remembered a remark Robert had made after Sebastian’s wedding, wondering how many happy marriages there could be among six brothers. Considering the matches of people they knew, he’d thought the odds must be against six.
Randolph looked at him now, gazing into the fiery blue eyes of his lovely wife. There was no doubt Robert was happy. Just as Sebastian was with his beautiful, blond Georgina. James, too, and Nathaniel and Alan, about to become fathers. They seemed as happy and contented as men could be. “I suppose the luck has run out,” Randolph muttered. He wasn’t to have what his brothers had found. He’d missed his chance.
“What luck?” asked Robert.
“Nothing.” His younger brother had always had the ears of a bat. They used to station Robert as lookout during midnight raids on the pantry at Langford. Robert could catch the creak of a floorboard at fifty paces.
“Your luck is certainly good,” Robert replied. “Unless you don’t care to sing again. Lady Tolland is bearing down on us. A guinea says she asks you.”
“Deuce take it,” said Randolph. He slipped behind Sebastian and then along the wall, scattering smiles and nods through several chattering groups. The experience with Miss Sinclair had been too…confusing. He didn’t wish to repeat it. Not now. Perhaps another time? Elsewhere. No, she didn’t like him. Hadn’t. What did she think now?
Lady Tolland was craning her neck, searching for him. He wasn’t going to spend the remaining hours of this party playing hide-and-seek with his hostess. That would be rude, not to mention ridiculous. Best to go now and let everyone forget about the song, as they inevitably would when the next interesting tidbit came along. He made his way to the door and departed.
Four
It was a perfect day for a walk, Verity thought. The sky was bright blue, without a hint of clouds. Hyde Park’s rafts of daffodils dipped and nodded in the balmy breeze. Birds trilled in the trees. Fashionable Londoners strolled and rode and drove all around them. And she had two lively companions to talk with. Verity paused to record the moment. She already thought of Lady Emma Stane as a true friend, and Miss Olivia Townsend was fast becoming one. Olivia knew so many people. Thanks to her presence, their progress was marked by smiles and bows and blithe greetings. Verity appreciated that, because—it was an odd thing—here in London she felt younger than her twenty-four years.
Back home in Chester, she was a familiar figure and, she thought, respected. After several years of attending assemblies, making calls with her mother, and undertaking various charitable works, she’d seen herself as an assured fixture in society. But London was so much larger, and grander. She felt as if she was starting all over again, which made her search for the perfect explorer more daunting.
For example, nothing like that astonishing duet would have happened in Chester. She was acquainted with the musical circle there and couldn’t have been ambushed in that way. And so she wouldn’t be haunted by it now. Verity stood still, frowning. What an odd word to choose. Quite silly. She wasn’t in the least haunted. It was true that people still spoke of the performance four days later. And some women combined their compliments with sly glances, as if she’d done something clever. Their air of amused complicity made her uncomfortable. But haunted—no. Nonsense.
“What is it?” asked Emma. The others were several steps ahead.
Verity hurried to catch up. “Looking at the flowers,” she said.
They walked on, following a path that curved toward Rotten Row, with its press of carriages and riders. The wind gusted, whipping their skirts around their ankles. They laughed as they caught the cloth with one hand and held on to their bonnets with the other. “Don’t you wish we could just let go and run with the wind?” asked Olivia.
Emma shook her head. Verity had noticed that her blond friend was wary of any suggestion that was the least bit unconventional. She, on the other hand, relished the sentiment.
“Oh look, there’s Mr. Rochford,” Olivia added. She walked faster.
Keeping pace, Verity saw the interesting gentleman who’d been pointed out at her first ton party. He looked handsome and polished and perfectly at home on a magnificent black gelding. The horse tossed his head, clearly spirited. Mr. Rochford controlled him without visible effort. Verity could imagine this man heading into the wilds on such a mount. He came nearer. He was going to pass right by them. They wouldn’t