The heavy Twyford coach lumbered along in the wake of the sleek Delmere carriage. Lady Hillsborough put up a hand to right her wig, swaying perilously as they rounded a particularly sharp corner. For the first time since embarking on her nephew's crusade to find he Fleming girls suitable husbands, she felt a twinge of nervousness. She was playing with fire and she knew it. Still, she could not regret it. The sight of Felix and Margaret together in the hall at Twyford House had sent a definite thrill through her old bones. As for Sophia, she doubted not that Daniel Hammington was too far gone to desist, resist and retire. True, he might not know it yet, but time would certainly bring home to him the penalty he would have to pay to walk away from the snare. Her shrewd blue eyes studied the pale face opposite her. Even in the dim light, the strain of the past few days was evident. Thankfully, no one outside their party had been aware of that contretemps. So, regardless of

   As supper time was not far distant, there were only two other couples on the shallow terrace, and within minutes both had returned to the ballroom. Francis, food very far from his mind, strolled down the terrace, apparently content to go where Emma led. But his sharp soldier’s eyes had very quickly adjusted to the moonlight. After a cursory inspection of the surroundings, he allowed himself to pause dramatically as they neared the end of the terrace. “I really think...” He waited a moment, as if gathering strength, then continued, “I really think I should sit down.”    Emma looked around in consternation. There were no benches on the terrace, bit even a balustrade.    “There’s a seat under that willow, I think,” said Francis, gesturing

   “Sir Marco, I do declare you’re flirting with me!” Desperation lent Maribella’s bell-like voice a definite edge. Using her delicate feather fan to great purpose, she flashed her large eyes at the horrendously rich but essentially dim-witted Scottish baronet, managing meanwhile to keep Henry, Lord Byron, in view. Her true prey was standing only feet way, conversing amiably with a plain matron with an even plainer daughter. What was the matter with him? She had tried every trick she knew to bring the great oaf to her tiny feet, yet he persistently drifted away. He would be politely attentive but seemed incapable of settling long enough even to be considered one of her court. She had kept the supper waltz free, declaring it to be taken to all her suitors, convinced he would ask her for that most favoured dance. But now, with supper time fast approaching, she suddenly found herself facing the prospect of hav

   Despite her strategies, Maribella was seen as she slipped from the ballroom. Felix, returning from the card-room where he had been idly passing his time until he could, with reasonable excuse, gravitate to the side of his eldest ward, saw the bright chestnut curls dip through the doorway and for an instant had thought that Margaret was deserting him. But his sharp ears had almost immediately caught the husky tone of her laughter from a knot of gentlemen nearby and he realized it must have been Maribella, most like Margaret in colouring, whom he had seen.    But he had more serious problems in his mind than whether Maribella had torn her flounce. His pursuit of the luscious Miss Fleming, or, rather, the difficulties which now lay in his path to her, were a matter for concern. The odd fact that he actually bothered to dance with his eldest ward had already

   Eventually, routed, Mr. Chistlebury rose, ostensibly to return Miss Senet to her parent. Watching his retreat with laughing eyes, Margaret returned her gaze to her guardian, only to see him look pointedly at the door from the ballroom. She glanced across and saw Maribella enter, slightly flushed with a too-bright smile on her lips. She made straight for the table where Sophia was sitting with a number of other and, with her usual facility, merged with the group, laughing up at the young man who leapt to his feet to offer her his chair.    Margaret turned to Felix, a slight frown in her eyes, to find his attention had returned to the door. She followed his gaze and saw Lord Byron enter.    To any casual observer, Henry was merely coming late to the supper-room, his languid gaze and s