Tampering with the earl's saddle had been as easy as taking cake from a baby: a little chat with the stable lads, a stroll round the tack room, identifying the fine-tooled leather saddle with its embossed design around the pommel. And then five minutes with a hammer and a handful of tacks in the early hours of the morning in the unguarded stable block. It was a damn shame such a neat plan hadn't had the desired results. But there were all kinds of accidents that could befall a man interested in the sporting pursuits favored by the gentry.

He followed the crowd up the driveway to the gravel sweep in front of the house. The bride and groom turned on the step to wave at the cheering peasantry before disappearing through the garlanded oak door. The throng immediately surged toward the back of the house, the soi-disant peddler in their midst. In the kitchen courtyard tables groaned under the weight of pies and puddings, hams and barons of beef, and kegs of ale were ranged against the orchard wall. The manor clearly knew what its tenants expected on these occasions, the stranger reflected, holding a tankard beneath the foaming tap of the keg. Such bounty would be hard to come by in the city.

He drank deeply and looked around. No one was questioning his right to partake of this bounty. Fools. He could work the crowd and pick every pocket, and they'd never suspect. But he was being paid too well to do something else for it to be sensible to muddle things up. He strolled casually out of the yard. This would be a good opportunity to explore further. No one would take any notice of an inebriated wedding guest wandering the grounds.

In the long gallery the small group of friends and family were gathered with more restrained exuberance than the villagers in the kitchen courtyard. Lady Gilbraith, her daughter in tow, made the rounds of the guests with all the assurance of a hostess dispensing the hospitality of her own house. The Gilbraiths had come into their rightful inheritance, and everyone should know it. Elinor's old friends regarded this assumption of authority with puzzled disgust, but Elinor herself struggled to appear untroubled by it. Her daughters, however, all noticed the tautness to their mother's mouth, the unusual stiffness of her posture as she moved around, discreetly seeing to the comfort of her guests as they reeled from the onslaught of Lady Gilbraith.

Theo left Sylvester's side at the door when it seemed that everyone had arrived from the church, and went to join her mother. Elinor turned smiling as her daughter's hand slipped beneath her arm. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words were stillborn as Lady Gilbraith's voice rasped from a group standing beside one of the long windows.

"Stoneridge is a most generous man. Such a delicate gesture to marry one of those poor girls… no fortune among them. A sacrifice, of course. He could expect no dowry, but it's so like him to think only of doing the right thing."

"Indeed, Lady Gilbraith." Elinor's cold tones broke into the stunned silence. "I don't consider marrying one of my daughters to be a sacrifice for anyone… not even Lord Stoneridge."

Theo felt the blood drain from her cheeks and flood back again in a scarlet tide of rage. Her eyes searched out the earl. He was deep in conversation with Edward's father and Squire Greenham, his head courteously bent toward the shorter men. He took a glass of champagne from a tray passed by a footman, and the muscles in his back rippled beneath the gray silk of his coat. But for once Theo was unaware of his physique as she made her way across the room, pushing past people with too much haste for strict courtesy.

"Stoneridge?" She plucked at his sleeve.

He looked down at her, a smile on his lips that died as he took in her expression. The blue eyes flared like bonfires against a midnight sky, and he could feel her anger as an almost palpable current flowing from her.

With a word of excuse to his companions, he moved aside, ushering Theo into a secluded corner.

"What's happened to put you in such a temper, gypsy?"

Theo shook her head impatiently. "You have not given me a wedding present."

"Not yet," he agreed, clear puzzlement in his voice and eyes.

"Then I am claiming it now," she said in a fierce undertone. "I wish to speak my mind to your mother. But I thought I would tell you first, since we have some sort of a contract on the subject."

"Is that what you call it?" Sylvester said with a dry smile, not yet appreciating the seriousness of the issue. He glanced across the room toward his mother. "So what's all this about?"

Theo told him what Lady Gilbraith had said. "I don't mind, for myself," she said in the same fierce tone. "But she embarrassed Mama and forced her to be rude to a guest, which she hates to do, so I am going to tell her ladyship exactly what I think of her."

Sylvester closed his eyes on a surge of anger that was directed as much at himself as at his mother. Only he knew how hideously far from the truth she was. If anyone had been generous in this marriage, albeit unwittingly, it was Theo.

He turned from her, saying curtly, "This is for me to deal with, not you."

Theo looked up at him and saw that he was as angry now as he had been with her in the stableyard. She almost began to feel quite sorry for Lady Gilbraith. The old bat didn't know what was coming her way.

"May I come too?" She took a skipping step to follow him.

"No, you may not!"

It was such a ferocious negative that she fell back to observe the scene from a discreet distance.

"Ma'am, a word with you." Sylvester's voice was frigid as he reached his mother. He turned to his mother-in-law and said, "Permit me to make my mother's apologies, Lady Belmont, for an inexcusable insult. I can only imagine she's suffering from an excess of excitement."

Lady Gilbraith's face seemed to fall in on itself. She gasped, two spots of color burning on her cheekbones, but was rendered speechless.

"You will wish to make your farewells, ma'am," Sylvester said. "And I'll escort you to your carriage. I know you wish to reach Stokehampton before nightfall. Mary…" He jerked his head imperatively at his equally dumbfounded sister, took his mother's elbow, and escorted her unprotesting from the gallery.

"Good heavens," Elinor murmured. Sylvester Gilbraith was not a man to tangle with. But he'd come to the defense of his bride, and that could only endear him to his mother-in-law. She returned to her duties as hostess with a sigh of relief that the competition had been removed.

Theo, although she couldn't hear any of the exchange, saw her mother-in-law's discomfiture and her swift disappearance and decided that she'd been suitably avenged.

On his way back to the long gallery twenty minutes later, Sylvester stumbled upon Rosie sitting on the floor in the corridor staring intently at the palm of her hand. An empty champagne glass was beside her.

"Is this one ant or two?" she asked, without looking up. "Sometimes I think it's one, and then it seems to be two."

He squatted beside her, taking her upturned palm. "How much champagne have you had?"

"I'm not sure," Rosie said vaguely. "Is it one?"

"It could have been two, but at this point it's just a dead insect smudge," he declared, folding her fingers over her palm. "And don't let me see you with another glass of champagne, little sister, unless you want some trouble." He rose to his feet, reaching down to pull her upright.

"Is that a sword of Damocles?" Rosie inquired, brushing at her dusty pink skirt.

"A what?"

"That thing that Theo said was hanging over her," she replied absently. "I think I'll walk down to the dower house and see if my museum has arrived safely. Will you tell Mama?"

"Yes, I'll tell her." He shook his head, half smiling as Rosie weaved her way down the corridor, on the lookout for any interesting specimens. He thought he was beginning to get the hang of this new family he'd acquired. There was certainly something rather appealing about them… particularly when compared to his own.