she asked as she forked a morsel of tender poached salmon.
"A week or two, perhaps, Miss de Lacy," he said with bland courtesy. "This year I'm fixed here for the Season, helping Harry to choose a wife."
Amy found the salmon stuck in her throat so that she feared she would choke. She managed to get it down and took a quick drink of wine to help it. "Er... that should not be difficult," she said, hoping she sounded blase.
"No," he said with a slanting look at her. "What woman would refuse him?"
Amy swallowed against a dry throat. This man disliked her for what she had done to his friend.
After a moment anger came to her rescue. What had she done, after all? On only a few hours' acquaintance, the man had had the effrontery to propose marriage and then not take no for an answer. He had been abominably rude and she had reacted to that.
"Tastes vary, Mr. Ashby," she said coolly, "otherwise all this strutting and preening would not be necessary. We could all just draw lots."
"And are you strutting or preening, Miss de Lacy?" he asked, but she thought she saw a glint of reluctant admiration in his eyes.
"Oh, both. And you?"
"I'm not on the lookout for a wife, so I don't have to bother. I'm merely protecting my friend from scheming harpies. May I help you to some sauce, Miss de Lacy?"
Amy prayed she wasn't blushing, but feared she was. She refused the sauce, then asked sweetly, "Does he need protection? I would have thought Mr. Crisp able to stand up for himself."
"No man is impervious to all attacks, I fear."
"Of what do you speak, Ashby?" asked the duke, turning away from Clyta. "It almost sounds like war. Not a subject for supper."
Amy turned gladly to her left, relieved to have the confrontation ended. She wondered briefly whether the conversation could be overheard from the other end of the table and what Harry Crisp was making of it. "Love and war are closely related, your grace," she said.
"So you were speaking of love," said the duke, and Amy was startled. Had she been speaking of love? "I hope you're wrong," he continued. "I hope to marry for love but fancy a peaceful life."
"Then don't marry Amy," said Clyta loudly. "She's always planning something or other."
Amy stared at her friend, hurt, but then realized the words had been innocent. It was true that at school she'd thought up some interesting pranks and adventures. A quick glance around the table showed her that Chart and Harry had taken it wrongly. "What are you suggesting, Clyta?" she asked lightly. '
"Well I swear," said Clyta, unaware of undercurrents, "we would all have been perfectly content with a simple picnic at Lord Forster's if you hadn't conceived the notion to invade his orchard and have an apple fight."
Amy couldn't help but grin at the memory. "They were only windfalls."
"But Miss Lindsay had the vapors and Miss Mallory was not amused. And," went on Clyta, "what about the night you climbed out of your room down a rope of sheets, for a dare?"
"I wanted to see if it could be done," said Amy, lost in memory.
"Planning an elopement, perhaps?" asked Harry dryly.
Amy came back to reality with a bump.
"Oh no," said Clyta. "That was Chloe." She was referring to her older sister.
"Chloe eloped from home, not school," said Chart pointedly, "and there was no need of ropes. Stop waving our dirty linen in public, Clyta."
She looked abashed but said, "I don't consider Chloe dirty linen, Chart. And it all worked out in the end. Oh!"
It was clear to Amy at least that Chart had just kicked his sister under the table. It seemed a bit nonsensical. The whole world knew Chloe Ashby had eloped at seventeen with a scoundrel who broke his neck in a driving accident. She had since made a wiser, better marriage.
The duke said to Amy, "So you are a prankster, Miss de Lacy."
"I have outgrown such foolishness, your grace."
He smiled. "What a shame."
"Oh, don't worry, Rowanford," said Harry smiling coolly at Amy. "Pranksters probably grow up to be full-fledged adventurers. Or, I suppose, adventuresses."
"Oh no," said Miss Frogmorton blandly. "You cannot mean that, Mr. Crisp. An adventuress is not a proper thing to call a lady."
"Of course, Miss Frogmorton," said Harry. "You are quite correct." His eyes clashed with Amy's for a moment before he turned to address some remark to Miss Frogmorton.
Amy saw how very warmly the young