Thoroughly worn out with his role as chief confidant and protector, Ferdie was delighted to see his cousin. Dismounting and handing over the reins to Jim, he reflected that the source of the horses the Darent sisters rode was one of the better kept secrets in this whole affair. He could imagine what Dorothea would say when she learned that her bay mare had all along belonged to Hazelmere. He hoped they would be married by then and she could discuss the subject with Hazelmere rather than him. He turned to his cousin. ‘Relieved to see you back!’

‘Oh?’ The black brows rose interrogatively.

‘Not that anything’s happened,’ he hastily assured him. ‘But Dorothea knows something’s going on and it’s getting more and more difficult to know what to say.’

‘Poor Ferdie! It sounds as if it’s all been too much for you.’

‘Well, it has!’ returned Ferdie, incensed. ‘Here she’s gone and turned all your friends into her most devoted slaves-oh, yes! Didn’t expect that, did you?’ He had the satisfaction of seeing the hazel eyes widen. Nodding decisively, he continued, ‘Rather think it’s been her holding the reins in your absence, not us!’

Hazelmere, eyes dancing, sighed. ‘I see I was mistaken in thinking it safe to leave you all in charge of Miss Darent. I might have guessed it would turn out the other way. Why on earth you have allowed her to assume the whip hand, I know not. Obviously I’ll have to intervene and save you all.’

‘All very well for you. It’s you she loves, not us! Never seen a lady so capable of making us all jump to her tune. Better take her in hand straight away!’

Hazelmere laughed at this blatant encouragement. ‘Believe me, Ferdie, I intend to-with all possible speed. But not tonight, I think. It’s Alvanley’s dinner for me. I can’t remember if there’s anything else on.’

‘No, nothing of note. I’m to escort Dorothea and Cecily to a quiet little party at Lady Rothwell’s. Just the younger crew, so I’m looking forward to an uneventful evening. Mind, though! Tomorrow she’s all yours!’

‘Oh, quite definitely!’ As they strolled back into Cavendish Square Hazelmere added, ‘In fact, you can assist in your own relief by informing Dorothea that I’ll call on her tomorrow morning.’

Regarding his cousin with misgiving, Ferdie answered, ‘Well, I’ll tell her. But she’ll probably insist on going riding or think up some important engagement on the spot.’

‘In that case,’ Hazelmere said, his voice silky smooth, his lips curving in anticipation, ‘you had better add, in your most persuasive tones, that she would do very much better to meet me next in private rather than public.’

Ferdie, doubting that he could deliver that statement with quite the force Hazelmere could, nodded reluctantly. ‘Yes, all right, I suppose that’ll do it.’

‘You can take it from me that it will,’ responded Hazelmere gravely. Laughing at Ferdie’s outraged countenance, he clapped his cousin on the shoulder and went into his own house, leaving Ferdie to wander on to his lodgings.

Some two hours later Fanshawe was attempting to tie his neckcloth in the latest fashion when the knocker on his door was plied with unusual insistence. With an oath he discarded his latest attempt and testily recommended his man, standing mute with an armload of fresh specimens, to see who on earth it was.

A minute later, just as he was once again engrossed, the door opened.

‘Hartness, who on earth have you sent these to? They’re too floppy to do anything with!’

Came an amused voice in reply, ‘A poor cobbler always blames his lathe.’

He twisted around, ruining any chance he had of correctly tying his next attempt. ‘Oh, you’re back, are you?’

‘As you see,’ replied Hazelmere. ‘I’d said I would be, after all.’

‘Never know where you’ll be or not. Where’d you get to-just Leicestershire?’

‘Lauleigh, Darent Hall and Hazelmere,’ responded the Marquis.

Fanshawe took a moment to work this out. ‘Thought that might be it,’ he said sagaciously. ‘Have you seen Dorothea yet?’

‘No. I thought that after my flying around the country I deserve Alvanley’s dinner. And Ferdie tells me they’re to attend a boring party tonight, so all should be safe until tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow. Good! Where’d you say Darent Hall was?’

‘Ah, lies the wind in that quarter?’

‘You’re not the only one who can suddenly decide for reasons unknown to get leg-shackled to a managing female!’ responded his lordship tartly.

Laughing, Hazelmere said, ‘It’s in Northamptonshire, not far from Corby. Easy to find if you ask. Here! For the lord’s sake, let me tie that or Jeremy will be wondering what’s become of us! Stand still!’

He rapidly tied his friend’s cravat, his long fingers creasing the stiff material into the required folds. ‘Right, done. Now let’s get going!’

Fanshawe, admiring the finished product, mused, ‘Not bad.’

Finding his coat thrown at his head, he laughed and, putting it on, joined Hazelmere on the stairs.

Jeremy Alvanley had been in the habit of giving a dinner for his closest friends every year for six years. It had become an event in their calendar, a gentlemen-only gourmet affair with the best of the latest vintages to wash the delicacies down. All their set made every effort to attend, and the occasion usually proved highly entertaining. This year’s dinner was no exception. The conversation flowed as freely as the wine. Much of this consisted of regaling Hazelmere with the problems they had faced in looking after Miss Darent. All of them knew of the scene in the Park, but none of them could begin to imagine what had happened afterwards. However, they were well acquainted with Hazelmere and had therefore been surprised at Dorothea’s subsequent performance. Finding him in his normal benign mood, none of them was quite sure what to think. But, as he was obviously genuinely entertained by the stories of their difficulties, they took every opportunity to impress on him how arduous their labours had been.

Though they did not know it, their stories confirmed for Hazelmere what Ferdie and later Fanshawe had told him: clearly Dorothea had taken charge, realising that, to some extent, they were acting under his direction. That she had succeeded in captivating them was apparent. He was amused to hear that the only sure way they found to escape her subtle questioning had been to invoke his name. That this had succeeded told him that she had known precisely what she was about in her handling of this group of gentlemen whom he would have described as among the most hardened to feminine wiles.

During the evening Desborough paused by his chair to enlighten him regarding Edward Buchanan. The black brows drew together. Then he shrugged. ‘I might have expected him to make some such attempt. Thankfully, you were there.’ With a quick smile Desborough moved on.

After dinner it was their custom to adjourn to White’s for the rest of the evening, or, more correctly, until the small hours of the next morning. By eleven o’clock they were deeply engrossed in play.

Ferdie, Dorothea and Cecily arrived at Lady Rothwell’s punctually at eight, to find carriages waiting to convey them to a surprise party at Vauxhall. Neither Dorothea nor Ferdie was enthusiastic; Cecily was ecstatic. As it was virtually impossible to withdraw politely, Dorothea and the even more reluctant Ferdie were forced to accept the change with suitable grace.

At the pleasure gardens Lady Rothwell had hired a booth facing the dancing area, gaily lit with festoons of coloured lanterns. The younger folk joined in the dancing, while Dorothea and Ferdie stayed in the booth, watching the passing scene. Lady Rothwell sat keeping a shrewd and motherly eye on all her young charges.

Dorothea had heard that Hazelmere was expected to have returned that day. Speculation on their next meeting was consuming more and more of her time. Glancing at her pensive face, Ferdie recalled his cousin’s message. He could hardly deliver it in Lady Rothwell’s hearing. ‘Would you like to view the Fairy Fountain, Miss Darent?’

Dorothea had no wish to view the Fairy Fountain but thought it odd that Ferdie should imagine she would. Then she caught the faintest inclination of his head, and, intrigued, agreed. Lady Rothwell made no demur to their projected stroll and Dorothea left the booth on Ferdie’s arm. Once out of sight and sound of her ladyship, she lost no time. ‘What is it you wish to tell me, Ferdie?’

Thinking she had a bad habit of making it difficult to lead up to things by degrees, Ferdie answered baldly, ‘Met Hazelmere this afternoon. Gave me a message for you.’

‘Oh?’ she replied, bridling.

Not liking the tone of that syllable and fast coming to the conclusion he should have told his high-handed cousin to deliver his own messages, Ferdie was forced to continue. ‘Said to tell you he would call on you tomorrow morning.’

‘I see. What a pity I shall miss him! I do believe I have to visit some friends tomorrow morning.’

‘Told him so.’ Ferdie nodded sagely. Under Dorothea’s bemused gaze, he hurriedly explained, ‘Told him you would very likely be engaged.’

‘And?’

Liking his role less and less, Ferdie took a deep breath and continued manfully, ‘He said to say you would do better to meet him in private rather than in public.’

The undisguised threat left Dorothea speechless. Seeing her kindling eyes, Ferdie decided it was time to return to safer and more populated surroundings than the secluded walk they had entered. ‘Take you back to her ladyship,’ he volunteered.

Seething, Dorothea allowed him to take her arm and they retraced their steps. She was incensed. More than that, she was furious! How dared he send such a command to her? However, as she strolled back to the booth by Ferdie’s side common sense reasserted itself. If her last meeting with Hazelmere was any guide, she would be wise to avoid provoking him further. The thought of refusing his suggested interview only to meet him next in the middle of a ballroom was enough to convince her to accede to his request.

Shortly after Dorothea and Ferdie had left, Lady Rothwell was joined by Cecily, thoroughly enjoying herself, accompanied by Lord Rothwell. Noticing Cecily’s high colour, her ladyship sent her son for some ices from the pavilion. Cecily sat down beside her and was in the middle of a delighted description of the sights when they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

At her ladyship’s command, an individual in attire proclaiming the respectable gentleman’s gentleman entered the booth.

‘Lady Rothwell?’

‘Yes?’

‘I have an urgent message for Miss Cecily Darent.’ The man proffered a sealed letter.

At a nod from Lady Rothwell, Cecily took it, broke the seal and spread open the single sheet. Reading it, she paled. Reaching the end, she sat down weakly in the chair, allowing her ladyship to remove the letter from suddenly nerveless fingers.

‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Lady Rothwell, quickly perusing the missive. ‘My dear, I’m so sorry!’

‘I must go to him,’ said Cecily. ‘Where’s my cloak?’

‘Don’t you think you should wait for Dorothea and Ferdie?’

‘Oh, no! They might be half an hour or more! Surely there can be no impropriety? I must not delay. Oh, please, Lady Rothwell, please say I may go?’

Her ladyship was not proof against Cecily’s huge pansy eyes. But it was with definite misgiving that she watched her disappear down the walk to the carriage gate in the company of Lord Fanshawe’s man.

Ten minutes later Ferdie and Dorothea regained the booth. Lady Rothwell had sent her son away and was trying to rid herself of a strong suspicion that she had erred in allowing Cecily to leave. She looked up with relief.

‘Oh, Ferdie! I’m so glad to see you. And you too, my dear. Cecily received a most disturbing message and has gone off with Lord Fanshawe’s man.’

Neither Ferdie nor Dorothea understood much of this, but, seeing the letter her ladyship was holding out, Ferdie took it.

To Miss Cecily Darent,

I am writing on behalf of Lord Fanshawe, who is currently in my surgery, having sustained serious wounds in a recent accident. His lordship is in a bad way and is asking for you. I am sending this note by the hand of his servant and I hope if he finds you you will allow this individual, who his lordship assures me is trustworthy, to escort you to his lordship’s side. I need hardly add that time is of the essence.

Yours, et cetera,

James Harten, Surgeon.

‘Oh, dear!’ said Dorothea.

‘Gammon!’ said Ferdie.

‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Dorothea.

‘This letter,’ he explained. ‘It’s a hoax.’

‘But how do you know?’ wailed Lady Rothwell.