr. Goldfinch nodded. "It appears she's expected to be the Season's most sought-after prize."

"I cannot imagine anyone else could be possessed of all the attributes that have been bestowed upon my cousin." Jane's gaze flicked to Lord Slade, whose lids were downcast.

"Pray, Miss Featherstone," Mr. Poppinbotham said, "how are you related to Lady Sarah?"

"My mother was sister to the present earl."

"Lady Mary's father was, of course, the previous earl," Mr. Fortorney said.

"And I must say I do have a great reverence for Monmouth Hall, where my mother grew up." Jane smiled just thinking of the stately old home nestled among the gentle hills of the Peak District.

Dinner conversation returned to politics, and Jane took the opportunity to study Lord Slade. He possessed as many attributes as Lady Sarah, though their qualities were in different areas. While he lacked a fortune like her cousin's, his knowledge vastly exceeded hers. Together, they would complement one another and would make a spectacular couple.

Jane had slept little the night before. Her dilemma had kept her awake. Before she made a false step, she had to be certain a union between his lordship and her cousin was in the best interest of both. Then she realized no one would ever take a step if they waited for assurances about the future. Only fools could think themselves certain of the future.

At the end of the evening as the gentlemen began to leave, Mr. Poppinbotham held her hand a few seconds longer than necessary. "I have business in St. Albans tomorrow, but I beg that you allow me to call on you the day after tomorrow, Miss Featherstone."

So surprised was she over his interest in her, it took her a few seconds to realize what he meant. The man means to court me. He was as far from Lord Slade as a workhouse was to a palace. Just as far removed as she was from Lady Sarah. With a sinking heart, she knew how she had to reply. "Certainly, Mr. Poppinbotham."

His step seemed lighter as he moved to the door.

Lord Slade left next. His brows had been lowered as he watched Mr. Poppinbotham leave, but when he faced Jane, he was all smiles.

Since the others were not near, she said, "I have a matter I'd like to discuss with you tomorrow, my lord."

"Then I beg that you'll allow me to take you for a drive in the park."

"Very well, my lord."

* * *

Miss Jane Featherstone felt like an imposter as she sat up on the phaeton beside Lord Slade. She was not a Pretty Young Thing with whom men chose to drive through Hyde Park. Never in her one and twenty years had a man so honored her. And it wasn't as if his lordship had singled her out for particular attentions. Her lovely cousin should be sitting in her place.

But if Jane's plan was successful, the ton would soon know that it was only a matter of time before Lady Sarah would become Lady Slade.

How very, very fortunate Lady Sarah was, Jane thought, trying to suppress bitterness over her own absence of attractions.

She stole a glance at Lord Slade. There was something unquestionably masculine about a booted man grasping ribbons. Not that his lordship needed any props in order to look manly.

They were deep into the park and had exchanged all the usual pleasantries before he asked her why she had desired a private word with him.

* * *

He had dreaded this meeting with Miss Featherstone. Ever since the night of the ball, he'd been unable to purge his feelings of shame. Miss Featherstone understandably would think him a fortune hunter, and for some reason it bothered him that he'd sunk so low in Miss Featherstone's eyes. There was nothing admirable in a man who wed for riches.

He had calculated to bring up her private conversation when no others were nearby.

"I have been thinking of the request you made of me the night of the debutants' ball," she began. His glance flicked to her serious profile. In the daylight the freckles dusting her Romanesque nose were much more visible than they were at night. She looked more like the girl he'd remembered so fondly than the young woman she'd become.

He frowned. "Must you bring up something which shames me?"

"My dear Lord Slade, you have no reason to be ashamed. You cannot have failed to notice no less than a dozen men have been dancing attendance upon my cousin. And why should they not? She's beautiful, she comes from one of the best families, and she happens to be a considerable heiress."

She was no longer angry with him for scheming to marry an heiress? He straightened, took his eyes off his gelding, and stared at Miss Featherstone. "From your actions the other night, it was apparent that you found my interest in Lady Sarah to be. . .mercenary."

"Then I must ask your forgiveness."

"It's I who should be asking for your forgiveness. We both know my interest in your cousin was prompted for reasons that were not the most noble."

Her face whipped to within inches from his. Her mossy green eyes held his. "How can you say it's not noble to want to save a castle that's been in your family since the conquest? Or that it's not noble to wish to dower your young sisters?"

He brought the horse to an abrupt stop and faced her. "How do you know these things?"

"Your brother did me the kindness of escorting me to dinner after you left Lord Spencer's, and thinking that you and I were on some terms of intimacy, he told me of the Vow."

He sucked in his breath and snapped his crop. His gelding leapt forward. Neither he nor she spoke for a moment, then she finally said, "I have always admired you, my lord, and I believe of all the men in London you would make the finest husband for my dear cousin."

They came abreast of a passing phaeton and nodded to the passengers. "I am not worthy of your confidence."

"You are a truthful man, are you not?"

"Of course!"

"Then I don't believe you would express feelings of affection toward Lady Sarah unless you were telling the truth. Am I not right?"

"You are right."

"Therefore, I have decided to see that you have the opportunity to win her affections—but only if you give me your word that you will never lie to her."

"You know I would never tell a falsehood."

"That means that the only way you will offer for her hand is after you can truthfully tell her she owns your heart."

Love had never entered into his calculations, never been part of his plan. An heir often did not have the right to actually marry for love. An heir had a duty.

How could he possibly know if he could fall in love with the heiress? There was the fact she was lovely. Very lovely. As he thought about what Miss Featherstone said, he realized she had not told him not to offer for Lady Sarah, but just not to offer for the lady until such time he could truthfully tell her he loved her.

Surely he could fall in love with the lady.

While he'd never thought to marry for love, he had always thought that once he was married, he would fall in love with the woman who shared his life and bore his children. And, of course, he would never be unfaithful to the woman with whom he'd been joined to in matrimony.

"So, if I give you my word I would not offer for her until I can offer my love, you will help me woo her?"

"I will."

How would he ever be able to thank Miss Featherstone? Instead of making him feel like a fortune hunter, she tried to make him feel noble. He turned and offered her a smile. "I cannot tell you how honored I am that you have found me admirable. May I ask why?"

"Was it not you who said last night that you want to be remembered for any good deeds you may have done for your fellow man?"

His head inclined, he shrugged.

"I have observed your actions in Parliament since the day you stepped on the floor of the House of Commons." Her voice softened. "I know you're an honorable man."

He kept his eyes ahead. They were approaching Rotten Row, where dozens of other conveyances trailed one another. "I thank you."

"Do not hitch all your dreams to the scheme, my lord. It's possible my cousin will favor another of her many suitors over you."

"I am well aware of that fact."

"Be assured I will sing your praises."

"I am destitute of words to express my gratitude."

She gave him a warm smile. "Now, we must decide on a plan."

Chapter 4

“What a lovely surprise seeing you here this morning,” Lady Sarah said as she turned away from her dressing table and peered at Cousin Jane.

Miss Featherstone was incapable of removing her gaze from the perfection of Lady Sarah. This morning her beautiful cousin wore a simple dress of sprigged muslin, its tiny flower matching the blue in her eyes. Her maid had just finished dressing her fashionably short, silky blonde hair. No picture in Ackermann’s Repository had ever been able to capture a young woman even half as elegant as Lady Sarah.

“I presume the loveliest debutante in all of England is readying to present herself before a bevy of admirers paying a morning call.”

“You are, as always, ever so perceptive, Jane. Please say you will join me.”

“That’s precisely why I’ve come. What better place to find a room full of eligible men? Not that any of them would ever look at me when you’re such a feast for the eyes.”

Lady Sarah sighed. “I never thought I’d say this, but it gets terribly tedious being the object of young men’s devotion.”

“I can see that the proliferation of posies, the perpetual paying of compliments, and the odes written on your beauty could get very tiresome, indeed, very fast.”

“Perhaps you can latch on to one of my outcasts.” Realizing she had just all but insulted her cousin, Lady Sarah leapt toward Jane, holding out her hands. “Pray, forgive me, my dearest cousin. It was most uncharitable of me to say such a thing.”

“I’ve told you countless times to never apologize for saying something which is true.”

“You are too dear.” Sarah took a last glance in the mirror and started for the door. “One of my suitors, Mr. Mannington, told me at the Vane's ball last night that he saw you riding in the park with Lord Slade yesterday afternoon. I must own, I was surprised.”

“He’s very far above my touch, but we are friends of long standing. He came to dinner at our house the previous night and dazzled everyone at the table with his brilliance.”

They left the lady's bedchamber and began descending the majestic staircase of Clegg House. “It’s a most fortunate young woman who wins Lord Slade’s hand in marriage,” Miss Featherstone continued, “for he is possessed of so many admirable qualities. There is his good looks and his position in the House of Lords and his deep affection for his siblings.”

Lady Sarah giggled. “You, my dear cousin, have just described half the men who will be calling on me today!”

In the Earl of Clegg’s drawing room, every seat was filled with young men, most of whom were bearing flowers for the earl’s lovely daughter. All of them stood when the two young ladies entered the large chamber furnished in dark mahoganies and emerald silk and adorned with paintings by Italian masters as well as a Gainsborough of the present Lady Clegg as a younger woman with lightly powdered hair.

Presently, that lady, whose hair was now lightly gray without artificial help, sat on a settee in the center of the chamber, smugly satisfied over her daughter's spectacular success.

But it was not that lady who drew Miss Featherstone's attention. Her glance whisked first to Lord Slade. She had known she would find him in the gathering of morning callers, but she was surprised to see that he had come with his brother.

Those two gentlemen quickly offered their chairs to the female cousins.

Seated, Miss Featherstone surveyed the almost all-male gathering. She counted three and twenty young men.

And she realized Lady Sarah had been correct about half of them sharing Lord Slade’s attributes of rank, good looks, and amiability, though Miss Featherstone did not think any of them as handsome as Lord Slade or his handsome brother. And she knew none of them could match him intellectually.

A pity his lordship – unlike the other callers – had not thought to bring flowers to Lady Sarah.

One by one the others filed before the beautiful heiress, presenting her with bouquets and praising her great beauty.

Lady Clegg summoned a footman and instructed him to find vases of water for all the flowers.

“I have searched every flower seller in London,” the Viscount Pennington declared as he presented Lady Sarah a single iris, “to find a flower to match the color of your beautiful eyes.”

The somewhat portly Mr. Raikes came to stand before the beauty and unfolded a sheet of velum. “Allow me to present you a poem in praise of your beauty, Lady Sarah. I will not take the time at present to read it to you, but I pray you will do so when we take our leave.”

“Oh, most certainly, Mr. Raikes. How very kind of you.” Lady Sarah barely finished addressing Mr. Raikes when Lord Fordwich came to bow before her, offering a posy of pastel flowers gathered in lace.

“Allow me to say how honored I am to pay tribute to your great beauty, my lady.”

Miss Featherstone now understood how tedious such adoration could be. For the first time since she had been presented, Miss Featherstone was grateful she did not possess astonishing beauty.

Once all the offerings had been bestowed, the gentlemen began to converse. Would Lady Sarah be at the Riverton’s rout? How had she enjoyed the ball at Lord Spencer’s?

The Viscount Fitzherbert asked her if she would join him for a ride in the park that afternoon. Before responding to him, she turned to Jane. “Will you be riding in the park this afternoon, my dear cousin?”

“As a matter of fact I shall.” This was a first for Miss Featherstone. Two days in a row she had been asked to ride with a gentleman. Two different gentlemen–one of whom was very far above her own touch.

“Who will you be riding with?” Lady Sarah asked.

“Mr. Poppinbotham.”

Lady Sarah’s brows plunged. “Have I met him?”

“I don’t believe so. He’s seeking Papa’s advice because he means to stand for Parliament.”

Lord Slade spoke for the first time since he’d offered the ladies his chair. “I had the pleasure of meeting the gentleman at Miss Featherstone’s house this week.”

“You are interested in Whig politics, Lord Slade?” Lady Sarah asked.

“Very.”

The beauty frowned. “Papa is a Tory.”

“I have many friends who are Tories,” his lordship said.

Lady Sarah’s attention returned to the young man who had asked her to ride with him later that day. “How very kind of you to ask, Lord Fitzherbert. Perhaps we can join up with my cousin and her Mr. Poppinbotham.”

“He’s not my Mr. Poppinbotham!”

Lord Slade addressed the beauty. “A shared ride in the park certainly does not mean the couples are exclusive to one another.” His bitter glance fell first to Viscount Fitzherbert, then he smiled at Miss Featherstone. “Take me and Miss Featherstone, for example.”

“Yes,” Lady Sarah interjected, “the two of you rode in the park yesterday, and you are both only good friends.”

“Almost as a brother and sister,” said Lord Slade, his sly glance falling on Lord Fitzherbert.

Though she knew his words true and knew that a plain Jane like she could never aspire to captivate a man as lofty as Lord Slade, his words stung.

* * *

That afternoon Mr. Poppinbotham came to claim Miss Featherstone exactly at four of the clock. He was dressed in what he undoubtedly considered fashionable afternoon dress for a gentleman of means, but his ideas of fashion and Miss Featherstone's were two entirely different matters.

She could find nothing to dislike in his light gray pantaloons. In fact, they were obviously cut by a master tailor. His waistcoat of purple silk spotted with lavender was a bit more bold than Miss Featherstone would have preferred, and the profusion of knots in his excessively large cravat was too overdone for her taste, which veered toward the plain. Like she.

A scarlet coat completed his dress. As one who had studied art, Miss Featherstone understood that all his colors were from the same color ways, which was admirable. At least he hadn't paired pumpkin with pink. But, still, she could not admire his style.

His equipage was another matter altogether. In this opulent display, Mr. Poppinbotham had put his considerable funds to good effect. All four of the matched bays had been hitched to the gentleman's very fine open barouche, and a liveried driver sat up on the box.

"What a very fine carriage this is," she told him as he assisted her onto the rolled leather seat.

A smile of satisfaction lifted his sagging cheeks. "It bloody well ought to be. Set me back a thousand guineas."

She searched her brain, but Miss Featherstone could not recall anyone in her acquaintance ever disclosing what they paid for something. It simply wasn't done.

Such a fine carriage could not go unnoticed once they entered the gates of Hyde Park, where a queue of equipages funneled inward. Miss Featherstone was just vain enough to be flattered that a gentleman obviously meant to call attention to his connection with her.

And she did not think he considered them brother and sister.

His eye had appreciatively swept over her from the tip of her bonnet and down the length of her soft pink pelisse when he had called on her. "You are the very picture of loveliness today, Miss Featherstone," he had told her. Perhaps some men did admire flag-pole figures.

As she sat beside him, she took the opportunity to discreetly study his person. Though his face and limbs were slender, the man was possessed of a large, round stomach. Certainly nothing like Lord Slade.

She had no right to be comparing the two men. She, certainly, was no Lady Sarah, either in beauty, rank, or fortune. She was bereft of all three. Therefore, she should be grateful to any man who paid her court.

Papa was seventy and not in the best of health. Did she really want to be the unwanted maiden aunt in Lavinia's home once Papa was gone?

She flashed a smile at Mr. Poppinbotham. "How did your trip go yesterday?"

"Very profitable."

Is money the only thing the man ever thinks about? "Well, it's nice to have you back in London. You must have sway with the weather gods." Her gaze whisked up at the blue, cloudless sky.

"Couldn't have asked for a finer day."

As they drove along, Miss Featherstone nodded to several lone riders with whom she was acquainted, and she extended greetings to several couples perched on phaetons. That many of those she addressed bore titles obviously impressed Mr. Poppinbotham.

"How is it, Miss Featherstone, you are acquainted with so many members of the aristocracy?"

"My mother was the daughter of the Earl of Clegg. I have many relations who are titled, and it's a rather close society."

"I envy you your contacts. You are invited into these aristocrats' homes?"

What a silly question! "I suppose I have invitations for events every day of the week at homes of the nobility, but I'm not terribly interested in balls and assemblies."

"What of the venerable Almack's? Have you ever been fortunate enough to wrangle a voucher?"

She laughed out loud. "My first two seasons, I had a subscription there. I chose not to this year because I am not particularly enamored of dancing. Had I need to go there, I dare say I could procure a voucher from my friend Lady Cowper." She smiled at him. "Tell me, Mr. Poppinbotham, do you enjoy dancing?"

"Sadly, I must own that when I was a younger man I was too busy making my fortune to go about to assemblies."

"Then you've never learned to dance?"

He shook his head vigorously. "Oh, no, no! I took lessons all of last year. Cost me twenty quid, but when he was finished, my dancing master proclaimed me fit for Almack's."

So he wants to "wrangle" an invitation. Should she try to facilitate it? After a short deliberation, she said, "Should you like me to get you a voucher, Mr. Poppinbotham?"

His dark eyes brightened. She had to admit the man was possessed of very fine eyes. "I would be ever so grateful, but I should not want to go without you, Miss Featherstone."

Because he would know no one. Not a single person. "Would you be available next Wednesday?"

"For something as august as the opportunity to attend Almack's, nothing could be more important. How good of you to ask, my dear Miss Featherstone." He favored her with a broad smile.

In the distance she saw that Lord Fitzherbert was steering his phaeton toward them, looking as proud as a barnyard rooster who'd just sired a peacock, that peacock being Miss Featherstone's lovely cousin.

When they came fully abreast of Mr. Poppinbotham's barouche, Miss Featherstone presented her escort to the viscount and her cousin, and the viscount offered to turn around and ride abreast of them so the cousins could speak freely to one another.

"Fine cattle you've got there, Poppingham," Lord Fitzherbert said.

Mr. Poppinbotham's eyes flashed with good humor. "It's Poppinbotham, your kind lordship. How good of your lordship to notice my horses. I don't mind telling you it was no easy matter finding four so well matched."

The viscount lifted a brow. "You get them at Tattersall's?"

"Indeed I did. I always say nothing but the best. 'Tis my motto. Nothing but the best for Cecil Poppinbotham."

As it turned out, the two men were closest to one another, and they began to discuss conveyances – with Miss Featherstone's escort prompt to disclose his barouche alone cost over five hundred quid.

Not being particularly interested in vehicles, the cousins began to chat. "Another ball for you tonight?" Miss Featherstone asked.

"No. I had but one invitation, and Mama said it would not do me credit to go to the Morton's."

"Dear love," Miss Featherstone advised, "it's best not to mention people by specific names with such a comment."

"As always, you are right, dear Jane. I wish you could accompany me everywhere."

"It's a great pity our interests are so dissimilar. I adore politics; you are sadly ignorant of such affairs. And I'm a hopeless wallflower while you are the Season's reigning queen. I really would love to spend more time with you, pet, especially since we're both in London. Might I persuade you to come to our house tonight? Papa's having one of his Whig dinners."

"I don't suppose my papa would mind since it's at Uncle's house." Lady Sarah eyed her cousin's escort. "Will Mr. Poppingbottom be there?"

"It's Poppinbotham. And, yes, he will."

Lady Sarah took that opportunity to stare at her cousin's suitor.

Twice while Miss Featherstone was conversing with her cousin, she heard Mr. Poppinbotham say, "When I get in Parliament."

She would hear more on that subject that evening.

* * *

Lord Slade surveyed the modest drawing room in Mr. Featherstone’s house with great satisfaction. There was no other place he would rather be. How he had missed the stimulating conversation of Mr. Featherstone, his brilliant daughter, and his former colleagues in Commons. Featherstone had a knack for assembling around him men who were great thinkers. There were on this evening, though, two exceptions.

Why did Featherstone permit that Poppinbotham buffoon to pollute their gatherings? The man’s understanding of the legislative issues of the day was completely lacking – which could tend to explain Featherstone’s willingness to take the printer under his wing.

The other exception, Lord Slade looked upon far more favorably. For dear Miss Featherstone had contrived to persuade her beautiful cousin to honor them with her presence this evening. Since it had gotten progressively chillier throughout the day, Lady Sarah wore a gown of soft blue velvet, presenting a picture of complete loveliness. It was difficult not to stare at her. Not in all the years he’d been in London had he ever seen a prettier debutante. And she possessed a fortune, too.

A pity he must compete with such a sea of admirers. At least he had a leg up tonight.

Despite Lady Sarah’s dazzling beauty, he found his attention more readily bestowed upon her plainer cousin, perhaps because she made so many contributions to the conversation.

“I must admit to great admiration for the American system of government,” Miss Featherstone said when the topic turned to Catholic emancipation. “I believe a society which promotes religious freedom to be a far superior one to ours.”

“Did you not also tell me you admired the way the Americans set up representation in the two house chambers?” Slade asked.

She looked up at him and smiled. “How good of you to remember.”

As she continued on her theme of obstacles in the way of equalizing representation in the British lower chamber, he was struck by the contrast between this drawing room and Lord Clegg’s, where Miss Featherstone’s mother had grown up. In size, there was a great disparity. The Featherstone’s was only a fourth as large as the one at Clegg House where he and his brother had called the day before. In quality of furnishings, though, the two dissimilar rooms were on equal footing.

Slade suspected the late Lady Mary must have furnished these rooms as a young bride. The pieces of mahogany furnishings were of very fine quality. While faded, the red and gold silken upholstery was still exceptionally lovely. No Italian masters adorned the walls here, but he recognized a Gainsborough. Was that Lady Mary? He could not say the lovely woman in the painting looked anything like Miss Featherstone, but as he peered at it he realized a strong resemblance between the woman in the flowing blue silk gown and towering powdered hair and Lady Sarah. They were obviously aunt and niece.

He wondered if Lady Mary ever regretted that she’d not wed a titled man with deep pockets. His mother had told him the Featherstone's marriage had been a true love match. He would have liked to have known the woman who was possessed of such great sense. For there was no finer man than Harold Featherstone.

How fortunate Lady Mary had been to be able to follow her heart.

If the late Lady Mary were anything like her daughter, she must have been possessed of uncommon intelligence. He could well understand how Harold Featherstone would have stood out from the other dandies who were sure to have been dancing attendance upon her. He hoped her niece shared that.

Then he would stand a chance.

The lone Featherstone upstairs servant, a woman, announced dinner. Since Lady Sarah was the highest-ranking female, Mr. Featherstone led her into dinner. As the highest ranking male, Lord Slade led the only other female into the dining room.

“I have arranged that you shall be seated directly across from my cousin,” Miss Featherstone whispered. “Pray, dazzle her with your wit.”

Somehow, he thought a striking physical appearance would hold more sway with Lady Sarah than a man of wit. What a pity.

He was seated to the right of his host. At the opposite end of the table, Miss Featherstone served as hostess. It appeared she had taken Poppinbotham, who sat at her right, under her wing.

Mr. Featherstone passed the pickled beets. “I thank you,” Lord Slade said. “It is so very good of you to have us, and I must say this table has never held such lovely delights.” His gaze settled on Lady Sarah.

Mr. Featherstone laughed. “You’re anything but subtle, my lord. Is my niece not lovely? She reminds me so of my late wife.”

“Then you must have been an exceedingly fortunate man to have wed such a beautiful woman. I trust that Gainsborough in the drawing room was of Lady Mary?”

“Yes to both. I was most fortunate, and yes, that is her portrait.”

Once their plates were filled and eating had actually commenced, Lady Sarah addressed him. “So you are mad for all things political.”

“That’s true. I fear that makes my conversation dull to those who don’t share my interest.”

“My cousin tells me you are anything but dull, my lord. She positively gushes over your intelligence.”

“Your cousin is too kind.”

Lady Sarah’s glance lit to Mr. Poppinbotham, and her lips thinned. “Indeed, she is.”

That gentleman could be heard to say, “When I get in Parliament, I have not decided if it would be best to have my coachman bring me with the full four-horse carriage, or if I should just come in my tilbury.” He glanced down the table at Slade. “Which do you do, my lord?”

The Buffoon had not yet been elected to the lower chamber when he was already comparing himself to a member of the upper chamber! “I dare say you will not be pleased with my response, Poppinbotham, for I am undoubtedly one of the most frugal men in all of Parliament. I let Slade House, took lodgings close to Westminster, and I walk to the House of Lords every day.”

“But, my lord,” Poppinbotham exclaimed, “it is dark when sessions end. Surely a fine aristocrat like yourself doesn’t walk the pavement alone at night!”

“I am fortunate in that my colleagues are always gracious about giving me a lift at the end of the day. Often we’re going to the same homes for dinner or routs.”

“Or to you clubs, I dare say,” Poppinbotham added.

“It’s been a long while since I’ve been to Brook’s.” The fact was, it was too bloody expensive for Lord Slade to keep his membership active. Not when he still had three sisters to dower.

Mr. Featherstone obviously did not like the direction the dinner table conversation was taking for he began to steer it back to pertinent issues of the day. “Do you think the bill on labor unions will be put to a vote in Lords, my lord?”

Slade shook his head. “Lord Carrington will never allow it to be brought up.”

Mr. Featherstone’s eyes narrowed with displeasure. “Might hit him in the pocketbook if he had to pay decent wages to the men who toil in his mines.”

“Papa is an ally of Lord Carrington in this matter,” said Lady Sarah, smiling broadly.

Her smile indicated she was inordinately pleased. Was the poor girl so ignorant of civil liberties that she was proud of her father’s resistance to progressive reform?

Then it occurred to him she was merely pleased that she actually knew something about what they were discussing, that she had actually paid close enough attention to what was occurring in the chamber where her father served.

“My dear niece is well aware that her father and I do not see eye to eye on matters of reform, but we agree amiably to disagree,” Mr. Featherstone said, smiling at Lady Sarah.

She peered across the table at Lord Slade. “I understand you have several sisters to launch into society, my lord.”

“Three. The eldest will come out next year.” It would take every farthing he could lay his hands on.

Unless he could capture an heiress.

He must make himself agreeable to Lady Sarah. More than that, he must make himself admire Lady Sarah. He had given his word to Miss Featherstone he would not ask for her cousin’s hand until he could truthfully tell the lady he loved her. As it stood at present, the only thing he admired about the young lady was her appearance. And her hefty purse.

How had it been with his host when he had fallen in love with the previous Lord Clegg’s daughter? “Tell me, Mr. Featherstone, prior to your marriage did your late wife share your interest in politics?”

“Indeed, she did. In fact, that is what brought us together.” He glanced down the table at his daughter. “She was as astute as our daughter is. She used to sit in the galleries at commons – back when women were allowed – to watch her brother- - - “ He turned to Lady Sarah, “that would have been your papa in Commons before he succeeded. My dear Mary claims she fell in love with me because she admired my speeches.”

Slade nodded. “A most intelligent woman, to be sure.”

At the other end of the table, he caught snatches about the extension of the franchise.

“You are in favor of giving the vote to the common man?” Poppinbotham asked Miss Featherstone.

“Of course, and you must, too, if you intend to align yourself with the Whigs.”

“Oh dear.” Lady Sarah wrinkled her nose. “Why, my dear cousin, should you wish to allow the masses to have a say in how we live our lives?”

“It is my opinion that all men are created equal,” Miss Featherstone replied.

“If it is permissible to disagree,” Lady Sarah said, “I must. If our Creator had meant us to be equal, He would have made us equal. I believe it’s we aristocrats who have been charged with looking after the masses.”

“And some aristocrats do an admirable job,” Lord Slade said, “but most are only interested in serving themselves.”

Lady Sarah sighed. “Now I know why Papa does not attend these dinners.”

He peered across the table. “I assure you, I do not mean to be disagreeable.” But it was bloody difficult to be agreeable to one with whom he had nothing at all in common, to one whom he could not even admire.

After dinner, he contrived to be one of the last to leave in order to speak privately with Miss Featherstone. Which meant he was privy to Poppinbotham’s leave-taking from the young lady.

Holding her hand far too long, the Buffoon said, “I beg you allow me to call for you tomorrow afternoon for a ride in the park, my dear Miss Featherstone.”

“If the weather obliges, that will be most agreeable, Mr. Poppinbotham.”

Lord Slade was the last to leave.

“I am so happy to be alone with you,” Miss Featherstone said, “for I must tell you to plan on Almack’s Wednesday night.”

He grimaced. He knew he must return there when his sisters were presented, but he had hoped to prolong the misery as long as possible. For there was nothing more boring than attending the assemblies there – where his title deemed him a matrimonial prize even without a fortune. The scheming mothers were relentless, the daughters were very young, and intelligent conversation was nonexistent. “Must I?”

She placed her hand on his sleeve. “If you hope to impress Lady Sarah with your elegance on the dance floor.”

Without being aware of what he was doing, he placed his hand over hers. “I shall be greatly in your debt, my dear Miss Featherstone.” Then–still not conscious of what he was doing –he leaned toward her and dropped a kiss on her cheek before departing.

Chapter 5

Miss Featherstone was very pleased with herself. Despite that half the men in the beau monde had designs on her cousin, she had persuaded that lovely creature to ride to Almack's in Mr. Poppinbotham's carriage with her – and Lord Slade. Dear Sarah was sure to fall in love with the handsome earl after being so intimately in his company on these several occasions now.

On Wednesday night, they sped toward King Street with Miss Featherstone seated next to Mr. Poppinbotham in the dimly lit carriage. This afforded her the opportunity to observe the couple seated across from her. What a fine looking couple they made, Lord Slade so dark and handsome, Sarah so fair and lovely. In her soft ivory gown that draped elegantly over her smooth curves, Lady Sarah brought to mind an elegant Grecian goddess.

"You have the vouchers?" Mr. Poppinbotham asked Miss Featherstone, nervously.

She looked up at her companion. "Oh, yes, in my reticule. Should you like them?"

"What is the protocol?"

"I'm not sure there is a protocol. Do you know of one, Lord Slade?" Jane asked.

"Dare say it won't matter, but it may make Poppinbotham feel better if you allow him to present the vouchers."

Mr. Poppinbotham wiped his moist brow. "Oh, yes, very good of you, my lord, to suggest that."

Miss Featherstone handed over the vouchers.

"Any other protocols I should know about?"

"My mama says it's not proper to stand up with the same partner for more than two sets," Lady Sarah offered.

"Unless one is engaged to be married," Miss Featherstone added.

Mr. Poppinbotham nodded. "That is most helpful to know. Shouldn't wish to break any rules."

After arriving at the Palladian structure that was filled with hundreds of fashionably dressed members of the ton, the two couples immediately paired up to dance the first set, a minuet. When it was over, the four of them went to one of the supper rooms to procure lemonade and sit for a moment, though nearly every step of Lady Sarah's progress was impeded by the flocks of young men begging to stand up with her later.

"How popular you are," Lord Slade said to the beauty once they sat at one of the tables in the supper room. "This may be your only opportunity to sit down all night."

The lady took a tiny bite of her dry cake. "La, my lord! I am accustomed to it."

"I'm warning you, I mean to claim you for the last dance of the night," he said.

"I should be honored."

Miss Featherstone was attempting to determine if her cousin was truly interested in his lordship. It was difficult to tell by her actions because she was possessed of lovely manners. Even Mr. Poppinbotham, of whom Jane knew her cousin did not approve, was addressed by Lady Sarah in the most polite way imaginable.

Just that afternoon the cousins had discussed the prospective member of the House of Commons. "The man means to court you, Jane!" a shocked Lady Sarah had said.

"Indeed he does," Jane had replied.

"But, dearest, you are so far above that man's touch."

"But, dearest, he is the only man in three years who has ever honored me in such a manner."

"Well, I don't think you should encourage him. You know you can't marry him."

"Why can't I?" Miss Featherstone had asked.

"Because. Because you're much too fine for the likes of him. Surely you wouldn't even consider an offer from the man!"

Jane's stomach had roiled when she answered. This was the first time she had ever acknowledged her tumultuous decision. "But I would."

Lady Sarah's jaw had dropped. "You cannot be serious! Can you honestly tell me you love the man?"

"I cannot tell you that."

"So you don't love him, but you'd be willing to marry him?"

"It's that or be dependent upon Robert and Lavinia once Papa . . ." She could not bear to put words to her thoughts.

"That's ridiculous! You can always have a home with me."

"That's very kind of you, but has it not occurred to you that I would one day like to have my own home? That I would like to become a mother and have a family of my own?"

The conversation had ended with Lady Sarah's eyes moistening over her cousin's plight.

When the foursome finished their lemonade and dry cake in Almack's supper rooms, Mr. Poppinbotham begged Lady Sarah to stand up with him for the next set.

"And I should like to sit it out," said Lord Slade, eying Miss Featherstone. "Will you stay and amuse me?"

"Certainly, my lord." She glanced at her cousin, who was rising. "Neither Lord Slade nor I is especially fond of dancing."

After Mr. Poppinbotham and her cousin had left the chamber, Miss Featherstone addressed his lordship. "How do you think your suit is progressing with my cousin?"

"It's difficult to say. Lady Sarah is excessively agreeable to all of us who pay her court."

"Yes, I was thinking the same thing. A pity we can't contrive some disaster which would render you a great hero."

His black eyes glistened with amusement. "Like saving her from a swollen river, or rescuing her from a fire?"

"Exactly!"

"Pray, Miss Featherstone, I shouldn't want to be culpable in steering you on a path of deceit."

"Of course you wouldn't. You pride yourself on your excessive honesty. Isn't that what got you into this situation in the first place? Your desire to fulfill a promise to your dying father?"

He grimaced, nodding.

"I do hope you are falling in love with my cousin. She has so many good qualities." Other than her spectacular appearance and vast wealth.

"Indeed she does."

Not quite spoken like a man in love. The two needed more time together, Miss Featherstone decided. "I must change the topic of conversation, my lord, and beg that you assist poor Mr. Poppinbotham as he transitions from a mercantile world into our world. His political views cry out for guidance from someone like you, and I know he looks up to you."

"No one is better suited to guide the man than you."

"I thank you for the compliment."

"It wasn't meant for a compliment. It is the truth."

"You sound like my Papa."

"Your father is not only the most intelligent man of my acquaintance, but he is also clearly the most noble."

"I am in perfect agreement with you, my lord."

"A pity I'm not courting you. We are always in agreement, my dear Miss Featherstone."

Unaccountably, her stomach jostled. The very notion of his lordship courting her caused her heart to flutter, her breath to rasp. For she had been unable to shake from her thoughts the brotherly kiss he had dropped on her cheek a few nights earlier. While it may not have meant anything to him, it had meant everything to her. She had been profoundly moved over the kiss, even though it was not a real kiss. That night, with heart racing and thoughts morose, she had been unable to sleep.

Now, as she peered into his earnest face, she was compelled not to look away. Their eyes locked and her limbs began to tremble. Then her gaze flicked away. "It is a pity you're being forced into a courtship you would not have chosen, had you the luxury of free choice."

"Alas," he said, shrugging with resignation, "my bed is made, and now I must lie in it."

She straightened her gloves where they had wrinkled over her wrists, careful not to make eye contact with him. "Of course we both know you will be the most fortunate man in the three kingdoms if you can win my cousin's hand."

"Without question. There is no one better to meet my all needs than the lovely Lady Sarah."

She almost felt sorry for her beautiful cousin. Was Sarah's future as a wife intrinsically tied to her bounty, to her ability to meet her future husband's needs? What of love? There was, thankfully, the fact that Lord Slade had given his word. He would not ask for Lady Sarah's hand until he could truthfully tell her he loved her. Miss Featherstone had complete confidence in his lordship's honesty.

Lord Slade stood and offered her a hand. "Come, let us see how our former partners progress."

She froze for a moment as her eye traveled from the tip of his dark head, to his broad shoulders sheathed in fine black wool, to the starchy white cravat beneath his bronzed face, the long torso with well-fitted tail coat, and long, powerful legs. How could silly Sarah not have fallen madly in love with such a magnificent man? She rose and placed her hand in his, not without a renewal of that fluttering in her heart.

When they reached the large assembly room, they backed up near the wall and surveyed the dancers. By now Mr. Poppinbotham and Lady Sarah had paired up with fresh partners. Miss Featherstone watched with amusement as her cousin danced with Lord Slade's brother, Captain St. John. The captain looked exceedingly handsome in his red regimental coat and white breeches which clung to his long, sinewy legs. It did not escape Miss Featherstone's notice that every unaccompanied miss in the chamber was watching the handsome young officer.

When the orchestra stopped playing, the others joined up with Jane and Lord Slade, and the brothers began to chat amiably.

Mr. Poppinbotham neared Miss Featherstone and lowered his voice. "You must point out which gentlemen here are Members of Parliament."

For the remainder of the evening, Mr. Poppinbotham, dressed in several shades of blue – except for his waistcoat which was of orange silk – escorted Miss Featherstone about the lofty chamber as she introduced him to men who had been elected to Parliament, most of them younger sons and younger brothers of peers.

No matter what part of the room she found herself in, Miss Featherstone felt Lord Slade's eyes on her. She supposed he was every bit as snobbish as Sarah in his views toward the unfortunate Mr. Poppinbotham and his connection with her.

She was just going to have to become inured to that.

* * *

On the ride home that night, it was all Slade could do not to try to stuff something into Mr. Poppinbotham's mouth to silence the pompous ass. And he just might if the man once more uttered, "When I get in Parliament. . ."

"The redhead in pink with whom I danced," Mr. Poppinbotham asked Miss Featherstone, "does she hail from a noble family, too?"

"Though she has no title like my cousin," Miss Featherstone nodded at Lady Sarah, "like me, she has connections. Her father is the third or fourth son, I can't remember which, of the Marquis of Hever. Can you enlighten Mr. Poppinbotham more than I?" Miss Featherstone directed her attention at the earl.

"Good heavens, no. I couldn't possibly keep up with how many sons Hever's sired or in what order they were born. I tip my hat to you, Miss Featherstone."

"Nor could I remember such insignificant information," Lady Sarah said. "Cousin Jane is blessed with an extraordinary memory."

"And fine intelligence," he said.

"That has certainly been my observation," a self-satisfied Mr. Poppinbotham declared as he smiled at the lady being discussed. "She will make my entry into Parliament all the smoother, to be sure."

Lord Slade glared across the dark carriage. "Have a care not to put the cart before the horse, Poppinbotham."

"Certainly, your kind lordship. Electioneering comes before the prominence."

The man was exasperating. "May I hope your desire to enter Parliament is not to achieve prominence but to serve those who have elected you?"

"Of course, my lord. I am motivated by nothing save a burning desire to serve my fellow countrymen."

Not bad. A pity the lout was so insincere. "Tell me, Miss Featherstone," Slade said, changing the subject, "when will I be able to persuade you to sketch Dunvale Castle?"

"I would be happy to do it tomorrow, your lordship, were I able to observe it, but it's a bit difficult, given that Dunvale is in Kent, and we're in London."

"Ah, but my good Miss Featherstone, Dunvale is scarcely over an hour's drive from London, once one gets past the city's crush. I shall have to take you there."

"I should love it above all things," she said. "It would be lovely for Lady Sarah and I to breathe country air for a few days, would it not, Sarah?"

"Oh, indeed it would."

"And I should be honored to offer my coach and four," Mr. Poppinbotham said proudly.

In all the kingdom, Slade could think of no other man who could be a more annoying companion than Mr. Poppinbotham, but he must be beholden to the man for the kind use of his carriage. "That would, indeed, be very kind of you." He turned to Lady Sarah. "My sisters will be thrilled beyond comprehension to meet you and your cousin."

"And I should be delighted to meet them, my lord," Lady Sarah said. "If they are half as agreeable as you and your brother, I know we will get on famously."

"Shall we set a date?" he asked.

"I could wrap up my pressing business in two days," Mr. Poppinbotham said. "How about Saturday?"

"Saturday it will be then."

* * *

The next two days could be the most important in his life. He would have Lady Sarah to himself with no intrusion from her adoring masses. He hoped that the deep bond he so strived for would have the opportunity to form between them. Surely he would be able to fall in love with a lady of such beauty–and wealth. Hopefully, when she saw him in his role as lord of the castle she could fall in love with him, too. His softer side would certainly be on display in his interaction with his sisters. Perhaps that would appeal to the lady.

If he could just see to it her exploration of the castle did not extend beyond the lone occupied wing that was furnished with the finest pieces from the Slade holdings. A person could break a leg–or worse–if he ventured beyond that one, stable wing.

As he and Poppinbotham rode in that gentleman's carriage to collect the cousins on Saturday, Lord Slade felt oppressed. There was no turning back from this path, this quest for the heiress's hand. Adding to his oppression was the fact he must keep company with the Buffoon. The man set his nerves on edge.

"Well, my lord, this could be a momentous journey for Cecil Poppinbotham."

Lord Slade's gaze whisked over his traveling companion. The man had outdone himself this day with his attire. It was as if he were trying to see how many different colors he could attempt to coordinate. There was the brown of his, admittedly fine, leather boots. His breeches were of buff. Then the color began to pop. Cutaway coat of lime green with self-covered, exceedingly large buttons paired with an orange shirt and turquoise waistcoat. The chief offender was the man's cravat. It. Was. Black! If he thought to start a new trend in men's clothing, the poor fellow was in for grave disappointment. "Why do you say that, Poppinbotham?"

"I have decided to honor Miss Jane Featherstone by asking her to become my wife."

Had the man just confessed to murdering the Princess of Wales, Slade's reaction could not have held more contempt. The arrogant creature thought a marriage proposal from the likes of him was an honor! The very notion made Slade sick. It was all he could do not to send a fist crashing into the pompous man's face.

But that wouldn't do.

Slade sat there, staring at the Buffoon as if he were an alien creature, and all the while he was attempting to gather his thoughts, to compose a response that would in some way display the good breeding his mother had attempted to instill in him. Though he fairly well shook with anger, he managed to still the quiver in his voice long enough to say, "Is this not rather sudden?" Which was much less offensive than the first ten responses which raced into Slade's head and ranged from, "You bloody, bloody, idiot" to "How dare you think you're fit to marry a lady with Miss Featherstone's many attributes!"

"I've never been one to beat about the bush, no sir, or should I say, no, your lordship? Never let it be said that Cecil Poppinbotham let grass grow under his feet. I know what I want, and I'm not afraid to go after it. I didn't get where I am today," his self-satisfied gaze swept over the plush interior of his elegant carriage and settled on his bright green coat, "by waiting for opportunities to drop in me lap."

"I would hardly call Miss Featherstone an opportunity."

Seeing as how the carriage pulled up in front of Featherstone House, the conversation came to an end.

But Lord Slade's accelerating heart rate did not.

* * *

When he had ridden to Almack's with Lady Sarah seated beside him, Lord Slade had found the accommodation agreeable. But for the nearly two-hour ride to Dunvale, he could not like having to stare across the carriage at the Buffoon seated so close to–and so possessively attentive of–Miss Featherstone. It was enough to steal Lord Slade's appetite.

As they advanced through London's busy streets, he tried to tell himself Mr. Poppinbotham's choice in a wife was nothing to him. But the more he thought on it–and, admittedly, he seemed incapable of thinking of anything else–the more repulsed he became by the notion of Miss Featherstone uniting with Cecil Poppinbotham.

Then it suddenly occurred to him that Miss Featherstone would never stoop to accept the pompous printer. True, the man's wealth could be attractive to some women, especially to one who came from a family that didn't have a feather to fly with. But since Miss Featherstone was possessed of extraordinary intelligence, she could never be expected to suffer a fool.

Marriage, as he was himself being forcefully reminded during this journey, was a lifetime commitment. Miss Featherstone was much too wise to sentence herself for life to a man in want of good judgment.

Having rationalized himself into a good humor, he faced the lovely blonde seated beside him. "I am bereft of words to tell you how excited my sisters are that you and your cousin are coming."

"I must own," that lady said, "I am looking forward to meeting them. Pray, you must tell me their names and ages."

"Mary Ann is the eldest. I believe she's the same age as you."

"And she hasn't been presented?"

"It seemed wiser, in the light of other considerations, to wait until next year."

"Lord Slade has only recently bought a commission for Captain St. John. I believe he plans to divert funds to a different sibling each year. Is that not right, my lord?" Miss Featherstone said.

"That is correct."

"You forgot to tell me of your other sisters.

"Remarkably, the three of them are spaced exactly a year and a half apart. The middle sister, Diana, is fifteen and a half, and Lizzie, the youngest, has just turned fourteen."

Lady Sarah's face brightened. "Tell me, my lord, will Captain St. John be at Dunvale?"

"Indeed he will. He rode over yesterday and plans to stay there the duration of our visit."

"He is so very pleasant to be around," Lady Sarah said.

"Don't get him started talking about India, or you'll never hear of anything else."

"But I find India vastly interesting."

"Yes," Miss Featherstone added, "there's something so exotic about that land."

"But who'd want to live among all those dark-skinned creatures?" Mr. Poppinbotham asked.

The earl glared across the carriage. "My brother has made many friends who have dark skin. I pray, you don't speak like that in his presence."

"Oh, but your lordship, I meant no offense."

Once they left London's sooty skies behind them, Lord Slade opened the curtain on his side of the carriage. The vision of verdure meadows, laconic sheep, and clear blue skies overhead was enough to lift his spirits. He did enjoy going to the country.

A pity he wasn't going to someone else's country house. He had never loved Dunvale as his father had. For him, it had always represented decay and never-ending repairs that drained every cent in the family coffers.

"I find myself wondering if the natives can read English," Mr. Poppinbotham said. "If I could get my religious tracts and pamphlets circulated in a country as large as India, I'd have enough money to buy. . . Windsor Castle!"

Was money the only thing Poppinbotham ever spoke of? Lord Slade glared again. "I don't think Windsor Castle will ever be for sale."

"And I'm not altogether sure the natives can read or write in their native tongue, much less in English," Miss Featherstone added. "Though I'm sure those of the higher classes–a small number, I am told–are quite literate."

"Glad I am that you've brought up illiteracy," Mr. Poppinbotham said, "for compulsory education is one of those matters you, my dear Miss Featherstone, told me I needed to acquaint myself with before I sit in Parliament."

"It is definitely one that a progressive man like yourself needs to embrace," she said.

How sly Miss Featherstone was! She was attempting to mold the Buffoon to her own progressive agenda. "So, as a progressive, Mr. Poppinbotham, I assume you favor compulsory education?"

"When I get in Parliament, I will most certainly promulgate opportunities for all Englishmen, regardless of their class, to learn how to read and write."

"How very commendable," Slade said.

"Surely you don't think even a chimney sweep needs to be taught to read?" an incredulous Lady Sarah asked, her mouth gaping open.

"I certainly do. Every child in the kingdom should have the opportunity to read Scripture," Poppinbotham answered.

"Well," said Lady Sarah, "I sponsor a Sunday school back at Sudley, but I think it a ridiculous extravagance to want to educate every child in the kingdom."

"You have been listening to your papa," Miss Featherstone said good naturedly.

Her intervention prevented him from saying something harsh to the woman he needed to marry.

A pity he could not think of Lady Sarah as the woman he wanted to marry.

Chapter 6

When she first beheld Dunvale Castle rising above the pastoral countryside of rolling hills in the mid-day sun, Miss Featherstone's thoughts flashed to knights of yore and maidens in wide silken skirts and headdresses snugly fitted over coiled tresses. It was a quintessentially English castle constructed of gray stone with turrets protruding from its crenellated roofline. Not terribly large, as castles go, but formidable and solid.

Like the present lord of the castle.

Her gaze flashed across the carriage to Lord Slade. In his chocolate brown coat, buff breeches, and finely tanned boots, he was the very picture of masculinity. She could still feel the brush of his lips against her cheek. For the past few days she had been unable to purge him from her mind. Not since the night he had kissed her. Even though it wasn't a proper kiss and even though, to him, it was but a brotherly kiss, it was the only time a man had ever kissed her.

Nothing had ever so moved her. Joy had sung through her veins. Then reality had set in, and she was filled with a sense of profound loss. For the only man she could ever love was going to marry her cousin.

And Jane Featherstone would likely spend the rest of her life attached to a man whose kisses would never affect her as Lord Slade's had.

"Look at Dunvale, Sarah!" Miss Featherstone knew how much her cousin adored castles. That Lord Slade possessed a medieval castle would undoubtedly be one of the strongest recommendations for plighting her life to his.

The lady flicked open her curtain and peered at Dunvale Castle, wonderment sparkling in her sapphire eyes. "It's just what a proper castle should look like!" She turned to the man seated beside her. "Does it have a moat?"

"Not for the past two hundred years," his lordship said ruefully.

The lovely blonde smiled at him. "Well, I cannot tell you how excited I am that I'll actually be spending the night in real castle."

"I am very happy to hear that," Lord Slade said. "Dunvale's very different from what it was in medieval times. During the last century we added outbuildings and formal gardens outside of the castle walls. My father was especially proud of the garden he had designed by Capability Brown, even if it was one of Mr. Brown's smallest projects."

"Then I dare say," Miss Featherstone interjected, "we shall find man-made waterways at Dunvale."

Lord Slade met her gaze, amusement flashing in his dark eyes. "Indeed you will. I see you know the hallmarks of a Capability Brown landscape."

"As you know, my lord, architecture–even landscape architecture–holds great interest for me."

"I hope you brought your drawing supplies," he said.

"Indeed I did, my lord."

Mr. Poppinbotham, whose wardrobe on this day consisted of an orange waistcoat paired with lemon yellow jacket and inoffensive buff breeches, brushed up against her as he attempted to peer at their destination. "I declare, that's quite a fortress you've got there, my lord. Dare say it would set a man back a fortune to acquire something so grand."

Money again. Miss Featherstone gritted her teeth. Is that the only thing the man could discuss?

"I dare say it wouldn't matter how deep the buyer's pockets, it's not likely a castle that's not a complete ruin would ever come on the market." Lord Slade spoke as if he were talking to a child. "They're always in the entail, and even when there's no heir, they revert to the crown."

"I do know of several men of wealth who have built new castles," Miss Featherstone said. "And while Lord Cowper's Panshanger is not new and was never built as a castle, in his latest creation of it, he's added features that make it resemble a castle."

"I shouldn't at all like a mock castle," Lady Sarah said, scrunching up her perfect nose, "not when one could have something as alluring as Dunvale Castle."

The coach wheels rattled over the former drawbridge, between the opening of castle's huge timber gates, and into the spacious bricked courtyard before stopping at an arched door to the rounded keep. "I hope Dunvale Castle doesn't disappoint," Lord Slade said as the coachman opened the door.

* * *

Lady Sarah's reaction to the castle was all he had hoped it would be. "Oh, look, the ceilings are so very high," she had exclaimed as soon as they entered the great room. "Has Dunvale truly been here ever since the Conquest?"

He nodded.

The lady then raced to the fireplace. "I declare, my lord, even a man as tall as you could stand in that fireplace! It's frightfully massive."

At least she had noticed he was possessed of height above that of the average man. He was never really sure she paid him the least shred of attention.

Like a toddler running in the fields, she flew from one feature to the next, snapping off questions and barely having the patience to wait for an answer. Do you have suits of armor? How many hundreds of years since it was built? Look at the size of these stones!

She strolled from the great room and stopped dead in her stride as she gazed at the wide stone staircase. "Oh, look! One can almost picture an entire regiment of soldiers in suits of armor marching abreast up these."

A moment later, she said, "Pray, my lord, where will my chambers be?" She seemed incapable of removing her gaze from the broad steps that had worn smooth over the centuries.

Perhaps her attention had been captured by the large celestial tapestry which hung high on the curved stone wall there. He'd been told it was one of the most valuable possessions at Dunvale. "Actually, I'm not sure exactly where your chambers will be, my lady. My sisters will have made that determination. I dare say the rooms will be in the family wing, which is a laborious climb three floors up."

"I shan't at all mind climbing these stairs. I feel as if I could be at King Arthur's court."

He chuckled just as his brother entered the chamber. Must David always wear his uniform? He looked entirely too much like the handsome hero of a romantic tale, the kind of tale he was certain Lady Sarah would enjoy.

"How good it is to welcome all of you to our home," Captain St. John said. He looked first at Miss Featherstone and bowed, then his eyes met Lady Sarah's and held.

Lord Slade facilitated the introductions between his brother and Poppinbotham, and minutes later repeated introductions when his sisters entered the huge, cold chamber.

"If I met you on Conduit Street," Lady Sarah said to the eldest of the three sisters, "I would immediately take you for sister to Captain St. John and Lord Slade. The family resemblance is very strong."

"I pray I look more feminine," Lady Mary Ann said with a laugh.

"Oh, indeed, you do. You're not at all tall, like your brothers, and you're ever so pretty." Then Lady Sarah turned her attention to the other sisters. "But I must own, the two of you look nothing like the others."

Lord Slade squashed his hand on top Lizzie's head and spoke good naturedly. "We always say Lizzie's the runt of the litter."

"Just wait," Lizzie challenged, "I'll catch up with my sisters."

"I'm afraid, Pet," said the middle sister, Lady Diana, who was the only blonde in the family, "that may not happen. You're fourteen now. Mary Ann and I were fully grown by the time we were your age."

"It's amazing to me how different the three of you are," Miss Featherstone said. She made eye contact with him. "You must be very proud of your lovely sisters."

He nodded as his gaze fanned over his sisters. "I hope I do not flatter myself that as each of them is presented, they will receive many offers of marriage. Not that I eve wish to be rid of them."

"Put that in the betting book at White's, and you could make some blunt," Captain St. John said.

Lord Slade's lips curved into a smile. "No I could not. No man would be foolish enough to take the bet."

Mr. Poppinbotham loudly cleared his throat. "Glad I am that I've no sisters I have to dower."

Money again. And the crass man had broached the one subject Slade wished to avoid. Even though Lady Sarah was bound to know he needed to marry an heiress, he hated to be obvious about it. Every lady should believe a man courted her for herself, not her money. He stiffened. "Oh, but Poppinbotham, I could never regret these delightful creatures."

Captain St. John put his arm around Lizzie. "Nor could I. It's great fun having younger sisters to tease."

"How fortunate all of you are to have grown up in a real castle," Lady Sarah said. "All my life I've adored castles."

"Has my brother shown you the priest's hole?" Captain St. John asked the lady.

Her hands flew to her dimpled cheeks as a sunny smile brightened her face. "You have a priest's hole at Dunvale?"

"Indeed we do," his brother answered, holding out his hand. "Allow me to show it to you."

The two of them disappeared around the corner.

A pity Lady Sarah was always so shy in his own presence. He wished she adopted with him the easy camaraderie she and David shared. They got along quite like affectionate brothers and sisters, which, he supposed, was a good thing, seeing as how they would be brother and sister if his plan succeeded.

Good manners dictated that Slade offer to show the priest hole to his other guests. "Should you care to see it, Miss Featherstone? Mr. Poppinbotham?"

"I should love to," Miss Featherstone said.

"Pray, my lord," Poppinbotham said, "you must explain to me about these priest holes. Am I to understand you–or your ancestors–shoved priests down a hole?"

Slade chuckled. "Ours isn't a proper hole, as you'll see, but, yes, my ancestors most certainly did hide priests after the Dissolution.

When they reached the dining room, David was demonstrating how to open the priest's hole. David, who had always been fascinated by Dunvale's priest hole, tapped at the movable panel in the center of the wood-paneled wall, and one of a series of vertical oak boards opened as if it were on hinges. The space behind the board was actually a small, windowless stone room. The opening was so narrow, a large man like Lord Slade would not be able to squeeze into the hiding chamber.

An excited Lady Sarah raced through the opening, giggling like a child. "So this is where the priests used to hide! How vastly interesting."

"It is said our ancestor, Sir Matthew St. John, defied Henry VIII and kept his Papist faith," Slade explained when she came back out.

"Indeed," David expanded, "it was not until the third generation into the Tudor regime– after the baronetcy had turned into an earldom–that the Slade family fully embraced the Church of England."

The spent the afternoon exploring the main portion of the castle.

* * *

At sweet Miss Featherstone's request, he allowed Lizzie to sit at the dinner table that evening.

His youngest sister took her place at the table between Miss Featherstone and Diana. "Thank you ever so much," Lizzie said to Miss Featherstone, "for asking that I be allowed to dine with you. Are you aware that this is the first time I've ever sat here?"

If he was not mistaken, Miss Featherstone often wore the same mint green dress as she wore tonight. Though it was limp and faded, it was not unbecoming on her.

"I was not, but I hope that every time you sit here over the course of your life, you will remember our stay here with affection."

"Oh, you may sure of it!" Lizzie glanced across the table and addressed Lady Sarah. "And I shall always remember that you were not only the prettiest lady I've ever seen but also the most fashionably dressed."

"Indeed," Diana said, her own covetous gaze whisking over the lady's elegant ivory gown. "It is exciting for hermits like us to see a reigning London beauty who has such an eye for all that is fashionable."

"La! Lady Diana, you shall put me to the blush." He could have liked a bit more modesty in his prospective wife. Lady Sarah easily accepted lavish compliments and adoration as her due.

Those at the table busied themselves filling their plates with sturgeon and French beans and passing the bowls of pickled beets and creamed potatoes.

He could not have been more pleased over the dinner. He did not know how she had contrived it, but Mary Ann had seen to it that the normally gloomy chamber was so brightly lit, it nearly looked like daytime. On the table were four braces of candelabras, and above it the massive forged iron chandelier was ringed with at least two dozen expensive wax candles.

He never failed to admire the Slade family china which bore the family's heavily gilded stag crest.

"I understand, Mr. Poppinbotham," Lady Mary Ann said, "that you plan to stand for Parliament." Leave it to his most serious-minded sister to steer conversation back to matters other than fashion and beauty.

"Indeed I do . . ." He turned to Miss Featherstone, who sat next to him. "Miss Featherstone is attempting to educate me. This lady is possessed of uncommon intelligence as well as an extraordinary breadth of knowledge on political theory." His attention returned to Lady Mary Ann. "And your estimable brother has been invaluable."

"Then I dare say my brother's got you reading Rousseau," Mary Ann mused.

The Buffoon shrugged. "I shall need to compile a reading list."

"One cannot read Rousseau and not Voltaire," Lord Slade said.

Miss Featherstone set a hand to Poppinbotham's sleeve. "And you must read John Paine."

How remarkable that she would recommend Paine. "My own political philosophy was more influenced by Paine than by any other writer," Lord Slade said.

Miss Featherstone turned toward him. "Then, my lord, I dare say you must admire Edmund Burke's writings."

It was remarkable how much Miss Featherstone's thinking mirrored his own. "I cannot praise the man highly enough." He turned to Poppinbotham. "I urge you to read him, too."

"How fortunate I am to have your lordship offer such sage guidance."

Lord Slade shrugged, then made eye contact with Miss Featherstone again. "As you know, I believe your father is the best orator in the House of Commons today. Listening to him is one of my greatest pleasures. One of my greatest regrets, though, is that I never got to hear Burke."

She favored him with a smile. "It's the very same with me, my lord! Papa cannot speak highly enough of Mr. Burke's abilities as a speaker who uses such perfect logic."

He nodded. "I understand he and Charles James Fox were two of the finest speakers ever on the floor of Commons."

Mary Ann addressed him. "I remember how excited you were that time you came down from Oxford just to hear an oration by Charles James Fox."

"I'm very glad I did." His lips folded into a grim line. "Within a year he was dead."

"My father was completely distraught over his death," Miss Featherstone added.

"I beg you not to talk of death or politics anymore," Lady Sarah said, turning her attention to David. "You must tell us of your adventures in India, Captain St. John."

David shrugged. "I fear, my lady, that my sisters would attempt to strangle me were I to accommodate your request."

"Indeed," Diana said. "We have heard the same stories scores of times."

David addressed Lady Sarah once more. "Perhaps tomorrow you will do me the goodness of allowing me to share some of my tales from India."

"I would be ever so grateful," she said, smiling shyly at him.

Mary Ann, a natural hostess, redirected the conversation, this time asking Mr. Poppinbotham about his business.

* * *

After dinner Miss Featherstone played the pianoforte in the more intimate drawing room where the cold stone floors were covered with thick Turkey carpets, the windows were draped in red velvet, and a fire blazed in the more modestly sized hearth. Despite that it was in a castle, the room had a comforting quality. She thought that could also be attributed to the blocks of dark wood paneling which sheathed the walls. The wood was so dark from age it had turned almost black.

She had quickly seized a seat in front of the instrument so she would not be called upon to sing. If one hundred ladies were to sing this evening, Miss Featherstone had no doubts she would be the worst of the lot. Because her physical attributes were greatly lacking, Miss Featherstone was possessed of just enough pride that she never wished her other defects displayed.

Lady Sarah, as the guest, sang first. Her voice perfectly matched her angelic looks. What man would not fall in love with her? How Miss Featherstone envied her cousin her many blessings. And now a new one could be added. Soon, Lady Sarah would acquire three sisters! All their lives she and Sarah had lamented they had no sisters. Did Sarah have to get everything? Could there not be a crumb left for her poor relation?

Then Miss Featherstone would feel wretchedly guilty over her jealousy. She loved Sarah and always wanted what was best for her cousin, just as Sarah wanted what was best for Jane. They had always looked upon each other as sisters.

When Lord Slade saw that Miss Featherstone was having difficulty turning the pages of the music while playing, he came and sat on the bench beside her and began to flip the pages for her. She recalled him telling her that he was a great music lover.

Instead of comforting her, though, his close proximity sent her heart racing and her hands trembling. Whatever was the matter with her? Miss Jane Featherstone had never been so profoundly affected by a man before. If only poor Mr. Poppinbotham could elicit such a reaction in her!

After each of the ladies had sung–with Miss Featherstone politely declining–Lord Slade turned to Mr. Poppinbotham. "Would you care to sing for us?"

"Oh, dear me, no. Never had time for music."

Of course he didn't. No money to be made there, Miss Featherstone thought, uncharitably. "But my dear Mr. Poppinbotham, you've spent four decades toiling to make your fortune; now it's time to indulge in life's pleasures," she said, "and music is most definitely one of those pleasures."

He offered her an appreciative smile. "'Tis blessed I am to have met the likes of you, Miss Featherstone. You not only understand me perfectly, but you know exactly what I need for the next rung on the ladder of success."

"You are a fortunate man, indeed," Lord Slade said.

Jane felt wretchedly guilty for any uncharitable thoughts she had toward the printer, er, publisher. "Tell me, Mr. Poppinbotham, do you know how to play the pianoforte?"

He shrugged. "I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I do not."

Miss Featherstone addressed him. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. You paid handsomely for a dancing master to teach you to dance, and I can vouch for his success. Why do you not engage someone to teach you the pianoforte? You are obviously an apt pupil."

The flattered man tossed a glance to their host. "You must see, my lord, how very good Miss Featherstone is for me."

She thought perhaps Lord Slade was losing his patience with the other man. He was barely civil when he said, "Indeed I do."

* * *

It was nearly midnight when the sisters showed Jane and Lady Sarah to their bedchambers on the third floor. Lady Mary Ann, holding high a brace of candles, led the way. "This is the family corridor," she said. They began to pad down the broad, stone hallway where the only source of light was a lantern sconce midway down the hall.

"How many bedchambers on this corridor?" Lady Sarah asked.

Jane could tell her cousin was clearly impressed over the monumental size of Dunvale's interior. Lord Clegg's country home was a great deal smaller.

Mary Ann set an index finger to her chin. "Let me think."

"Twelve," Lizzie announced proudly.

"The rooms we're putting you ladies in are almost identical. The only difference is Lady Sarah's is emerald colored, and Miss Featherstone's is in red. She stopped in front of a tall timber door and opened it.

Since the room was green, Jane knew it was her cousin's.

Lady Sarah hurried into the chamber where a fire glowed from the small hearth, and emerald colored broadloom carpet covered the cold stone floors. The bed was draped in velvet the same shade of green as the carpet. The occupant was elated. "What a wonderfully cozy room! Who would have thought a castle could be cozy?"

"I'm glad you like it," a clearly delighted Mary Ann said.

"Oh, I assure you, I love Dunvale," Lady Sarah said.

"We are so gratified. I hope you sleep well, Lady Sarah." Mary Ann faced Jane. "Now to your chamber, Miss Featherstone."

The fire in Jane's bedchamber had also been laid. She hoped these few days at Dunvale were not costing his lordship an excessive amount he could ill afford to spend. She had noticed at dinner that dozens of costly wax candles lighted the long oaken dining table. Such an expense!

"Thank you, Lady Mary Ann." Jane turned to the other sister. "I am ever so appreciative that you've made mine and my cousin's stay here so comforting and enjoyable." She – as well as her cousin – had taken an immediate liking to the sisters. They displayed a genuine warmth of character and well-informed minds. Just like their eldest brother.

"The joy is all ours," Diana said.

"Indeed, it is a delight to have guests," Mary Ann added.

Lizzie smiled. "Tomorrow we shall steal you away from the males and bombard you with questions about the newest fashions in London and the assemblies at Almack's."

"You're much too young to be filling your head with such things," Mary Ann chided as she set a gentle hand on her sister's shoulder and guided her from the room.

"My cousin will be happy to discourse on fashion," Jane said. "It is a subject upon which her knowledge is vast."

"I could certainly tell that by the quality of her beautiful clothing," Lady Diana said.

Mary Ann sighed. "As if one that lovely even needed beautiful clothing!"

Alone in her bedchamber, Jane dressed for bed, then climbed onto the high, curtained bed. She lay there in the semidarkness, the wood fire crackling in the grate, her thoughts spinning over the day's events before coming to settle on Mr. Poppinbotham. Until today, she had not admired the man, and while he had yet to do something to earn her respect, tonight he had won her affection.

Certainly not the same kind of affection which Lord Slade elicited in her, but now she saw Mr. Poppinbotham as a man struggling to better himself. And he needed her in order to accomplish what he wished to accomplish in life. The very notion of being needed gave her a sense of purpose.

She tried to imagine being kissed by Mr. Poppinbotham, but the thought made her excessively uncomfortable. Not like with Lord Slade. The very idea of kissing him had a profound physical effect upon her entire person–a pleasant physical effect. Indeed, she could think of nothing which could be more pleasant.

She had come to believe that Mr. Poppinbotham meant to ask for her hand in marriage. Would he ask her on the morrow? What would be her response?

Chapter 7

"Whatever is the matter, Runt?" Lord Slade asked Lizzie as he entered the saloon the following morning and saw her reddened, teary eyes.

"My . . . my persecutor insists that I cannot get out of my lessons today." She glared at her eldest sister.

He stopped and eyed Mary Ann. "I appreciate that you have Lizzie's best interest at heart, and I'm cognizant that it's a great burden having to serve as mother and father while I'm away, but I think this once it can't hurt for her to take a day away from lessons." He knew how much Lizzie loved a picnic.

Mary Ann's features softened. "Honestly, Slade! You are such a tender heart. I knew you'd come right behind me and undermine my efforts to instill in her self-discipline."

He drilled Mary Ann with a stern look. "Can you honestly tell me Lizzie is so deficient in knowledge that she cannot miss a single day of instruction?"

"You know she's more than capable. She's too devilishly clever, by far." She mumbled under her breath. "She's entirely too much like you."

He hugged Mary Ann. "A most fortunate girl, to be sure."

Lizzie flew to him and threw her arms around him. "You are the best brother any girl ever had."

"Indeed you are, Slade." Mary Ann looked up at him with admiration shining in her eyes. "It's you who have all the burdens. It's not fair that you're saddled with all of us, and you're not yet thirty."

He stiffened. "Pray, don't ever speak like that. I count myself as the most fortunate man in the three kingdoms to have four such delightful siblings."

"All the same," Mary Ann said, "it's a pity you had to make that Vow."

He shrugged.

Mary Ann pushed at Lizzie. "Go tell your governess you'll not be taking lessons today."

After Lizzie left the chamber, and the two of them were alone, she spoke her mind. "I know that wretched Vow is forcing you to dance attendance upon that empty-headed – albeit beautiful – heiress when it's plain as the nose on your face that Miss Featherstone is the very girl for you."

He felt rather as if someone had walloped his chest. Miss Featherstone! He had never given the lady the slightest consideration–at least, not in a romantic way.

Because he knew he could not.

He had a duty to his dying father. His own preferences were not to be considered. There were too many people dependent upon him. "You are quite mistaken. Have you not noticed that Miss Featherstone and Mr. Poppinbotham are courting? I believe the man means to propose to her during their stay here at Dunvale."

She winced. "That would be a terrible shame."

"Why do you say that?"

"They are so mismatched." She nibbled at her lip, then lowered her voice. "And because I know she's in love with you."

"You can certainly know no such thing!"

"But I do, Slade. Women know about these things."

He looked at her skeptically. "Seventeen is hardly a woman."

"You've told me all my life I'm much older and wiser than my years. It's because I'm the firstborn daughter with the attendant responsibilities, just as you, as the firstborn son, have even greater responsibilities."

"You understand I have to court Lady Sarah."

She solemnly shook her head. "I just wish you had free will to marry the woman who would make you the best life partner."

He turned away, then spun back and faced his wise sister whose face so resembled his and David's–in a pretty version. "What makes you think Miss Featherstone has the least interest in me?"

She lowered her voice. "Surely you can't believe her serious about that hanger-on!"

"Actually, no. I am sure Miss Featherstone has more sense than that." He continued to lower his voice because he really would not want poor Mr. Poppinbotham to hear him. He certainly did not dislike the man. It was just that he was so far beneath the touch of the impeccable Miss Featherstone.

Mary Ann shrugged and kept her voice low. "I can't actually say how I know Miss Featherstone's in love with you. Perhaps it's the way she watches you. Or the way she looks so sad when you communicate with her cousin. Or perhaps it's the way she seems to perk up like a pup whenever you address her. Certainly nothing like she responds to her so-called suitor." Mary Ann abruptly stopped talking, her gaze darting to the doorway.

He turned and faced the cousins. "Good morning, ladies," he said, bowing. "I have good news. The dark clouds have gone, and we will be free to take our country walk and to have our picnic this afternoon."

"That is good news," Lady Sarah said. "This morning I should love to ride."

He frowned. "I'm afraid we don't keep a proper stable here at Dunvale."

Her lovely face fell. "Oh, of course. You do spend most of your time in London, but - - -" She suddenly must have realized he kept no stable in London, either.

He was not embarrassed that he had pockets to let; he was embarrassed that it was obvious he was interested in her fortune.

And he suddenly felt very sorry for the beautiful young woman.

He offered her a broad smile and came to take both her hands. "I assure you, walking outside the castle walls will be most agreeable."

"It's not just my brother's partial opinion, either," Lady Mary Ann added. "Everyone admires our park."

Mr. Poppinbotham entered the chamber, chatting amiably with Lady Diana. The man's face brightened when he saw Miss Featherstone.

Lord Slade did not at all like to think of Miss Featherstone encouraging the poor man. Not when there was no way an intelligent woman like she–a woman from one of England's oldest families, no less–would even consider uniting herself to someone like Cecil Poppinbotham.

Perhaps Slade should have a word with her today, let her know of Poppinbotham's plans so she could give the best consideration as to how to let the old fellow down gently.

* * *

David led the way along the broad lawn to the rear of Dunvale, Mary Ann on his left, and Diana on his right. Next came Lord Slade, with Lady Sarah linking her arm to his proffered arm and an adoring Lizzie strolling beside the Paragon of Fashion and quizzing her unmercifully about London fashions. Miss Featherstone and Mr. Poppinbotham were just a few feet behind them.

"Have you decided what angle you wish me use when I sketch Dunvale, my lord?" Miss Featherstone asked.

It was as if she'd stolen into his thoughts for he had been wondering the very same thing. "Ideally, I'd like to get the lake in either the background or foreground."

She laughed. "I was going to suggest the same thing."

"You know, my lord," she said, "I was a bit surprised when you expressed in interest in having me draw Dunvale."

His step slowed, and he turned to look back at the lady. He hated to address anyone– especially a lady–when his back was presented to them. "Why do you say that?"

She shrugged. He noticed she, unlike her cousin who wore a lovely pink velvet pelisse on this cool day, wore a knitted shawl of dark green. Practical and economical, like the lady who wore it. The green shawl was perfectly becoming on her. "It's just that I never felt you held Dunvale in great admiration."

He gave a bitter laugh. "How very well you know me, Miss Featherstone. I must own that one of the reasons I wished to have a good drawing of Dunvale was to have it for my brother when he's off on his travels for crown and country. My brother seems to have inherited all the affection for the old pile that the heir was supposed to possess."

"I have noticed that Captain St. John does seem every bit as enamored of the castle as my cousin." Miss Featherstone said.

"I declare, Cousin Jane, I believe you're right!" Lady Sarah gave a scolding look up at her escort. "Really, my lord, you should be more proud of your ancestral home."

He sighed. "But my dear lady, I've taken the liberty of sparing you exposure to Dunvale's warts."

She looked straight ahead. "I shouldn't think there could be any warts at Dunvale that could not be repaired with a hefty purse."

"But alas, my lady, I'm sadly in want of that." As uncomfortable as the confession made him, he was relieved that he'd finally been honest with the young lady. He was also relieved to have all his warts out in the open. He disliked deception of any kind.

As they continued on, with Lizzie and Lady Sarah discussing fashion, he pondered what the lady had just said. There couldn't be any warts at Dunvale that could not be repaired with a hefty purse. Surely that had to mean she was considering him as a potential husband. Isn't that exactly what he wanted?

Then why did he feel so very low?

The land surrounding the castle resembled a green carpet that was symmetrically dissected by a wide gravel path. As they strolled across its vast expanse, pockets of trees stood out in the distance. These had been carefully planted to provide as many varying shades of green as possible. Though Lord Slade looked upon the castle itself as a burden as well as a cold and grim monstrosity of a building, he enjoyed its landscape.

Once they neared the trees, Capability Brown's curving lake came into view. Lord Slade always smiled when he noted the little humpback stone bridge that spanned the lake at one of its narrower points. That had been his mother's lone contribution to the landscape.

"I declare, my lord, one could never want to return to London." Lady Sarah's appreciation of the lake and its surrounding landscape pleased him.

"I cannot convey to you happy those words make me."

They circled the lake, then still farther beyond they came to the summer house, a neoclassical structure situated on a manmade hill that overlooked the lake. There, his footmen were setting up tables for their picnic while Cook and the scullery maid were unpacking baskets that were brimming with food and drink.

By the time they reached the summer house, they had walked for more than an hour. House was an inaccurate name for the structure. It was really more of a pavilion because it had no proper walls. Doric columns supported the pedimented roof.

Several tables had been laid out to make one long table that was now generously set with food. There was cold mutton, fresh country cheese, apples, hard-cooked eggs, and ale and wine with which to wash down the meal.

"Please feel free to sit where you'd like," Slade said.

Lady Sarah ended up with a brother on either side of her. As the meal progressed, Lord Slade was disappointed in himself for not being a more interesting conversationalist. David, on the other hand, practically held court. He had Lady Sarah listening in raptures to his tales of India. What a pity that he, Lord Slade, was incapable of establishing a closeness between himself and the young lady he was trying to woo.

He had hoped he and Lady Sarah could stray from the others today in order to establish some intimacy between them, but he did not at all like to give Poppinbotham the opportunity to pop his question to Miss Featherstone, not before Slade had the opportunity to prepare the young lady.

While David was telling Lady Sarah about some raja's palace, Lord Slade found himself watching Miss Featherstone across the table. How attentive Mr. Poppinbotham was, insisting on serving her and soliciting her opinion on food preferences. Then once the man realized his host was not engaged in conversation, he began to quiz him.

"I say, my lord, while Miss Featherstone is drawing your castle this afternoon, I thought I'd like to poke about in your library."

"You are certainly welcome borrow any book you choose."

"Have you the writings of this Thomas Paine?"

"Indeed, I do. I will be happy to find it for you when return to the castle." Lord Slade met Miss Featherstone's gaze. "I hope you'll allow me to help you bring out your chair or anything else the artist might need." He needed to prepare her for what was certain to be an unwelcome proposal from a man of trade.

`She looked a bit puzzled for a moment. She was aware he had footmen who could provide such a service, but she was her gracious self when she replied, "That would be very kind of you, my lord. Perhaps you will be able to show me from which angle you'd like me to draw Dunvale."

"You're the artist, my dear Miss Featherstone."

* * *

He found The Rights of Man for Poppinbotham while Miss Featherstone raced upstairs to fetch her drawing supplies, then the two were ready to go back outdoors. She carried her sketchbook while he toted one of the folding chairs they had used at the picnic.

"I have very much enjoyed my stay at Dunvale, my lord. And I must tell you your sisters are a delight. I feel a special affinity for Lady Mary Ann. It's almost as if we've known each other all our lives."

"She told me she's very fond of you." He laughed. "She even thinks I should wed you!" The woman strolling beside him stiffened at his words. "Forgive me for laughing. Of course, Mary Ann has good reason to think you'd make me a fine wife. I even agree with her, but you and I know such a thing is not possible."

She nodded. "Most certainly."

They strolled across the vast stretch of lawn in silence. When they reached the lake, she took some time getting her perspective. When she decided on it, he set up her chair, and she settled down and began to sketch.

He cleared his throat.

She looked up at him. "Yes?"

"I hoped to have a private word with you today."

She continued to look up at him with those solemn green eyes. They were very fine, very expressive eyes. "About what?"

"About Poppinbotham."

"I see."

"I'm not really sure you do. Are you aware that the man means to ask for your hand in marriage? "

Her brows lifted. "Has he told you so?"

"Yes."

"I must admit that your announcement is not unexpected."

"It was really too mean of you to lead on the poor chap. Just because he's not one of us doesn't mean he doesn't have feelings. In fact, I believe he's not only wanting to marry you to help his social climb, I believe the man has really come to care for you."

"Yes, I had reached quite the same opinion."

"How can you just sit there looking up at me so innocently? I beg you to consider the poor man's feelings."

"Oh, I assure you I have, my lord."

Her words gave him pause. "Whatever can you mean?"

"I mean that I am not adverse to plighting my life to Mr. Poppinbotham."

He felt as if he'd just been knocked off his feet by a swiftly moving coach and four. His gaze locked with hers, a sizzling anger rising in him. "You cannot possibly be in love with the man!"

Her lashes lowered. "No, I cannot."

He dropped down to his knees before her and drew her hands into his, "Then for God's sake, Jane, don't throw yourself away on him." He suddenly realized he'd called her by her Christian name. In his nine and twenty years, he had never slipped in such a manner. At least not with a proper lady.

Tears gathered in her eyes, but she made no effort to swipe them away. It fairly broke his heart to see her suffer. Almost as much as it broke his heart to think of her lying beside Cecil Poppinbotham. "You must understand, my lord, Mr. Poppinbotham is the only man who has ever fallen in love with me. That I am poor and plain should not relegate me to a spinster's life. I should like my own home, my own children. Mr. Poppinbotham can give me those things. And I assure you, he is excessively kind to me."

Jack St. John, the Earl of Slade, had never done a rash thing in his life. Until he drew Miss Featherstone's upper torso into his arms and began to kiss her with a hunger which bowled him over in its intensity.

Just as surprising as his action was the lady's reaction. She kissed him with the kind of passion he would have thought a spinster like she incapable of. God in heaven, but she felt so sweet in his arms!

But unlike Mr. Cecil Poppinbotham, Lord Slade was not at liberty to ask for her hand in marriage.

Because of that wretched Vow.

With a deep, retching ache, he pulled away from the most perfect female he'd ever known. "Forgive me, Miss Featherstone. I had no right." Then he got to his feet and strode away.

* * *

Somehow during the next few minutes Jane managed to continue sketching his lordship's home even though tears raced down her cheeks. Why did Lord Slade have to go and spoil everything? She had convinced herself that marrying Mr. Poppinbotham would be very good for her.

Even if the thought of kissing him was not.

Why had Lord Slade felt compelled to kiss her? She had never thought him a man who would casually toy with any maiden's affections. He was always the very picture of propriety. Everything about the scene between them a few minutes earlier seemed like something she had dreamed, something that had no basis in reality.

And, indeed, she had best relegate the memory of it to the same place where abandoned dreams resided.

Her heartbeat roared. Now that she had been properly kissed by a man with whom she was in love, how could she ever submit to Mr. Poppinbotham's kisses? The very memory of his lordship's kiss made her insides feel like quivering jelly. How wondrous the kiss had been! Dare she even think. . . it was passionate?

Especially her wanton response to him. Lord Slade was bound to think her a harlot. How could she ever face him again after that sizzling kiss?

Even worse, how could she ever consider spending her life with a man whom she could never kiss as she had just kissed Lord Slade?

Chapter 8

Were it not for the friendly banter between Captain St. John and Lady Sarah, dinner would have been a grievously somber occasion. Their host had glowered from the head of the table. Even after the meal when they gathered in the drawing room, his lordship hardly spoke.

More than once she had caught him staring at her, but Jane was always quick to look away. She, too, had been embarrassed over the unexpected intimacy between them. She prayed he would not think her a loose woman, prayed that his good opinion of her–which she knew with certainty she had possessed before the kiss–would not change.

She was far too intelligent to confuse his good opinion with romantic interest. They were two entirely different matters. For reasons she could not understand, something had compelled the earl to kiss her. Even had he not begged her forgiveness, she knew he immediately regretted the action.

Now they both must forget it. He needed to marry an heiress, and she needed to accept Mr. Poppinbotham because she was quite certain this was her only hope of marrying and becoming a respected matron and mother.

For despite what had occurred between Lord Slade and her, she was going to accept Mr. Poppinbotham. She must.

Before they retired for the night, Mr. Poppinbotham addressed her. "I beg, Miss Featherstone, that you will do me the honor in the morning of walking to the lake with me."

Her heartbeat drummed. She knew the purpose of their solitary walk. "I should be honored, Mr. Poppinbotham." Before she turned away and began to climb the stairs, she saw that Lord Slade was watching her.

And listening.

That night she closed the heavy velvet curtains tightly around her bed, then she lay there in the total darkness. Even the thick curtains could not keep out the night's morose sounds. Winds howled. Rain fell in lusty sheets. And the logs in her fire spit, crackled, and collapsed time after time.

While she wept.

She hadn't wept since her mother died when she was a little girl. Tonight she felt that same, horrifying sense of loss. It was entirely too cruel that on the verge of committing herself to a man who would wed her, she had a taste of what it was like to be with the man she loved, the man she could never marry. She had always known that Lord Slade was far, far above her touch.

And nothing had changed.

Except the kiss.

Now she would unite herself to a man she did not love. Never again would she experience a shattering kiss like she'd experienced that day.

* * *

The rains stopped at dawn, and a few hours later, a bright sun appeared. If she wore boots instead of slippers, Jane supposed she could still walk with Mr. Poppinbotham this morning. They must have a care to stay on the lawns and avoid any dirt paths that were sure to be quagmires of mud.

She donned her warmest woolen dress for it had become chilly, and she selected her red cloak to wear when they departed after breakfast. Though she made every effort to contrive to fashion her hair attractively, she knew she failed. She stared into the mirror at her dowdy reflection and lamented that she was no beauty like her cousin. I am very lucky that one man in the kingdom wishes to honor me with a proposal of marriage.

She would never have another chance.

As she descended the stairs, her thoughts raced ahead so fast, she could barely isolate one when another cropped up. The worst part about accepting Mr. Poppinbotham was going to be announcing the decision to Papa. He did not perceive that his cherished only daughter failed to attract men. And, of course, he would have wished for her to marry a man who was more of their world, a man more well read than the prosperous businessman who wished to claim her hand.

But she was of age. She did not need her father's approval to marry.

Telling Papa was not the worst thing about accepting Mr. Poppinbotham. Resigning herself to a life without romantic love was the worst thing. She wondered what it would feel like to have a man like Lord Slade wish to marry her.

Lamentably, with that thought in mind, she faced Mr. Poppinbotham as she entered the morning room, where they gathered for breakfast.

Once again, Lady Sarah–fetching in pale blue muslin–was talking and laughing with Captain St. John, and once again, Lord Slade brooded. How distressing it must be to him that the lady he wished to marry was more comfortable with his brother than with him.

Throughout breakfast she avoided looking at Mr. Poppinbotham. It was not the poor man's fault that his appearance did not please her. She kept schooling herself to regard him as the well-intentioned man who wished to honor her with his name and fortune. I must not be disappointed that he is not handsome. Nor should I be disappointed that his intelligence is not great. The man was possessed of many fine qualities. He was a hard worker who had built his own fortune, which was a lot more than she could say about any other man of her acquaintance. He was serious about bettering his station in life. He was neither afraid to admit when his knowledge was lacking, nor was he adverse to asking for advice. A most admirable quality, to be sure. Above all, as she had told his lordship, he was excessively kind to her.

She smiled to herself. Her Papa would at least be gratified over that.

After breakfast, with assistance from Mr. Poppinbotham, she donned her cloak. "I am happy to see you've worn boots today, Miss Featherstone. I dare say it's muddy out there. And cool, too."

She slipped her arm through his. "Yes, it was a very cold night."

They left the castle keep, crossed the courtyard, walked over the wooden planks of the former drawbridge, and soon they were strolling along the grass which squished beneath their feet from the relentless rains of the previous night.

"Did the foul weather impede your sleep?" he asked.

"Yes." That and other things. "I hardly closed my eyes all night."

He patted her hand. "I am distressed to hear that, but I admit, it was the same with me."

The touch of his hand was nothing like the touch of Lord Slade's hand. Oh, the devil take it! She must quit thinking about Lord Slade, must drive thoughts of their kissing and touching from her mind. Forever.

For some unaccountable reason, she did not wish for silence. If they kept up casual conversation, she could postpone the regretted inevitable–that inevitable proposal she must accept.

"How are you liking Dunvale Castle, Mr. Poppinbotham?"

"I keep pinching myself to see that Cecil Poppinbotham is really the guest in a castle owned by an earl! If only my dear mother were alive so as I could tell her."

Jane laughed. Mr. Poppinbotham might be forty, but in some ways he could be refreshingly childlike.

"Tell me, how is your drawing of the castle progressing?"

How could she tell him she had not been able to draw for more than a few minutes because Lord Slade's kiss had so completely shattered her? "I, um, couldn't seem to get the right perspective. Perhaps I can try again this afternoon."

"When we get back to London, you shall have to show me your architectural drawings. I had no notion of how many talents you possess, my dear Miss Featherstone."

"You are much too kind."

"I have a great respect for artistic abilities. I have the devil of a time getting qualified artists to illustrate my pamphlets."

It crossed her mind to lightly ask if he would hire a woman such as she to draw for his business, but she knew if she brought up her lack of financial prospects, he would be quick with an offer of financial security for life–as his wife.

And she wished to prolong facing the disappointing inevitable.

Eventually they found themselves well on the other side of the lake, so far from the castle that it was completely out of view. "Come, Miss Featherstone, and sit on that bench with me. There is something I wish to . . . to discuss with you."

Her heartbeat roared and clanged within the walls of her chest. Her hands grew moist and trembled.

Pulling her skirts beneath her, she sat on the sturdy wooden bench. He came to sit beside her, and he drew her hand within his. "My dear Miss Featherstone, for some time now I have been - - -"

A great pounding sound interrupted him, and they both spun around to see what the noise was. Lord Slade, atop a galloping stallion, was racing toward them.

Her eyes widened. Whatever was his lordship doing?

He brought the horse right up to the bench, leapt off, and faced her, his dark eyes blazing with emotion. Was it anger? "I beg you not to accept this man's proposal."

What in the blazes? "But, my lord, he has not proposed."

"Good." Lord Slade then dropped to his knees, not having the least care that he was muddying his superfine breeches. "Forgive me, Poppinbotham, but I must attempt to claim Miss Featherstone for my own wife."

Jane's mouth gaped open. Surely her ears were deceiving her! "But, my lord, you cannot marry me. I have nothing to offer."

"Oh, but you do," Lord Slade said. "It is my most ardent desire that you consent to become my wife. No other woman will ever do for me."

"But, what about your Vow?"

He drew her hand into his and pressed a soft kiss atop it. "I have given the matter considerable thought and have decided it's far better to break my word to a man who's dead than to ruin the lives of four, possibly five, who are living."

"What can you mean?" she asked.

"It would be cruel to marry another woman when I can only ever love you, Jane. It will break my heart irrevocably if you wed Poppinbotham, and it wouldn't be fair to wed him when you're in love with me."

So her response to his kiss the day before had betrayed her.

Mr. Poppinbotham's mouth gaped open. "Is this true, Miss Featherstone?"

These past two days she was turning into a complete watering pot! Her eyes once again filled with tears, then she began to heave great sobs while nodding in agreement with wonderful Lord Slade.

Mr. Poppinbotham cursed, got to his feet, and began to stalk away. "Then I shall be leaving Dunvale immediately. I trust you'll be able to manage your return journey to London without my coach and four!"

She felt ashamed of herself for having led him on, but otherwise, her heart was brimming with joy.

His lordship spoke in a husky voice. "You, my dearest love, haven't given me your answer."

She continued sobbing. "I know I should refuse because marriage to me cannot answer your needs- - -"

He pressed gentle fingers to her lips. "Never say that. You are the only woman in the kingdom who can answer all my needs."

Then he pulled her into his arms and thoroughly kissed her.

She wasn't sure how it happened, but she ended up kneeling beside her dearest Jack, the skirts of her dress becoming soaked with mud. Nothing had ever felt so good as being held in her darling's arms, nothing could ever make her happier than his declaration of love. "My dearest, dearest Jack, I love you far too much to refuse your most welcome offer."

Then they kissed again. For one with little experience at kissing, she thought she had taken to it better than any new thing she'd ever learned.

Finally he stood and offered her a hand. "Dearest?" she looked at him with searching eyes.

"Yes, my love?"

"To whom were you referring when you said four, possibly five lives, could be ruined if we married the wrong people?"

"Besides you and me and Poppinbotham?'

"Yes, you goose."

"Lady Sarah or whichever woman I would have wed for fortune. I assure you, I could never love anyone but you, Jane."

Her tears stung again. "And the possible fifth?"

"I believe my brother may be falling in love with Lady Sarah."

She was not altogether sure her cousin wasn't falling in love with the dashing captain, too. None of Sarah's many admirers captured her attention as much as Captain St. John. "Perhaps if you gave him the castle, Lady Sarah would be eager to marry him. She is most enamored of medieval fortresses."

"By Jove! That sounds like a capital plan."

"You must know my needs are simple. I would be ever so happy in the merest room of a cottage, if I could be with you."

"Would that we were in such a room right now. Would you object if I procure a special license immediately?"

She giggled. "Nothing could make me happier."

There was a lightness in his voice and in his step. "I cannot believe how happy you've made me."

"It is the very same for me, my dearest, dearest Jack."

Epilogue

Two weeks later

He was the happiest of men. Lord Slade stood before the altar at St. George's Hanover Square with his cherished bride beside him, their hands clasped. Making the day equally as special was the couple standing beside him and his dear Jane. He glanced to his right to observe David, handsome in his regimentals, standing happily with his bride, Lady Sarah. Two brothers marrying two cousins.

He keenly felt the presence of all his loved ones. His sisters sat in the front pew, and his father's presence was almost palpable. He knew his father would be happy to know that David's wife was going to see that Dunvale Castle was preserved. Indeed, David and Lady Sarah were planning to live there, planning to raise their family there.

Slade and Jane would be happiest in London, where they could be near Parliament – and close to Jane's aging father. Lord Slade was not a wealthy man, but now that Lady Sarah had offered to present–and to dower—her new sisters, he and Jane would be able to live comfortably.

His Vow to his father was being honored.

Now the priest was asking him to make another Vow. "Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

Lord Slade turned to Jane, and his heart overflowed with his sacred love of her. "I will."

This was one Vow that would be his pleasure to honor. For as long as he lived.

The End

Win a $50 Gift Certificate

I hope you enjoyed His Lordship's Vow. If you did, would you please consider posting a review by the book's listing at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Goodreads, Smashwords or a site where you might have read it? If you do, please send me an email at Cheryl@cherylbolen.com and I will enter your name in one of my quarterly drawings for a $50 gift certificate to Amazon, Barnes & Noble or I-Tunes. Each time you review one of my books, let me know, and you will get another entry for each review. This promotion will last all of 2012, with a drawing each quarter.

Thank you from Cheryl Bolen

Other eBooks by Cheryl Bolen:

With His Lady's Assistance

(Book 1, The Regent Mysteries)

(Humorous Regency Romance Mystery)

With His Lady’s Assistance is a delightful blend of humor, romance, and mystery, a romp through Regency society, sprinkled with appealing characters and colorful figures from British history. Protecting the eccentric Prince Regent from an unknown assassin has never been so entertaining. – In Print

This is a highly enjoyable read. There is mystery, humour and romance – a winning combination. I eagerly await the next installment. – Amazon Reviewer

* * *

To help him mingle in the highest echelons of English society to investigate threats on the Prince Regent's life, super spy Captain Jack Dryden must feign an engagement to the exceedingly plain spinster, Lady Daphne Chalmers. Together they embark on an investigation which brings them into grave peril – and makes the captain reevaluate the skinny maiden who has a most amorous effect upon him.

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The Bride Wore Blue (The Brides of Bath Series #1)

Cheryl Bolen's writing draws you into her fast-paced story. 4 Stars – Romantic Times

Cheryl Bolen returns to the Regency England she knows so well. . .If you love a steamy Regency with a fast pace, be sure to pick up The Bride Wore Blue. – Happily Ever After

* * *

For six long years Thomas Moreland has dreamed of the beautiful young noblewoman who rescued him from death. While amassing his fortune in India, not a day passed he did not recall Felicity's fair loveliness, did not recall the silken tones of her sweet voice, did not desire to possess her.

Now a widow, Felicity Harrison does not recognize the handsome nabob as the young man left for dead by highwayman years earlier. Though she wants nothing more than to snub the arrogant man who promises to rescue her family from financial ruin in exchange for presenting his sister to Society, she cannot snub him. She must force herself to bear his company. But the longer she is with him, the more she has to force herself to remain true to her dead husband's memory. Why is it the humbly born Thomas Moreland possesses more nobility that any man of her class? And why is it she finds it harder and harder to mourn a dead man when Thomas's virility awakens her deepest desires?

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With His Ring (The Brides of Bath Series #2)

Texas Gold's Runner-up for Best Historical Romance 2002

Highly recommended. – Under the Covers

Cheryl Bolen does it again! There is laughter, and the interaction of the characters pulls you right into the book. I look forward to the next in this series. 4 Stars – Romantic Times

With His Ring is a good book. Once you start reading you will not want to put it down. . .The secondary characters are a blast. They will have you laughing right along with Glee's stunts. – The Romance Readers Connection

If you liked Cheryl Bolen's first installment in her Brides of Bath series set in Regency England, you'll like this one. With His Ring has plenty of sensuality. – Happily Ever After

* * *

Glee Pembroke has turned down countless offers of marriage because she has secretly been in love with her brother's best friend, Gregory Blankenship, all her life. When she learns Gregory will lose his considerable fortune if he's not wed by his twenty-fifth birthday, she persuades him to enter into a sham marriage with her. What he doesn't know is that she plans to win his heart. She will do everything in her power to make him happy – including mimicking the ways of a "fast" woman since he's noted for alliances with women of that sort.

Why did he ever allow himself to marry the maddening Glee? He'd thought they would have great fun, but at every turn, she exasperates him. Why does she persist in wearing the bodice of her dresses so blasted low? Why do other men persist in flirting with her, his wife? And why in the blazes has his heretofore complacent life been turned upside down by this sham marriage? He finds himself longing for a real marriage, but for reasons he cannot divulge, that can never happen.

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A Fallen Woman (The Brides of Bath Series #3)

You'll fall for A Fallen Woman, the latest Regency romance by Cheryl Bolen. .this emotional story of a woman's journey from despair to triumph has what we all want from a love story. – In Print

A story of healing, forgiveness and change that will make readers cheer. – Romantic Times

I would recommend A Fallen Woman to anyone." – Escape to Romance

* * *

Since his commanding officer in the Peninsula took a bullet meant for him, James Moore, now the Earl of Rutledge, feels responsible for the dead man's young son and the boy's exquisite mother, Carlotta Ennis – so responsible that he offers to marry the lavender-eyed beauty. Though their marriage was not to be a love match, Carlotta's torturing presence has James yearning to make her his true wife.

Though she did not love his lordship, her desperate situation forced her to accept his proposal. Little did she know she would come to crave being with him, would hunger for his every touch. If only she could be worthy of the fine man she's married, if only she can keep him from learning her dark secret . . .

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To Take This Lord (The Brides of Bath Series #4)

(previously titled An Improper Proposal)

"Wonderfully Crafted... Highly recommended... 5 stars." – Huntress Book Reviews

"Bolen's writing... creates the perfect atmosphere for her enchanting romances." –

Romantic Times

"Bolen does a wonderful job building simmering sexual tension." – Booklist

* * *

Even though it's been two years since his cherished wife died on childbed, George Pembroke, the Viscount Sedgewick, continues to rely on liquor to blunt his grief.

Worried about him and his children, George's sisters urge him to ask spinster Sally Spenser--a longtime family friend--to help care for his daughter and son. Sally's the perfect person. She's of high birth (but has no money) and she adores Lord Sedgewick's children. It's her deep love of the motherless children and fear that their father might marry an unfeeling stepmother that prompt Sally to consider George's proposal. Even though it will be unbearable living under the roof of the man she loves and knowing she can never have him.

Buy at Amazon.com.

A Lady by Chance

Cheryl Bolen has done it again with another sparkling Regency romance. . .I highly recommend it. – Happily Ever After

Anna de Mouchet has the stuff of which Regency heroines are made – the right stuff, that is! – In Print

* * *

The Marquess of Haverstock is incensed when he learns the money he needed to buy crucial war information for the Foreign Office has been lost at cards to the illegitimate daughter of an English duke and French noblewoman. When the bewitchingly beautiful woman informs him the only way to reclaim the funds is to wed her, he has little choice but to agree.

Shunned by the ton, Anna de Mouchet agrees to a bizarre proposal that has her using her skill at cards to force the marquess – whom she’s been told is a traitor – to marry her. As his wife, she will be free to spy on him and prove her patriotism to England. But once she marries the handsome lord, she’s less sure of her loyalties. Especially when she feels her husband’s silken touch.

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Bolen writes with both poetic ease and a good sense of historical correctness. Another great book by Bolen with enchanting characters you actually fall in love with. – Amazon Reviewer

The Earl and lady "bluestocking" provide fun, adventure, and romance, and I loved the Cornwall locations. I've been to Cornwall and Ms. Bolen's descriptions were right on. – Amazon Reviewer

* * *

The impossibly young, stunningly beautiful widow Louisa Phillips finds herself penniless upon the death of her no-good husband. What's a man-hating bluestocking to do?

Enter the Earl of Wycliff, who offers her financial security for life. All she has to do is travel across England posing as his wife. They're both hiding secrets – not the least of which is their budding love for each other.

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My Lord Wicked

This terrific regency novel has Gothic elements: the eerie abbey; the gloomy weather; the portrait of his wife seeming to watch over everyone; and his dark, twisted memories of her. Ms. Bolen's novel has it all. A great romance with spooky elements and the mystery surrounding the wife, the author could not have done a better job. I loved this book, and I hope you will love it also. Very highly recommended! – Amazon Reviewer

* * *

What woman would dare make her home at eerie Marshbanks Abbey, perched on a stony hill in remote Northumbria? It is said its owner, the brilliant botanist, Lord Stacks, killed his beautiful bride there ten years earlier.

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Lady Sophia's Rescue

There's a lot packed into this novella. There's a wonderful and appealing hero, a funny and charming heroine, a dastardly villain, a good amount of humor, and a perfectly developed romance. – Amazon Reviewer

* * *

As Lady Sophia passes through the gates of her new bridegroom’s country estate and he begins to whisper in her ear the delights that await her in his bed, Lady Sophia realizes she has made a most dreadful mistake. There’s only one thing to do. She must bolt.

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Texas Heroines in Peril Series (Contemporary Romantic Suspense)

Protecting Britannia

Antiques dealer Britannia Hensley's first day back in London after a seven-year absence seems like an audition for a Survivor in the City episode. Her plane arrives two hours late; she sloshes through blinding rain without an umbrella; her purse is snatched; her hotel room ransacked; some slimeball jabs a gun into her back and tries to abduct her; and every bobby in London's after her for a murder she didn't commit. What's a girl to do when she has no passport, no money, no means of getting any money, and no one she can call? Well, actually there is someone . . . but surely after all these years a handsome guy like Graham's been snatched up by some lucky girl.

* * *

"Drawing on her real-life expertise as a dealer in British antiques, Cheryl Bolen pens a fast-paced, fascinating tale of modern-day romantic suspense." — Colleen Thompson, Rita finalist romantic suspense

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Lovely young widow Annette Holcombe is forced to turn her Veranda House on Galveston Island into a B & B after the recent death of her husband, a man she'd known only a short time. Upon his untimely death, she learns that the only thing she really knew about him was that everything she knew about him was a lie!

And if being penniless wasn't bad enough, now Annette's got to contend with threatening letters, suspicious guests, fears for her daughter's safety, an impending hurricane – and murder! If only there was someone to trust. Someone like Dr. Grant Garrison, a personable, good-looking guest who's teaching at the island's medical school.

But Grant, too, isn't what he seems.

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A Cry in the Night

The child she gave up for adoption eight years ago is missing, and Ava Simpson is convinced his life is in danger. Only one person can help her find the boy: Blake Tranowski, the birth father of the child. If only she can forge the courage to tell him of the existence of their son. . .

The anger Blake felt toward Ava when she dumped him nine years ago can't touch the fury he experiences when she makes her shattering revelation. Even more shattering is Blake's discovery that the boy really has gone missing. Why hasn't the adoptive father contacted the police? How is the man involved with a Mexican drug cartel? Is their son even alive? As Blake and Ava race against the clock to find their son, others are intent on stopping them. Even if it means killing them.

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The kind of book that you think about afterward. . .They [hero/heroine] grip your heart and make you weep.—In Print

It is definitely one for the keeper shelf.—Margaret Lawrence

I highly recommend It Had to Be You for an all-consuming and powerful love story.—Romance Communications Reviews*

Best Mainstream Novel – Golden Triangle*

Runner-up Best Mainstream Novel – Book of Your Heart*

Runner-up Best Historical – Now and Then*

Runner-up Best Historical – Show Me More*

*under various previous titles

* * *

The time is 1937. Journalist Dianne Castle mixes with Hollywood's elite post-Prohibition hedonists at the popular Club Borneo, owned by handsome Japanese American, Johnny Honda. Amidst the threat of war and chants of Yellow Peril, Dianne and Johnny fall in love, but it's a love not to be.

How can Johnny let his beloved Dianne throw her life away on the likes of him?

Dianne stubbornly vows to follow him to the ends of the earth-even if it means entering an internment camp.

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A Duke Deceived (Harlequin Historical)

Notable New Author Award Winner

Holt Medallion Honorable Mention, Best First Book

Reissued by Harlequin Historical as ebook

Full of intrigue and excitement, A Duke Deceived is a tender love story that will capture the reader's heart from page one. Cheryl Bolen is sure to please those who enjoy historical romances set in Regency England." -- Barbara Dawson Smith, bestselling author of ONCE UPON A SCANDAL

"The charm and grace of the regency period is present in this sweetly told debut novel. Regency fans will find the conflict traditional but enjoyable." -- Romantic Times

" A Duke Deceived is a gem. If you like a genuinely sensuous love story, pick up this first novel by Cheryl Bolen." -- Happily Ever After

* * *

At her mother's deathbed, Bonny Barbara Allan weds the Duke of Radcliff in what Bonny perceives as a totally unequal match. Though she adores Radcliff, Bonny is embarrassed over her dowryless state and inadequate pedigree to be his duchess. To make matters even worse, she believes her enigmatic husband has married her out of compassion toward her dying mother. Nothing could be further from the truth. Radcliff fell in love with the incomparable Bonny the first time he saw her, but how can he reveal his love when his bride is secretly meeting another man?

Buy at Amazon.com.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Epilogue