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know how or when, but she would make
it happen. Syd was much too young and unpolished to be introduced to the
sophisticated society functions that Bell attended, but young people must
gather somewhere. She added one more thing to her growing list to do.
    She loved challenges and it was wonderful to have her family
back. This might turn out to be the most exciting summer she’d ever had.
Conquering society had been terrifying, but now that she’d done it, she was
confident she could push her sisters to the highest peaks.
    A footman arrived carrying a visitor’s card. Bell glanced at
the card and pushed back her chair. “Have Mr. Summerby taken to the study,
please. I will be right with him.” She picked up the papers she’d been trying
to peruse while her sisters chattered. “We should be ready to take the shops by
storm this morning. Wear your new gloves and forget those dreadful Methodist
bonnets. Try the hats you picked from my wardrobe, and we’ll be on our way in
an hour.”
    That stopped any further demands for parties or arguments
over politics. Shopping was a fabulous distraction, for now. Bell didn’t know
what she’d do once they realized all her friends were married and too caught up
in their own lives to include the younger set. Bell might be content with a
night at the opera or a card game with an elderly acquaintance. Her sisters
wouldn’t be. She couldn’t rely on Jocelyn to keep them entertained—political
dinner parties were really not the thing for young girls.
    But neither was Scotland.
    Mr. Summerby rose from the wing chair when she entered.
Bespectacled, with receding gray hair, and a definite paunch beneath his
unadorned waistcoat, he looked every part a fastidious solicitor. Bell had no
idea of his age, but his face bore wrinkle lines only about his eyes. She’d
hired him upon a friend’s advice after Edward’s death, when Edward’s solicitor
had insisted that she needed a man to look after her investments—and that man
should be him.
    Summerby, on the other hand, had agreeably accepted her
orders, even when she’d been giving away fortunes to her protégées. If he made
suggestions, he didn’t argue if she rejected them. That didn’t happen often.
His recommendations had always been superb.
    “Butler brought you tea?” Bell inquired. “Most excellent.”
Edward had always called his butler by the name of Butler until no one
remembered the servant’s real name. Bell had tried asking once, but the staid
retainer had appeared horrified at the idea of change.
    “I thank you for coming out, sir. This is a delicate matter,
and I didn’t know how to phrase it in a letter.”
    “For you, my lady, I would sail the Thames,” Summerby said
with a twinkle behind his glasses. “Your projects always keep me on my toes.”
    “Yes, well, suing a marquess for guardianship ought to have
you ballet dancing. I hope I will not be adding one too many challenges to your
repertoire.” Bell took the seat behind the desk and produced her notes.
    The solicitor returned to his chair and opened the portfolio
he’d brought with him. “Your generous fees allow me to hire more assistants. I
am at your disposal. I have notified the marquess of your father’s will, as is
required. I’ve not heard back from him. Your brother’s credentials have been
filed with the courts. Unless there is some complaint, there should be no
difficulty with his claim to the title.”
    “My father might have been an inveterate gambler, but he
knew all about English courts,” Bell said dryly. “I’m sure he was more than
happy to cough up whatever sum it took to ensure that his heir claimed his
worthless title rather than allow the crown to have it. That may be a problem.”
    Mr. Summerby looked at her over his spectacles and politely
waited for explanation.
    Bell tapped her fingers on the paper, looking for a way to
state the matter so as not to sound like an hysterical female. “The marquess
may not be the only one