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But, he would not
revert to his former ways.
    Suddenly, he felt a slight tap on the tip of
his boot. He looked up to encounter Miss Kittridge’s clear gray
eyes searching his face. He knew then that it was her polite way of
disagreeing with Her Grace. He cleared his throat.
    “Why, you are right, of course, madam. I was
put on this earth to plague all of the weaker sex,” he said, and
smiled at Miss Kittridge.
    “Lord Huntington, Her Grace described the
portrait gallery to me and my grandmother earlier,” Lady Susan
said, redirecting the conversation. “She mentioned that I was the
Veriest Picture of the first Duchess of Cavendish, and I am most
curious to view her likeness.”
    He toyed with the idea of resistance. This
lady was dispensing with as many stages of courtship as humanly
possible. He moved his gaze to Miss Kittridge, who signaled her
disapproval with an almost imperceptible shake of the head. The
triumvirate of the doctor, his daughter, and Charley had become
quite the gaol-keepers.
    “Why, Lady Susan, I am sure Edwin would enjoy above all else giving you this small pleasure. He is
much more familiar with our family’s ancestors and very capable of
leading you about properly.” His stepmother’s dark eyes dared
Nicholas to interfere.
    Little did the duchess know that it was the
first time their thoughts had ever coincided, albeit for opposite
reasons. She thought Nicholas would try to steal the silly heiress
away from Edwin. He would have smiled if it had not been such a
preposterous idea.
    When the young lady’s pout appeared, Dr.
Kittridge cleared his throat. “Lady Susan, I am sure your tender
nature will comprehend the necessity of Lord Huntington returning
to his apartments at the conclusion of this repast. The gravity of
his injury forces me to insist.”
    Oh, better and better. Nicholas did not have
to rack his brain for an excuse.
    Lady Susan’s demure smile did not hide the
angry frustration evident in her eyes.
    Nicholas turned to his sister to see if she
would chime in too, but instead saw, not for the first time,
Rosamunde’s timid glances toward the handsome young man seated
beside her.
    “You are to enter the clergy, sir? A most
admirable profession,” Rosamunde said with a shy expression.
    “There is not much choice in the matter. I’ve
not the head for science, and though I would vastly prefer to take
up arms with my countrymen—” Mr. Kittridge was stopped by the sound
of his father clearing his throat. “I have been convinced that the
clergy is the soundest profession for me,” he said with some
gloom.
    The two grandmothers, seated opposite each
other, forgotten at the other end of the table, began to cackle and
preen their feathers in competition.
    “I have always said that I prefer a vicar’s
blacks to the ostentatious gold braid of an officer,” said the
Dowager Countess of Elltrope, Lady Susan’s grandmother, as she
simpered and looked toward the debonair vicar.
    Nicholas’s grandmother, the Dowager Duchess
of Cavendish, pricked up her ears. “Good heavens, Hortense, then
why ever did you marry Elltrope? Was he not an officer in the 33rd
Foot before he was called home to carry on the title? His elder
brother had perished, no?”
    “You know the story very well, Margarita. We
have known each other this age,” the Dowager Countess replied
stiffly.
    “I am honored by your sentiments, Lady
Elltrope,” said the vicar. “It is not often a vicar’s craven dress
is prized over colorful regimentals,” he said, his faded blue eyes
twinkling.
    The Dowager Duchess harrumphed in
disgust.
    Nicholas was amused. Some things never
changed. His grandmother still fancied the vicar—the handsome old
devil. A man whose sermons had always been mercifully short, and
his kindnesses within the parish correspondingly generous. It
gladdened the heart.
    It was too bad he would not find much
amusement the rest of the evening. Miss Kittridge, still mortally
embarrassed by his chaste