“It’s just that I was attacked by a dog once,” she said in a rush. “I was just telling Leopold all about it.”

Leopold? She was already calling the duke by his first name?

“I was younger than I am now, and even less brave,” she said with a charming catch to her voice. “I was knocked over, you see, and—” She thrust out her arm.

Eleanor saw to her horror that the skin was puckered by fang-shaped scars. “Oh, Lisette, that’s awful!”

“I think the fear is worse than the actual bite,” Lisette said, sounding almost practical.

Anne murmured something that sounded like encouragement.

“Because fear doesn’t go away, and bites do,” Lisette added.

At that moment Oyster made a woofing sound in his sleep and moved his bristly little paw closer to Lisette’s slipper. Eleanor hastily coughed.

“I must take a bath,” Lisette said, rising with all her usual grace. “It was such an exciting afternoon—oh, not because of your dog, Eleanor. We were discussing the play the children were to put on, and then I had the sudden realization that what we really ought to do is a treasure hunt, rather than a play. It’s so much more interesting for the children, and they’re the ones who matter, after all. I simply insisted that the whole household hear my new idea, though Popper did protest. After all, you had your maids if you needed something.” She gave a charming shrug.

“Of course,” Eleanor said, not getting up. If she rose, Oyster would realize his nap was over and likely offer up his squeaky bark to remind her of his presence.

“I do believe I’ll just sit here and enjoy the last bit of sunlight,” Anne said. “Eleanor, stay with me.”

Lisette danced off with a wave of her hand.

“Villiers,” Eleanor said, “what did you think of the children?”

He frowned. “Children?”

“Small creatures, wearing blue pinafores,” Anne prompted helpfully. “I didn’t stir from the portico because of them. At least Oyster has the good manners to occasionally silence himself. Children never do.”

“Children,” Villiers repeated. “You mean the village children?”

“The orphan children,” Eleanor prompted.

His eyes narrowed. “Those were orphans?”

“I gather your attention was elsewhere,” she said sweetly. “I can certainly understand that. Poor Lisette was so afraid of the big bad wolf named Oyster.”

“Now, now,” Anne said. “I don’t see you with a disfiguring scar on your arm, Eleanor, so don’t mock it until you have it. Have you never been afraid of anything?”

Eleanor didn’t need to think hard about that. She was afraid of important things, like people being ripped away from her without warning. Never of spiders or puppy dogs or thunderstorms. “Of course I’m not mocking Lisette. I was merely sympathizing with the duke. Lisette’s alarm engaged him so deeply that he didn’t notice he was surrounded by orphans, two of whom might well have been his own children.”

Villiers was likely trying to frighten her with that scowl. She smiled right back at him.

“How do you know they were orphans?” he demanded.

“What else did you think they were?”

Anne interjected. “I suggested that Lisette had started a family, but that was too scandalous even for Eleanor to consider. I don’t know if you realize this about my sister, Villiers, but she’s very hard to shock.”

“I have learned that already,” Villiers said. He had a white line around his mouth that almost made Eleanor feel sorry for him. But not quite.

“Do you have any idea of the age of the children you’re looking for?” she asked, needling him and enjoying it.

“Of course I do. If you’ll excuse me…” And he left without another word. And without a parting bow either.

“Dear me, Eleanor. I don’t think you’ve made your future spouse very happy,” Anne said meditatively. “Remember how I suggested you might try to be a wee bit more conciliatory toward the male sex?”

“He may be my future spouse, and he may not,” Eleanor said. “My chest is quite chilly at the moment, I might add. You’ll have to be satisfied with my sartorial transformation and leave my personality alone.”

“I’d like you to marry him. He’s terribly rich. And I do like those shoulders.”

“That’s not a good enough reason to marry someone.”

“Well, what would you say is a better reason? Not, I hope, the sort of frantic passion you and dear Gideon shared. Besides, you know perfectly well that his choirboy looks played a part in that.”

“One doesn’t marry a man for his shoulders,” Eleanor said. “Brains ought to rank high on the list, and anyone who looks at Lisette with such a look in his eye is stupider than Oyster. I have standards.”

Oyster grunted at the sound of his name and inched out from under the chair so he could put his chin on Eleanor’s slipper.

“Don’t underestimate Villiers,” Anne said.

“More importantly, I shan’t underestimate Lisette!” Eleanor retorted. “She’s perfected her trembling maiden act since I saw her last.”

“It’s not an act,” Anne said. “That’s why it’s so successful. Goodness me, Eleanor, you sound as if you care.”

“I’m not sure whether Lisette should marry him either. After all, he does have a thoroughly disreputable number of children.”

“Not just children—bastards,” Anne said with her usual bluntness. “Wait until Mother hears that little detail. Lisette may have a brain as empty as a washhouse on Sundays, but I agree with you. She doesn’t deserve the kind of scandal broth that will follow those children. She has her own to cope with.”

“You know Lisette. She changes her mind every five minutes. She may be smiling at him now, but wait until tomorrow.”

“What an interesting visit this shall be,” Anne said, coming to her feet. “Wake up that dog, Eleanor. Did you know there’s a puddle under our settee?”

Eleanor shrugged. “I should have taken him for a walk on the lawn, but I was so rattled by all the screaming that I forgot.”

“Bastard children or not,” Anne announced, “Villiers really does have beautiful shoulders. I married Jeremy in large part because he has such a beautiful nose.”

“Nose?” Eleanor had never noticed her brother’s-in-law nose one way or the other.

“Beautiful other things too,” her sister said impudently.

Eleanor sighed.

Chapter Nine

Villiers walked up the stairs to his chambers, exasperation pulsing through his body. He couldn’t believe that he was considering marriage to Eleanor. She had actually laughed at him for not realizing that those children were orphans. Laughed at him about something as sensitive as his children.

A moment after she taunted him, he had realized that none of the orphans could possibly be his. The twins were only five years old, and every child he’d seen was at least seven. But did he really know the difference between the sizes of five-year-olds and seven-year-olds?

Something in his gut twisted. It was absurd, humiliating and absurd. He hadn’t given a damn about the existence of his children for the whole of his thirty-five years. And now, all of a sudden, he was consumed by them?