“Pretty girl,” Tony remarked, settling onto the bench. “She grows on one. Gladys said we ought to keep a lookout for her.”

Percy took the place beside him, though he couldn’t help cursing himself for bringing Tony along to this destination at this hour. “When did the fair Gladys pass along that sentiment?”

“We correspond, discreetly of course.”

One tended to underestimate Anthony Windham. Tony offended no one, he invited confidences, and—perhaps his greatest attribute—he was also capable of keeping them.

“What would you think of acquiring Esther Himmelfarb as a sister-in-law?”

Tony was silent a long time, which was better than had he burst out laughing.

“Her Grace would make her life hell,” he said eventually. “His Grace would accept her.”

An accurate assessment, as far as it went. “And you?”

Another protracted silence broken by the serenades of crickets, who knew nothing of titles and sang for their true loves every night.

“She’d do, Perce. You aren’t the frivolous younger son you were five years ago. Canada sorted you out, or something did. Miss Esther would follow the drum, did you ask it, and Her Grace would have to choose her battles with that one.”

“No, she would not.”

Tony’s observation and Percival’s own reply brought some order to the chaos of a man contemplating—seriously contemplating—holy matrimony for the first time. Percival sat forward on the bench, his elbows braced on his knees.

“At first, I merely thought myself smitten with Miss Himmelfarb’s good looks and self-possession. She’s so irreproachably Teutonic about the chin, you know. Stirs a man’s instincts, that chin.”

Tony maintained a politic silence, so Percy continued to work out his logic with words. “Esther Himmelfarb is lovely, but she’s also canny, and she’s resourceful. These are qualities to admire, qualities a lady with a title needs if she’s to manage well.”

And now it was time for an officer to gather his courage and confide in his little brother. “She said Starkweather had been judged by a court higher than the military, and I must not argue with its decision.”

“You told her about him?”

Percy nodded. The crickets sang, the scent of rosemary wafted on the breeze, and what had been a hunch in Percy’s mind, an instinct, solidified into an objective. “I came upon her after Layton had been pestering her on the stairs, and Tony, I had all I could do not to flatten the man right then and there.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Insightful question. “Because until my ring is on her finger, such behavior would redound to Esther’s discredit… I’m also not sure she’d accept me.”

“And that,” Tony said slowly, “is why she would make an excellent Duchess of Moreland, should the day ever come.”

“Precisely. I must woo Esther, and I’m not entirely sure how to go about it.” The admission lay between them, a puzzling anomaly in their long history of late-night conversations wherein Percival typically parsed Tony’s confusions and blind turns.

“Bit of a puzzle,” Tony said, “when a gal don’t flirt, carry on, or cast any lures. You could try kissing her.”

“I expect Jasper Layton has made the same attempt, and likely others have as well.” She slept with a chair wedged under her door latch, considered all food and drink suspect, and trusted none of the ladies to guard her back, for God’s sake. A frontal assault was not going to win the lady’s heart.

“Sometimes answers come if we’re patient,” Tony said. “I’m waiting for Gladys to turn twenty-one.”

“How much longer?”

“Another bloody year, and her mama is making noises about an excellent match in the offing. Makes it difficult to twiddle one’s thumbs here in Kent when one’s love is twiddling hers back in Town.”

“So you write letters and twiddle and swill Morrisette’s brandy.”

“You’ll expect me to keep an eye out for Miss Himmelfarb, too.”

The image of Jasper Layton eyeing the lady with undisguised lust rose in Percival’s mind. “I’ll keep an eye out for her as well, and as for the wooing part, maybe something inspired will come to me.”

* * *

Percival Windham was the most aggravating specimen of an aggravating gender ever to attend an aggravating house party.

Why would he have brought Lord Tony to the kitchen garden, when he’d all but invited Esther to tryst with him there? Perhaps tryst was stretching it a bit—stretching it a lot—but a brother was a brother, and Lord Tony hadn’t shown any signs of departing the garden.

Esther had had two more days to observe Lord Percival, though from a distance. Ever since she’d appeared in Zephora Needham’s sitting room on Lord Percival’s arm, a silent conspiracy had arisen among the eligible young ladies. They might plunge daggers into one another’s backs in their attempts to win Lord Percy’s notice, but they were united in their determination to keep Esther from his lordship’s company.

“And when you’re done replacing the flowers in the front hallway and the green parlor, then you can check on the bouquets in the library, conservatory, music room, and upstairs corridors.” Lady Morrisette smiled broadly and folded beringed fingers on the blotter of her escritoire. “I do hope you’re enjoying yourself, my dear. These little tasks taken from my shoulders are such a help, and your mama was most insistent that I add you to the guest list.”

Like blazes. Mama had consented to send Esther only because Michael had already been invited and Lady Pott’s maid was nominally available to tend to Esther’s clothing.

“The company is wonderful, my lady, and I have always enjoyed working with flowers.”

Particularly when it would mean Esther had a sharp pair of shears in her hand. Sir Jasper was proving persistent, and the house party had two more weeks yet to run. She curtsied and collected a footman to accompany her to the conservatory, only to encounter Michael lounging on a bench under the potted palms.

“Michael, are you hiding?”

He got to his feet and aimed a pointed look at the footman.

“If you’d start on the roses?” Esther asked, passing the fellow the shears. He bowed and withdrew, though first he perused Michael in a manner not quite respectful.

“I am enjoying a moment of solitude. I’ve never met such a pack of females for dancing and hiking and promenading until all hours.”

Esther regarded her cousin with a female relation’s pitiless scrutiny. “You’re up until all hours playing cards, Michael. The young ladies have complained to this effect. And you’re losing.”

He sank back down on the bench. “You can’t know that. A gentleman expects a few losses when he’s wagering socially.”

That he would admit that much was not good. Esther took the place beside him. “If you socialized more and wagered less, I would not have such cause to worry.”

“I always come right sooner or later, Esther.” He assayed a smile that would not have fooled their nearly blind grandmamma. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

She could lambaste him, she could lecture him, or she could accept the olive branch he was holding out. “I have found some interesting poetry in the Morrisette library, and Quimbey is a wonderfully down-to-earth fellow.”

“Also a confirmed bachelor.”

“One more thing to like about him. Promise me you won’t play too deeply, Michael. You cannot afford the losses, and I cannot afford the scandal.”

“We are not widely known as cousins by this august assemblage, so cease carping, Esther Louise.” He rose and extended a hand to her. “I’ve seen Lord Tony Windham on your arm from time to time. Any chance you could reel him in?”

Like a carp? “He’s friendly, nothing more.” And he’d appeared more than once when Jasper Layton had come sidling about, a coincidence Esther was not going to examine too closely.

“You could try being friendly, Cousin.”

This went beyond bad advice to something approaching interfamilial treason. Esther propped her fists on her hips and glared at her cousin. “As far as these people are concerned, I have no dowry, my come out was two years ago, and I’m too tall. Do you know what friendliness would merit me in this company?”

Michael’s handsome features shuttered as Esther’s meaning sank in.

A banging of the conservatory door spared Esther whatever protest Michael would have made.

“There you are!” Lord Tony Windham covered the length of the conservatory in double time. “Miss Himmelfarb, I have need of your company this instant. Sir, you will excuse the lady. She has promised to walk the gardens with me immediately.”

He nodded at Michael, who offered Esther the merest glance to ascertain her consent before stepping back. “Miss Himmelfarb, good day. Lord Anthony.”

“Right, good day, good afternoon, good morning.” Lord Anthony linked his arm through Esther’s and lowered his voice. “Time is of the essence, my lady. You must attend to the flowers in the rose salon immediately.”

This was not the affable, smiling Lord Tony whom Esther had come to know in recent days. This was a fellow with urgent business on his mind.

“I must?”

“Indeed. It is of utmost importance that you do.” He hustled her along, not stopping until they were outside the door of the parlor in question.

The closed door.

“Lord Anthony, what’s afoot here?”

He opened the door and gave Esther a gently muscular shove. “My thanks for your company.”

The tableau that greeted Esther spoke for itself. In a dress far too low cut for daylight hours, Charlotte Pankhurst reclined on a chaise, while Lord Percival stood over her, looking exasperated.

“Miss Himmelfarb.” He bowed to her very low, his expression one of banked relief. “A pleasure to see you. Miss Pankhurst is feeling unwell, and I was just about to—”

The door from the blue salon next door opened abruptly, revealing Lady Morrisette and several of the other older women in attendance.

“I knew I heard voices!” Lady Morrisette’s shrill observation rang out over the room while her cronies crowded in behind her.

“It’s well you’re here, my lady,” Esther said before Charlotte could open her fool mouth. “I came in to check on the flowers and found Miss Pankhurst feeling poorly. Lord Percival stopped by and offered his aid when he perceived the lady was in distress. Perhaps the physician should be summoned?”

The distressed lady—for she clearly was distressed now—bolted to a sitting position. “That will not be necessary.”

Lady Morrisette rose to the challenge after the merest blink of frustrated disbelief. “Perhaps it was the kippers at breakfast, my dear. They don’t always agree with one. How fortunate his lordship and Miss Himmelfarb were here to render you aid.”

Charlotte’s expression turned from mulish to murderous as Lord Tony came sauntering in. “Greetings, all. Percy, the horses are being saddled as we speak, and you’re not yet in riding attire. Miss Himmelfarb, I believe you were to join us?”

This was farce, but from the look in Charlotte’s eyes, deadly farce.

Esther turned a dazzling smile on Lord Tony. “Just let me change into my habit, your lordship. Miss Pankhurst, I wish you a swift recovery.”

She curtsied to all and sundry, spared a dozen wilted bouquets half a thought, and sidled past Lord Tony into the hallway.

“Oh, Miss Himmelfarb!” Lady Morrisette’s voice jerked Esther to a stop as effectively as if Esther were a spaniel upon whose leash the woman had tramped.

“My lady?”

Esther’s hostess approached, glancing to the left and right as she did. “Charlotte is my goddaughter, and one can’t blame her for trying. I’ll understand if you have to depart early.”

What was the woman saying? “Are you asking me to leave?”

“Oh, good Lord, no.” Lady Morrisette’s smile was feral. “What ensues now should be very interesting indeed. I’m simply saying if you do decide your mother has an ague, for example, or your younger sister should come down with lung fever, then I will be happy to make your excuses to the company. I know my goddaughter, and she does not deal well with disappointment.”

A warning, then. “I appreciate your understanding. If you’ll excuse me, I must change into my riding habit.”

Lady Morrisette gave Esther a little salute. “Go down fighting, I always say. Enjoy your ride.”

The innuendo was cheerful, vulgar, and snide. Contemplating that Parthian shot, Esther felt as if she’d been the one to consume a quantity of bad kippers—and in the next two weeks, the feeling could only get worse.