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The mere idea of Edith, Duchess of Lindow, was anathema.

“Steady,” his sister said, low in his ear.

He turned to her, unable to say a word.

She smiled at him with the kind of exuberant, effortless joy with which she had warmed both their lives. “You lucky bastard,” she whispered.

“I am, aren’t I?”

“You still have to win her.”

She walked away, going to look at the miniatures. Hugo stood stock-still, letting the truth sink into his bones.

Deep down, with a ferociousness that came from loving a woman to her core, he believed that Phee could learn to love him—and that a life with love was better than the most exquisite house in all London.

He already loved her, because that was simply the way it was for him.

In fact, he had a firm belief that it was better to be loved in a messy, huge castle than be unloved in the prettiest house in the world.

He thought he was doing a pretty good job of appearing unemotional . . . until he met the dancing eyes of Ophelia’s cousin, Maddie Penshallow.

“Good evening,” she said. “I collect that you have come to a conclusion, Your Grace.”

“I have.”

“If you don’t mind the impertinence, I agree with your sister; you are a very lucky man.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned in the general direction of the rest of the guests. “Oh, no,” she cried. “’Tis the fault of the child I carry, but I forgot my handkerchief in my pelisse. Ophelia, dearest, won’t you fetch it for me?”

“I can send a—” Lady Fernby began.

“Never!” Maddie cut her off with a shudder. “I cannot allow a stranger to touch such an intimate possession. Please forgive me, my lady.”

“I completely understand,” Hugo’s sister chimed in. “Duke, please accompany Lady Astley to the entry. She may lose her way.”

She may lose her way?

Hugo didn’t snort, but it was a near thing.

After the way Ophelia managed not to see him at the theater, he would have expected her to refuse, but instead she gave him a small smile. “I would be most grateful for your company, Your Grace.”

“It isn’t very far,” Lady Fernby said, clearly uncertain whether the structure of her house, or possibly her household, was being insulted. “This drawing room is in the back of the house, but . . .”

“I have a terrible sense of direction,” Ophelia said. “His Grace and I shall return with your handkerchief in a minute or two, Maddie.”

As they walked toward the door, Hugo heard Maddie ask Lady Woolhastings if she’d met his “horde of children.”

Before Lady Woolhastings could respond, she added in a horror-laden voice, “I understand there are ten or eleven of them.”

“Lady Penshallow is your cousin, Phee,” Hugo said, once they left the chamber. “It seems she wants you to be a duchess. In fact, it could be that my sister and your cousin will unite to warn off Lady Woolhastings.”

Ophelia stopped short. “What?” She looked stupefied.

“Did you mind?” Hugo asked, catching her hands in his. “You refused me, after all.”

“Of course, I mind!” she said tartly. “No lady likes to think that she can be replaced in a gentleman’s affections within a matter of hours.” She gave him a wry look. “It is a blow to one’s self-esteem.”

Ophelia’s red hair gleamed through the light powder she wore. She was perfect, from her deep lower lip to her pointed chin. “Do you know what I realized at the Frost Fair?” Hugo asked. “I remembered you as so beautiful that I thought perhaps I had imagined it; you couldn’t have been as lovely as I believed. But you were.”

She looked up at him, utter shock on her face. “I’m not beautiful! I’m nice enough looking. Maddie is beautiful.”