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little something about your character, you rude man."
    "Talking to yourself?" Her father turned the corner of the house to join her amid the rows of roses.
    Sneaking was evil, she decided. "No. I was… just conversing with the new rosebush," she stammered, feeling her cheeks warm.
    "Ah. And did it answer?"
    "I believe it to be shy."
    "If it ever does answer, you will inform me, won't you ?"
    "Very amusing."
    The general held out his hand, a letter gripped in his fingers. "This just came for you by messenger."
    She took the note from him. "And you decided you must bring it to me yourself because all of the servants have broken their legs, I suppose? I know it couldn't be because you're procrastinating and don't know how to end chapter three."
    "No, I don't know how I'm going to middle chapter three, thank you very much." The corners of his mouth turned up. "I'm discovering that campaigning was easy. Writing—like politics—is hard."
    Lucinda chuckled, brushing Robert Carroway's troubling visit out of her thoughts—or trying to do so. After his three years of near solitude, something had brought them together thrice in three days. She shook herself. "You seem to be doing well with both. You may help me prune, however, if you wish."
    "No, my dear. I think I'll bow to your superior skill and go back to my scribbling."
    "Very wise strategy, General."
    When he'd gone she took a last look around to see whether anyone else might be sneaking up on her, then opened the note. She'd already recognized the handwriting, and wasn't surprised to see that Evelyn asked whether she and the general wished to attend the small dinner party Lord and Lady St. Aubyn planned for Saturday evening. Lucinda began to smile, until she read the postscript in parentheses at the bottom of the page. According to Evie's neat hand, Lord Geoffrey Newcombe was being sent the same letter of invitation.
    Lucinda shoved the missive into her pelisse pocket. Obviously her friends wanted to help her, but she couldn't help thinking the lesson scheme—which she'd begun, for heaven's sake—had become a complete sham. At least Georgie and Evelyn had chosen their students with the genuine idea of teaching them a lesson. Now when it came her turn, all three of them—and even a recluse like Robert Carroway—knew the lessons were only a very thin excuse. And even worse, her friends seemed perfectly willing to serve up Lord Geoffrey to her on a silver platter without even making a pretense that they were doing anything but matchmaking.
    "Damnation," she said under her breath, using one of the less-colorful curses she'd learned from her father and his army friends. Scowling, she doused the ground around the rose with the water Robert had provided her. That wasn't how she'd wanted it, though obviously if she pretended otherwise she'd be fooling no one but herself—and perhaps Lord Geoffrey.
    Well, she'd laid out her silverware, and there was nothing to do now but serve up the meal. And if Robert Carroway thought she needed advice, he was very much mistaken. Nor did she need to explain herself—and especially not to a near hermit who couldn't be bothered to excuse himself from a conversation before fleeing. Ha. He was just lucky she'd decided to concentrate on Lord Geoffrey, because Mr. Carroway seemed rather in need of a lesson or two, himself.

    Robert slowed Tolley to a walk as they neared the boundary of Carroway House. Edward and Bradshaw stood outside the stable, inspecting the new saddle the youngest brother had acquired on his birthday. Taking a breath, he started up the drive. After the way he'd botched his conversation with Miss Barrett, things couldn't get much worse today, anyway.
    "Bit!" Edward called, running forward to clasp Robert's boot, "did Shaw tell you?"
    "Runt, don't—"
    "He's getting his own ship," Edward continued, ignoring Bradshaw. "He's a captain now!"
    "Almost a captain," Bradshaw amended, his light blue gaze meeting Robert's. "Month after