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went closer. Indeed, with shorter hair it did. "He had it made from the picture... ?" How much worse that was. It must have looked to her mother exactly like the son she had not produced.

"He likely thought it only a pleasant whim," the marquess said.

"With part of his mind."

Those dark eyes looked down at her, understanding a great deal too much. "Yes, we do sometimes act from more secret places, do we not?" He studied the child again. "A pretty infant," he repeated, "with spirit and willfulness already established, but showing warmth and great charm. I have thought so of the portrait, too."

Oh no, don't do this now. I'm too shaken by the automaton to know what to do, what to say.

He carefully let the chin lower and turned to her. "If you don't know anyone able to mend and tend it, I can take it to London and give it into the hands of a Mr. Merlin. It is an interest of mine."

"So I gather," Diana said, striving for a cool tone. "I confess to being surprised. Toys, my lord?"

"Machines, Lady Arradale. Ones that, when well made, do complex things precisely to order. A pleasing notion, is it not?"

"With a touch of magic? Merlin?"

"It really is his name. And the Duke of Bridgewater builds canals and aqueducts that go over rivers."

"And Byrd wrote choral music to rival birdsong?"

The corners of his lips deepened with humor. "It makes one wonder, does it not, about the power of names."

"Arradale carries no particular meaning other than the dale of the Arra. Rothgar, however, does suggest wrath, my lord. And Bey, which I gather your family call you, an eastern potentate."

"And Diana is the huntress. What, I wonder, do you hunt?" Before she could think of a clever reply, he said, "I understand that you have a shooting gallery here. I confess to being curious about your skill with a pistol."

Uncomfortably reminded of the events of last year, Diana seized on the children as an excuse and turned to them. "Come. You must return to the nursery. I will have these objects and some of the boxes taken there for you." She shepherded them out and made the arrangements, then turned to find the marquess behind her, still politely waiting.

"Are you suggesting a shooting contest, my lord?"

"Why not? The men will doubtless enjoy it, and Elf is quite skilled. And I wish to see you shoot."

As hostess, she could hardly refuse, but as she led the way downstairs, she said, "Why this interest in my abilities, my lord? Last year I had a pistol pressed to your back. I could hardly have missed."

"You missed Brand."

"I was flustered and he was moving too fast."

"You would rather have hit him?"

"Of course not, but it irritates to have made that mistake. What if he'd been a villain about to shoot me?"

"You would, I fear, be dead."

She cast him a quick look. "Quite. I do not intend to be flustered the next time."

Rothgar watched with amusement as the countess organized the shooting contest. She set herself high standards, and was used to meeting them. Most interesting. Unfortunately, everything about the Countess of Arradale was interesting, and much of it was dangerous.

He had no doubt that in the past year she had been working not just on aim but on the mind. However, he did not believe any skill stayed within bounds. There was a reason to train a boy in weapons and Greek, and in this world, reason not to so train a girl. Perhaps if he'd not let Cyn and Elf grow up together, Elf would not have thrown herself into such wild adventures. It had turned out well, but could have been a tragedy.

The countess carried the same fizz of frustration and boldness. In some ways, she would make an excellent man, but she was not one. Nor was she the type of woman able to drive out her femininity and live in manly ways. This made her a dangerous, disturbing woman - to him, to others, and to herself. And now he had the king's commands regarding her.

Lady Arradale had apparently petitioned the king to be allowed to take her earldom's seat in the House of Lords. It was, of course, out of the question. Parliament was for men only. Rothgar could see why she would want the tradition changed, but he was sure the king could not. George was very conventional about such things.

George was so conventional that he'd flown into a