Eustacia opened her eyes wide. “I cannot think I come up to their standards, sir.” She unfurled her fan and made to tap him with it, but he moved his hand away.

“You need town polish, Miss Terry,” Richard said. “Then you will astonish us all. Do you mean to come to town?”

Eustacia glanced at her parents, seated further up the table. Mrs. Terry watched her daughter carefully—little escaped her close regard. “We might plan a visit for the season next year, but we are unused to town ways and we will need someone like you to show us how to go on.”

“I’m sure many people will rush to help you.” That committed him to nothing.

Skilfully he worked on Miss Terry, enchanting her, winding a silken web of delight around her willing form. His compliments were flowery, insincere but delightful, the kind a society lady would dismiss out of hand, but which I feared Miss Terry took only too seriously. The other young ladies present eyed her enviously from time to time, and one or two glanced at me to see how I reacted. I stayed serene. Richard unobtrusively saw to my every comfort while holding the girl on his string, and I thought I had a good idea what he was about.

On my other side Gervase murmured, “Has the young lady offended you?”

“In the past she has done her best.”

“Did you tell him?” I nodded. Gervase tsked. “That might not have been the wisest course.”

Tom observed me with concern. He could see how much Richard flirted, but he didn’t know him as well as Gervase did, and wasn’t able to divine his purpose. It looked like I was being ignored, but this was far from the case. I knew the moment I asked for his attention, Richard would turn away from Miss Terry and back to me.

“Do you remember this table, Rose?” Tom asked.

“I remember it well.” I knew what he meant. “Do you think the mark your tomahawk made will still be there?”

“Oh, it’s still there all right,” my childhood friend assured me with a boyish grin.

“Tomahawk?” Richard looked away from his target, the languid interest replaced by real curiosity.

Tom’s grin broadened. “It’s a weapon like an axe that the natives of America use. We used to have one, but Rose and I took to playing American natives under this table and when I pretended one of the legs was a tree and I wanted to cut it down, Father took it away.”

“I threw it away that same morning.” Sir George Skerrit smiled at the memory. “I thought the table might be worth keeping for a few more years, and I could certainly live without a tomahawk.”

“Can it be I’m to marry a hoyden?” Richard’s limpid blue gaze filled with astonishment, but I saw the humour lurking deep.

“Oh, I thought you’d worked that out for yourself at the Abbey. Did I not show you deeply hoydenish behaviour there, one afternoon in particular?” His eyes gleamed. I knew he was remembering something not to be repeated in polite society, but I met his gaze levelly. “Only I don’t think the word hoyden came into it at the time.”

His eyes caressed me with their warmth, reminding me of the time they had caressed my naked body—followed by his hands and his mouth. “No, it assuredly did not,” he said slowly and turned back to Miss Terry. “I can’t believe you, ma’am, would do anything of that nature.”

“No indeed.” she replied, even though she couldn’t possibly know what we were discussing. She shot me a spark of triumph. “I wasn’t allowed out of the nursery wing until I was seventeen.”

“And you were always taught proper manners.” Richard leaned back in his chair and picked up his wineglass. Twirling it idly, he watched the red liquid swirl around inside, a tiny turbulent sea.

“My mama thought it essential.” Eustacia looked towards her mother once more. Mrs. Terry smiled indulgently back at her only child.

“Do you always follow the principles of good behaviour?” he asked.

“Oh yes, sir.”

“Do you never deviate from them?” He caught her in his gaze, a silent challenge lurking there for her to answer.

Miss Terry put up her chin. “I might.” She flushed a little. After a furtive glance towards her mother, she favoured Richard with a coquettish smile.

Richard watched her steadily. When he’d gained her full attention, he slowly let his regard move down, to her décolleté neckline, and back up to her face again. “I’m pleased to hear it.” He returned to his wine. Miss Terry coloured, and looked away, then back at him, but he had turned away to speak to Sir George.

Gervase sighed. “He knows to a nicety how far she will go to attract him, but this is as far as he cares to take her tonight. He’s preparing her for a mighty fall.”

“I know.”

Apparently blithely unaware of Miss Terry’s blushes and simpers now, Richard spoke to our host. “Do you take your seat in Parliament, sir?”

“Not every year,” Sir George replied.

“Very wise. Gervase is thinking of going into the House. Our father is delighted, for he’s tried to persuade me for years, and I’ve always refused him.”

“You would have to enter the Lords surely, my lord?” Sir George said.

Richard shook his head. “No. My title is a courtesy one; I could still enter the Commons. But I fear I might find it a dead bore.”

“Really, Richard! The affairs of nations are settled there,” Gervase protested.

“You know my sphere of influence, Gervase. It doesn’t include the affairs of nations.” He smiled at Sir George.