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behavior never once crossed her mind.
    â€œOf course not,” Sarah replied, turning to Honoria with a most impatient expression. “Why would he attend, when he can sleep in his own bed just down the road? But he will wish to visit, won’t he? Perhaps come to supper, or for shooting.”
    It was Honoria’s opinion that if Marcus was trapped for an afternoon with this gaggle of females he’d likely start shooting at them .
    â€œIt’s perfect,” Sarah insisted. “The younger gentlemen will be so much more likely to accept our invitation if they know Lord Chatteris will be there. They’ll want to make a good impression. He’s very influential, you know.”
    â€œI thought you weren’t going to invite him,” Honoria said.
    â€œI’m not. I mean—” Sarah motioned toward Cecily, who was, after all, the daughter of the one who would be doing the inviting. “ We’re not. But we can put it about that he is likely to call.”
    â€œHe’ll appreciate that, I’m sure,” Honoria said dryly, not that anyone was listening.
    â€œWho shall we invite?” Sarah asked, ignoring Honoria’s statement entirely. “It should be four gentlemen.”
    â€œOur numbers will be uneven when Lord Chatteris is about,” Cecily pointed out.
    â€œThe better for us,” Sarah said firmly. “And we can’t very well invite only three and then have too many ladies when he is not here.”
    Honoria sighed. Her cousin was the definition of tenacious. There was no arguing with Sarah when she had her heart set on something.
    â€œI had better talk to my mother,” Cecily said, standing up. “We’ll need to get to work immediately.” She left the room in a dramatic swish of pink muslin.
    Honoria looked over at Iris, who surely recognized the madness that was about to ensue. But Iris just shrugged her shoulders and said, “It’s a good idea, actually.”
    â€œIt’s why we came to Cambridge,” Sarah reminded them. “To meet gentlemen.”
    It was true. Mrs. Royle liked to talk about exposing young ladies to culture and education, but they all knew the truth: They had come to Cambridge for reasons that were purely social. When Mrs. Royle had broached the idea to Honoria’s mother, she’d lamented that so many young gentlemen were still at Oxford or Cambridge at the beginning of the season and thus not in London where they should be, courting young ladies. Mrs. Royle had a supper planned for the next evening, but a house party away from town would be even more effective.
    Nothing like trapping the gentlemen where they couldn’t get away.
    Honoria supposed she was going to need to pen a letter to her mother, informing her that she would be in Cambridge a few extra days. She had a bad feeling about using Marcus as a lure to get other gentlemen to accept, but she knew she could not afford to dismiss such an opportunity. The university students were young—almost the same age as the four young ladies—but Honoria did not mind. Even if none were ready for marriage, surely some had older brothers? Or cousins. Or friends.
    She sighed. She hated how calculated it all sounded, but what else was she to do?
    â€œGregory Bridgerton,” Sarah announced, her eyes positively aglow with triumph. “He would be perfect. Brilliantly well-connected. One of his sisters married a duke, and another an earl. And he’s in his final year, so perhaps he will be ready to marry soon.”
    Honoria looked up. She’d met Mr. Bridgerton several times, usually when he’d been dragged by his mother to one of the infamous Smythe-Smith musicales.
    Honoria tried not to wince. The family’s annual musicale was never a good time to make the acquaintance of a gentleman, unless he was deaf. There was some argument within the family about who, precisely, had begun the tradition, but in 1807, four