"Gracemere is following me up, Letitia. I knew you'd be pleased to receive him." Agnes took a low chair beside her friend's chaise longue. "He's so fond of Harriet and I couldn't convince him that she hadn't caught a chill the other afternoon when we walked in the park. The wind was particularly brisk, and he would have it that she was too lightly dressed for such weather. Of course, I explained that no self-respecting young lady would be seen in anything thicker than a wrap… the foolish vanity of the young!" Her laugh tinkled gently, and she patted Harriet's hand. "But such a pretty child."

"I'm sure Lord Gracemere is all condescension, Agnes," Letitia said, touching a burned feather to her nose.

"Lord Gracemere, my lady."

The earl stepped into the room before the butler had finished announcing him. "Lady Moreton… and Miss Moreton. I do hope you didn't contract a chill." He bowed. "I was sure you would scold me fiercely, my dear ma'am, for exposing your daughter to such a bitter wind."

"Harriet has taken no hurt, Lord Gracemere," her ladyship said. "But it's good of you to inquire."

"Oh, Gracemere has such a soft spot for Harriet," Agnes reiterated. She smiled at him and Judith recognized with a jolt the proprietorial quality to that smile. The earl's eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch, conveying a whole world of private communication. Instantly Judith knew that Agnes Barret and Bernard Melville were lovers. But if that was so, why was Agnes promoting Gracemerc's acquaintance with Harriet?

"Davenport, I see you've acquired Grantham's match-geldings." Gracemere's observation turned the conversation and Judith's contemplations. "Stolen a march on the rest of us, you lucky dog."

"Oh, they're my sister's," Sebastian said. "Although I had the charge of procuring 'em for her."

"Good God, Lady Carrington! You drive a high-perch phaeton?" The earl sounded genuinely surprised.

"As of this morning," Judith said. "The coachmaker delivered the phaeton just yesterday afternoon, so this morning is my first tryout."

"And how do you find it?"

"Splendid. The bays are beautiful goers."

"You'll be the envy of the Four Horse Club, ma'am," Gracemere said. "I know at least three men who've had their eyes on that pair since Grantham sprang 'em on the town."

"It's very dashing of you, Lady Carrington," Agnes said. "Although I confess I'm surprised Carrington countenances such an unusual conveyance. I've always thought him rather conventional."

Judith contented herself with a slight smile. Her conventional husband had not yet seen his wife on the driver's seat of her unconventional carriage. She wandered over to the window overlooking the street, where one of the Moreton's grooms was walking the horses to keep them from getting chilled. A small boy was crouching over the kennel, looking for scraps of anything that might be edible or useful. His elbows poked through the ragged sleeves of his filthy jacket as he sifted through the detritus of a rich man's street.

"I hope you'll take me up for a turn in the park," Gracemere said at her shoulder. "You must be an accomplished whip, ma'am."

"I was well taught, sir," she replied, forcing a warm smile as she looked up at him over her shoulder. "I should be delighted to demonstrate my skill."

"The pleasure will be all mine," he assured her, bowing with a smile. "I wonder, though, how Carrington would feel about your having such a passenger. He and I are-" he paused, as if searching for the right term. "Estranged, I think one could say." He regarded Judith with an air of resolute candor. "I don't know if your husband has mentioned anything." He waited for her response, his eyes grave, his expression concerned.

Judith was startled at the directness of this approach, but swiftly took the opportunity it offered.

"He's forbidden me to receive you," she said with a credible appearance of constraint, giving him a rather tremulous smile. "But since he won't tell me why, I'm not inclined to obey him." This last was said with a rush of bravado, and he smiled.

"It's a case of old wounds," he said. "Old resentments die hard, Lady Carrington… although, I must say, I would have thought in present circumstances that the past could be buried."

"You speak in riddles, sir." She fiddled nervously with the clasp of her reticule, hiding her acute attention to his words.

Gracemere shrugged. "A matter of love and jealousy," he said. "A matter for romantic literature and gothic melodrama." He smiled, a sad, wistful smile that Judith, if she hadn't known his true colors, would have believed in absolutely. "My wife… my late wife… was engaged to Carrington before she gave me her heart. Your husband could never forgive me for taking her from him."

"Martha," Judith whispered. What ever she'd been expecting, it hadn't been this.

"Just so. He's spoken of her?" The earl tried to hide his surprise.

Judith nodded. "Once. But your name wasn't mentioned."

"Perhaps not unexpected. I fear your husband's pride was badly lacerated, ma'am. Such a man as Carrington can accept almost anything but a wound to his pride."

Judith suspected that was the truth, although her spirit revolted against agreeing with Bernard Melville as he patronized her husband.

"You've been most enlightening, my lord," she said softly. "But I see no reason why we shouldn't still be friends." She forced herself to touch his hand in a conspiratorial gesture, and he put his hand over hers.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Her skin crawled, but she gave him a radiant smile before turning back to the room. "I must make my farewells, Lady Moreton. I shouldn't keep my horses waiting above a half hour. Sebastian, do you accompany me?

Sebastian was deep in conversation with Harriet and Lady Barret and looked up with both reluctance and surprise at this abrupt summons. Then he caught his sister's eye and rose immediately. "Of course. If you're going to take those beasts into the park for the first time, fresh as they are, you'd better have me beside you."

"I doubt they'll bolt with me," she said, her voice light. "I believe I have as much skill as you, my dear brother."

"Oh, surely not." This disclaimer surprisingly came from Harriet, who blushed fiercely as she realized what she'd said.

Judith couldn't help laughing. "Don't confuse strength with skill, Harriet. My brother has more strength in his hands than I do, certainly, but control doesn't rest on strength."

"Indeed not, Lady Carrington," Agnes said. Then, with a sharp look, she added, "Just as skill with the cards won't compensate for the devil of bad luck on one's shoulder. Didn't you make some such observation the other evening?"

At Pickering Street, Judith remembered. She gave a careless shrug. "It was a common expression when we were growing up. Remember, Sebastian?"

"Of course." He turned to bid farewell to Harriet and missed the interested glimmer in Lady Barret's tawny eyes.

Gracemere took Judith's hand. "Until we meet again.

"I look forward to it, sir." Judith's smile was one of defiant invitation-a child preparing herself for a major act of rebellion-and Gracemere's lip curled. What a gullible little fool she was. There would soon be a seething brew abubbling in Berkeley Square.

Judith gained the cool, crisp morning air of the street with a sigh of relief.

"What's up, Ju?" Sebastian asked directly.

"I'll tell you in a minute." She felt through her reticule for a coin, drew out a sixpence, and went over to the child in the gutter. He looked up, his eyes scared, as she approached. His nose was running, and judging by his encrusted little face had been doing so for days. He cowered, raising a hand as if to ward off a blow.

"It's all right," she said gently. "I'm not going to hurt you. Here." She handed him the coin. He stared at it as it lay winking in her palm. Then he grabbed at it with a tiny dawlike hand and was off and running as if pursued by every beadle who'd ever cried "Stop thief!"