Merton inclined his head and looked grim. He was a handsome lad and a slender one, but Duncan's practiced eye registered the fact that it would be a mistake to assume that he was therefore a weakling. That youthful physique looked very well honed indeed, and the face had character. "Ah, Merton, well met," Duncan said. "You are just the man I would have been seeking out later today." He had not thought of doing so until this very moment actually. It was a while since he had made any formal marriage offer. But though Margaret Huxtable must be several years older than this brother she had brought up almost single-handed, it was surely the decent thing to do to meet formally with him to discuss marriage settlements and all the other business surrounding an impending marriage offer. "Later today is a little /too/ late, is it not," Merton asked him curtly, "when the question has already been asked and answered and word spread among half the /ton/? And announced in the morning paper?" "Announced in the paper?" Duncan asked in astonishment. "More or less," Merton said. "On the gossip page, anyway." Extraordinary. And it /must/ have been the military officer with the weak chin. No one else could have seen him and Miss Huxtable talking with each other and thought of spreading the rumor that they were /betrothed/. Duncan would not mind having a word or two with Major Dew.

How was Miss Huxtable holding up this morning? he wondered. Were circumstances playing into his hands and almost forcing her into accepting him? If the /ton/ believed that she was betrothed to him – and clearly it did, or /would/ once it had read the papers this morning – she would cause herself some embarrassment if she cried off. On the other hand, marrying him was going to bring her scandal. He was not the /ton/'s favorite son.

Miss Margaret Huxtable, it seemed, had trapped herself somewhere between the devil and the deep blue sea. "I would have said no a thousand times over," Merton said while Moreland loomed, silent and menacing, "if you had done all this properly and spoken with me privately first. I would /still/ say no if the answer were mine to give. Unfortunately, Meg is not subject to my will. She is her own person and can answer for herself. I do not like you, Sheringford." Duncan raised his eyebrows. "As far as I remember," he said, "we met for the first time a few moments ago, Merton. You form impressions with great haste." "I do not like men," Merton said, "who abandon their brides to private heartache and public scorn and run off with lawfully married ladies instead. I do not like such men at all especially when they are contemplating marriage to one of my sisters. And I do not need any prolonged acquaintance to form such an opinion." Duncan inclined his head. "We are beginning to attract attention," Moreland said.

The hall was large enough and wide enough that they were in no danger of blocking the progress of other gentlemen as they arrived or left. But heads were indeed turning their way – and no wonder if the Tindell ballroom had been as abuzz with gossip as Duncan imagined it must have been – and if the gossip writer had made as juicy a morsel of the story as gossip writers usually did. And now here was he, the notorious Lord Sheringford, in company with Miss Huxtable's brother and brother-in-law, all of them looking as solemn as if they were attending a funeral. Yes, of course they were attracting attention. "I promised Miss Huxtable last evening," Duncan said, "that I would call upon her at Merton House this afternoon. If I may, Merton, I will speak with you there first." Merton nodded stiffly, and Duncan bowed to the two gentlemen and went on his way.

He would have left White's without having gone farther than the reception hall, but sheer pride prevented him from crawling away now.

Besides, he wanted to read what had been written about him in the papers. He proceeded upstairs, where he was greeted by a number of gentlemen. Indeed some of the greetings were jovial and even raucous and accompanied by much back-slapping. Among a certain crowd, it seemed, he had established himself as one devil of a fine fellow.

And then he read the description of himself as a jilt and a wife-stealer.

Both perfectly true.

And he read that he had been presented to the friend who had come to the rescue of Miss Huxtable as her betrothed.

It was indeed Dew who had betrayed her, then. /Again/.

Duncan would definitely want a word with that particular military officer.

There was, he learned before leaving the club after an early luncheon, a wager written into the betting book on whether or not he would abandon /this/ bride at the altar. The odds were heavily in favor of his doing so.

And this afternoon he would be making Miss Margaret Huxtable a formal marriage offer, which she might well feel compelled to accept now. He would be left with thirteen days in which to present her to his grandfather and arrange a wedding by special license.

His freedom was going to be bought – /if/ she accepted him, that was – at a high price.

Though freedom was not the issue, was it?

Toby was.

MARGARET'S first instinct after seeing the paper was to retreat to her room, crawl back into bed, and pull the covers up over her head. Perhaps by the time she emerged the whole sorry episode would be ancient news and someone would have murdered his grandmother or married his scullery maid or ridden naked along Rotten Row or done something equally startling with which to distract the fickle attention of the /ton/.

The /ton/ could not be seriously interested, surely, in the fact that a dull, aging spinster had lied to a man who had once spurned her love by telling him she was betrothed to a villainous, wife-stealing rake?

But, oh, dear, when put that way, the facts really did sound intriguing, even to her.

Creeping off back to bed would solve nothing, she decided. She would go out instead. She would call on Vanessa, and perhaps together they would go to Katherine's, and the three of them would share a good laugh over last evening and the silly story in the paper this morning.

It was a good thing they all had a good sense of humor.

But was any of this /funny/?

She would dearly like to have a word with Crispin Dew, Margaret thought.

More than a word. She would like to give him a good tongue-lashing about now. It was true that it was she who had told the lie, but why had he spread the story about when she had /told/ him no one else knew yet, even her family? Had it been done out of sheer spite? But /why/?

It was as if her wish conjured him. A footman came into the breakfast parlor at that moment to inform the butler, who informed Margaret, that a Major Dew had asked to see Miss Huxtable and had been shown into the visitors' parlor.

Margaret followed the butler there and swept past him after he had opened the door for her.

Crispin, in uniform, was standing before the empty fireplace, looking smart and imposing and decidedly uncomfortable – as well he might. He bowed to her. "Meg – " he began. "I want an explanation," she demanded, glaring at him. "Do you hate me so much, Crispin? But /why/ do you hate me? What have I ever done to deserve it?" "My God, Meg," he said, taking a step toward her and looking at her, aghast, "I do not hate you. I have always adored you. You must know that." Her head snapped back as if he had struck her. "/Adored/ me?" she said with scorn. "/Have/ you?" "You are thinking of Teresa," he said. "I can explain that, Meg." "So can I," she said. "An imbecile could explain it. But I am not interested in hearing your explanation. Why did you betray me last evening?" "Betray?" he said. "That is a harsh judgment, Meg. You /are/ betrothed to Sheringford, are you not? You told me so yourself – both in Hyde Park and at the ball." "And on /both/ occasions," she said, "I told you that no announcement had yet been made, that even my family had not been told. It did not occur to me to swear you to secrecy. I trusted to your discretion and your honor." He winced visibly. "I was concerned about you, Meg," he said. "I was talking with Vanessa and Moreland when you left the dance floor to sit in that alcove with Sheringford. Moreland explained who he was and wondered who had dared introduce him to you. You could not possibly know that he was not a suitable acquaintance, he said. That worried your sister, and she would have gone to you herself if Moreland had not advised against it. I went instead. I hoped to draw you away from him without creating any sort of scene – I thought perhaps you would welcome a chance to escape if you already knew about him or would be grateful once you learned the truth.