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“Josie—” He broke off.

“She appears to be suffering mightily from grief for her mother.”

“Josie hardly knew her mother. I much doubt that my stepmother did more than greet her at Christmastime, and perhaps on her birthday—although I rather doubt that, because Josie’s birthday falls at a most inconvenient time of year.”

At Henrietta’s inquiring look, he said, “April 16, just at the beginning of the season. Josie presumably met her mother some four or five times in her life, and several of those when she was too small to have a perfect understanding of the occasion.”

“Then why is she so despondent?”

“The devil if I know. Perhaps it is the shock of moving to London after my stepmother died.”

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Darby looked down and realized he was drumming his fingers on the table. He did need to find a wife. Perhaps a widow with children of her own who would know why Josie behaved like a wild animal. Lady Henrietta didn’t seem to know any more about children than he did.

“I suppose it is possible that Josie is simply responding to change. May I say again how very, very sorry I am to have behaved so outrageously? I only hope that I didn’t cause Josie any lasting distress.”

Darby grinned. “There’s no need to worry about that. Josie has had the time of her life regaling the servants with details about her interesting encounter. Luckily, she didn’t quite catch your name and is describing you as Lady Hebby, so you won’t be reviled in the neighborhood.”

The annoying thing was that Henrietta’s lips were outrageously sensual: a deep rose color that owed everything to nature. Moreover, they were full, and soft, and looked ripe for kissing. And kissing them was what he wanted to do. Lean across the table and forget the irritating problem presented by his sisters by tasting Lady Henrietta. He did need a wife, so why not Henrietta? She seemed quite engaged by the children, even if she didn’t know much about caring for them, and she was remarkably lovely. It was a rather terrifying thought for some reason. True, he needed a wife. But he had always thought of a wife as a decorative appendage he might acquire at some point in the future. She had to be beautiful, of course. And of good birth. But other than that, he supposed his only requirement was that she have little temper. He’d seen enough in his early years to be wary of shrieking women.

And one could hardly say that Henrietta had no temper, he thought, remembering the look of surprise on Josie’s face when water cascaded over her head. As a matter of fact, that was just the sort of thing his own mother might have done. Fool for Love

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“Josie will mature and join the rest of the human race in a short time,” he said. “I imagine the country air is already doing her good. May I bring you something to eat?”

“But Mr. Darby—”

“Lady Henrietta, I have been inexcusably rude. I owe you enough for rescuing Josie and Anabel this morning. I should not bore you with my family exigencies.”

She blinked at his crisp refusal to continue their discussion, but she seemed to take no obvious offense. In his experience, women bristled when a topic of conversation was dismissed. Henrietta Maclellan gazed at him in just as friendly a manner as ever. But then she looked over his shoulder.

“Oh dear, I see Mrs. Cable approaching. We are organizing the church bazaar, sir, and have much to discuss. And I must not monopolize your company.” She gave him that utterly beautiful smile, the one that lit up her eyes. And then she turned away to greet Mrs. Cable.

Dismissed, he had no choice but to rise and walk away. Young ladies in London would have come near to fainting if he had bestowed a compliment on them. There, everyone knew that he considered symmetry in nature to be the greatest gift. It isn’t a question of vanity, he told himself. Just misplaced attraction on his part.

The stout matron who had claimed friendship with Lady Panton appeared at his elbow. “Mr. Darby!” she thrilled. “I have been longing to introduce you to my own dear, dear niece, Miss Aiken.” She took his elbow and then led him away, saying in a whisper, “My sister married for love, sir, for love.”

Obviously Mrs. Barret-Ducrorq’s sister had married beneath her.

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happy burden of presenting her daughter to society has fallen to my shoulders,” she continued in a piercing undertone. “She is the sweetest, most biddable girl; you simply can’t imagine. And her father”—she lowered her voice—“well, he was in trade, although he now leaves business matters to his partners. But he is worth near a million of floating disposable assets.”

Darby bowed in front of the young woman. She had fair skin, dotted with pale little spots that might have been freckles before they were attacked by assiduous applications of lemon juice. Her rusty-colored hair was made up into fat sausage rolls that advertised their origins in a curling iron. In all, she looked like a person doing her best to make herself a marketable piece of goods.

She looked at him with a properly coy glance. But from behind her fan and her fluttering eyelashes he quite clearly glimpsed a calculating female assessment of his worth and his goods.

“My niece just loves children,” Mrs. Barret-Ducrorq was saying. “She absolutely adores them, don’t you, Lucy?”

“I’m quite fond of them,” Miss Aiken agreed. That response annoyed Mrs. Barret-Ducrorq, who obviously wanted a gushing response to the beautiful fish she had snared for her niece. She gave Miss Aiken a fierce glance, and added, “And she just adores dancing.”

Miss Aiken was still gazing at him from behind her fan. Unless he was very much mistaken, the heiress of a million floating assets was tempted by thoughts of making a purchase.