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like that, it was followed by one of them calling him an idiot or a blockhead. He automatically braced his shoulders for the insult.
    "And the short ramps could be angled slightly to enable the spheres to make the turn onto the main ramp," Witfeld said slowly, pulling a piece of paper out from a stack and beginning to scribble on it. "I'm a fool."
    "Nonsense," Zachary returned, beginning to warm to the discussion. "You'd still have a problem if two spheres collided and blocked the main ramp."
    "That's still less of a problem than I had a moment ago."
    "So you think it might work?"
    "I think it might." Witfeld stood. "If you'll excuse me, I need to pull out my blueprints."
    Zachary rose as well. "Of course. I should see how my aunt is faring."
    They shook hands. "Good night, my lord. And I've found it's best to go along with the tidal wave of femininity, then escape as soon as their backs are turned."
    With a chuckle Zachary nodded. "Thank you for the advice."
    As he headed back toward the second floor and the drawing room, Zachary wasn't all that certain the advice was necessary. Yes, there were seven daughters, but two of them weren't yet of age, and God knew he'd had his share of females in pursuit. The only difference here was that all the chits were related.
    Outside the drawing room doorway, though, he stopped. It sounded like a henhouse in there, with all the female voices tittering and giggling. And he could swear that in the space of thirty seconds he heard his name mentioned at least nine times and by a half dozen different voices.
    Well, if there was one thing he'd learned, it was to admit when he was wrong. Five marriageable females plus two younger ones and their mother and his aunt—he'd never been that badly outnumbered before. And they expected him to walk straight into the spiders' web.
    "Devil take that," he muttered and turned on his heel, retreating to his bedchamber. He might not yet be an expert in army tactics, but he did know about strategic retreats and living to fight another day. He would deal with the assault after he got a good night's sleep.
    Actually, the next assault came immediately. As he opened the bedchamber door, a thigh-high brown tangle of legs and ears leapt up to hit him in the chest. Reflexively he caught the beast in his arms. "Did you miss me, Harold?" he muttered, setting the dog down again.
    "Thank goodness you've come, my lord," his valet yelped, dropping a frayed blanket to the floor.
    "What's amiss, Reed?" Zachary closed the door behind him just before Harold could reach the opening.
    "That… that animal, my lord," the valet sputtered. "I've been trying to fend him off, but he nearly ate me alive." The servant stuck out one foot, showing off a shredded pants leg and stocking. The man's shoe was nowhere to be seen.
    "He's still a pup, Reed; we have to make allowances for high spirits."
    "If you say so, my lord. Will there be anything else?"
    Hm. Whatever Miss Witfeld had in mind for the morning, he needed to be prepared for it. "Lay out my gray day jacket, if you please," he said, patting his thigh to get Harold's attention, "and be up here by seven o'clock. I have an early engagement." That should do; elegant but conservative would seem to be a match for a country miss's expectations.
    "Very good, my lord, except—"
    "Except what, Reed? Come here, Harold. Here."
    "Except that your… Harold… ate your gray day jacket."
    Zachary looked from the dog to the valet. "Beg pardon?"
    "Well, not the entire garment. The right sleeve, actually. I had taken it from the wardrobe to press it, my lord, and evidently he thought I was playing or—"
    "That's fine," Zachary interrupted, swallowing his annoyance. "The rust-colored one will suffice."
    "Of course, my lord. And I'll see that the other gets to a tailor. Perhaps it can be repaired."
    Nodding, Zachary retrieved Shay's poetry book and sank into the reading chair beneath the window. Once Reed had gone, he sent Harold a glare. "Stop