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none of his affair.
    The black cat was back, and when he tried to move it, it clung to his knitted breeches with needle claws.
    Annie beamed. "Why, it's Gardeen and she likes you."
    Miles simply pulled the animal free, walked around the table, and added it to the collection in Annie's lap. As he returned to his place, he heard her murmur, "There, there, little one. Men are temperamental creatures and he's out of sorts. He'll be kinder to you another time."
    Don't bet money on it, Miles thought. He had nothing against cats-they were useful in a stable-but he had no interest in them at the dining table.
    He could, however, bear to know why Felicity had grown flustered at the mention of Dunsmore's name. Was it possible she fancied herself in love with him? He could have sworn that `Joy' disliked the man intensely, but women seemed able to give their affections to men they knew to be scoundrels.
    One thing was certain. Felicity Monahan would not give her beauty and fortune to Rupert Dunsmore as long as she was the ward of Miles Cavanagh.
    Annie was still talking, meandering around topics like smoke on a heavy day, and addressing herself randomly to Miles, the cats, and even to absent people such as her dead father. When she trailed to the indeterminate end of the saga of a ball held twenty years ago, Miles interjected, "Dunsmore?"
    "Dunsmore!" Annie seemed grateful for redirection. "Dreadful man, and English to boot. Felicity fancied herself in love with him as a green girl, and he already married to Kathleen! Father chased the rascal off, of course, and sent the girl away for a while. That put an end to it, but Felicity was never the same. Wayward, wayward," she earnestly told a gray cat, nose to nose. "And so active."
    The cat yawned, and Annie settled to a determined attack on the cool, congealed food on her plate.
    Miles sipped his coffee, oddly disappointed.
    For all her faults, Felicity Monahan had seemed to have brains, courage, and idealism. He'd not thought her the type to be taken in by the facile attraction of a man like Dunsmore.
    At that moment, his unwelcome ward tripped into the breakfast parlor with a sunny, "Good morning!" and took a seat at the table.
    With difficulty, Miles suppressed a laugh.
    In contrast to her appearance last night-in fact, in outright denial of it—Felicity Monahan was acting the part of the well-behaved young lady he had demanded.
    She wore a demure and proper beige, merino gown with just a moderate trim of ruched green ribbon. The neckline was decently filled by a pleated chemisette edged with an almost nun-like ruff at the neck. It was a shame, perhaps, that not even that ensemble could disguise her magnificent bosom, but she could hardly be held to blame for God's generosity.
    Her hair, though its destiny was clearly to mass about her head in rich, dark curls, had been drawn firmly back and piled into a tidy knot bound with green ribbons to match those on her dress.
    "I'm so pleased you are making yourself at home, Mr. Cavanagh," she said with social good humor. "I do hope you have everything you require."
    And he had doubted her acting abilities! A minx, and a clever one. She must have been able to run rings around Annie and her grandfather.
    "The hospitality of Foy Hall is as excellent as usual, Miss Monahan."
    She glanced at him with a trace of suspicion, but then her carefree smile twitched back into place and she rang the bell. When a maid came, Felicity requested more coffee and fresh eggs. "May I order you anything, Mr. Cavanagh?"
    "No, thank you."
    While waiting, Felicity picked up a roll, broke it, and spread it with butter.
    Nervousness? Perhaps merely a healthy appetite. As Annie had remarked, Felicity was a very active young lady, and she'd had a busy night.
    "How long will we have the pleasure of your company, Mr. Cavanagh?" she asked sweetly. "I do hope you'll stay long enough to meet our neighbors. We could perhaps have a small evening entertainment in your honor."
    "That