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for me more than for becoming the future Marchioness of Haithe.”
    She’d never considered that. And she knew that Belle had spent part of the last week introducing her reflection as Annabel, the Marchioness of Haithe. Oh, dear. “And did you have someone in mind two years ago?”
    Geoffrey shook his head, a handsome, rueful smile touching his mouth. “That was the other thing; I had no pressing need to settle down. It was my brother’s children who would be his heirs. My offspring would only be nephews and nieces to the future marquis, if I chose to wed at all.”
    For a moment Theodora walked beside him in silence. “I’m sorry you lost your brother,” she finally said.
    “Thank you. So am I; he was a good man and my dearest friend.” Grimacing, he sent her a sideways glance. “Clever chit. I ask you a question, and suddenly I’m regaling you with my tale of woe. I know you weren’t pleased to be dancing with me at the Carmichael soiree, no matter what your intentions in doing so. Why?”
    “Haven’t you conversed with me?” she retorted. “I’ve been through three governesses and two finishing schools, learning all about the ways to flutter my eyelashes and chat fetchingly about the dullest topics imaginable. None of it made any difference. I simply don’t show well with people I don’t know. I never know what to say and so I’ll mention something about a book or some debate in Parliament, and the next thing I know I’ve been called a bluestocking or a suffragist.”
    A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I had no idea you were such a nonconformist. Next you’ll tell me you like Americans.”
    The most surprising thing about this conversation, Theodora decided, was the frequency with which Geoffrey Kerick made her grin. “I like their coffee. Does that count?”
    “If that’s the criteria, I suppose I like the Yankees, as well.” He turned to look at her again. “You see, something else we have in common.”
    Theodora nearly asked what all the other somethings might be, but the birds were singing, the nip of autumn afternoons touched the air, and a very handsome man seemed to be working quite hard to endear himself to her. And while gentlemen had gone out of their way to be nice to her before, they had all needed something – either her family’s money or a closer association with a respected title, or more likely, an avenue of introduction to Belle. Just what it was that Geoffrey Kerick wanted seemed a much more...complex puzzle.
    “They say you served under Wellington,” she offered, because she felt more easy discussing him than herself.
    “I did. My father attempted to insure that his two daft offspring stayed far from battle, so mainly I galloped about seeing to it that the duke’s orders went where they were supposed to.”
    From the abruptly somber expression that crossed his lean face he’d done more than he claimed, but she liked that he didn’t boast about it. If some tales she’d heard from returning soldiers were to be believed, Bonaparte would have surrendered and never attempted an escape from Elba, if he’d even dared a revolution in the first place. “But your brother was killed in Spain, was he not?”
    With a nod he stooped to pick up a stone and skip is across the narrow stream. “French hussars ambushed the supply wagons he was leading. Tim was killed protecting flour and pigs.”
    “I’m so sorry,” she returned, though she’d said it before. “I daresay he knew the supplies’ importance to both sides, whether the duty sounded glamorous or not.”
    For a long moment he walked beside her in silence, and she worried that she’d once again said the wrong thing. Should she have stated that the former earl had no doubt fought gallantly? Or that the late Timothy Kerick deserved a more heroic death? But of course she’d spoken before she’d considered the most politic response. Theodora opened her mouth to interject a...wiser comment, but it seemed far too late for