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Hepplewhite, Lady Olivia’s aunt.”
    Richard executed an elegant bow over Miss Hepplewhite’s hand, but Sheridan merely nodded.
    “Miss Featherstone swooned as I was passing her on the stairs,” said Lady Olivia. She added flatly, “Lord Sheridan carried her in here.”
    “And then I made your, uh…niece, is it?” At the older woman’s nod of confirmation, he continued, “I made your niece angry by going through the silly chit’s reticule for her smelling salts.”
    “I don’t doubt it. Olivia, when did you start carrying smelling salts? You never swoon.”
    “Of course I do not,” she said, pursing her lips.
    “No, it was Miss Featherstone’s reticule I invaded,” he added, a smile tugging at his lips. “And now, Lady Olivia is unreservedly cross with me.”
    She met the challenge in his eyes with a flash of spirit, quickly extinguished as he waited. The vapid smile reappeared.
    “I am not in the least cross with you, Lord Sheridan. How could I be? You saved the day, and I am certain Miss Featherstone will thank you when she revives sufficiently.”
    In the face of this nauseating optimism, he shuttered his eyes and said derisively, “Drivel. I only did what was necessary. Good evening, ladies. Richard, shall we go?”
    He didn’t wait for his friend’s reply but strode out the door, down the narrow corridor, and outside. On the pavement, he paced for a moment, ignoring the greetings of the other guests who were getting down from their carriages. With a snort, Sheridan continued down the street, his cane tucked under his arm and his pace decisive.

    Tearing off her crown of blue silk roses, Olivia declared, “Of all the men I have met, Lord Sheridan is the most maddening!”
    Her aunt sat down on the sofa in their neat drawing room. “I cannot understand why you would say such a thing, Olivia. He was merely demurring at your praise.”
    “Demurring, my foot! He was insulting. And the way he looked down his nose at me was insulting, too.”
    “I think you are exaggerating, my dear. He was looking down because you were sitting next to Miss Featherstone, and the marquess is, after all, so deliciously tall.”
    “Rubbish,” she said, pursing her lips.
    “Do sit down, my dear. There is no need to get into such a state. Let me order the tea tray. The staff will be surprised that we are home so early, but I am certain Cook will be able to put something together for us. She spent the entire day baking, you know.”
    “You go ahead, Aunt. I could not swallow a morsel.”
    Olivia paced the length of the room. When she returned and sat down on the sofa beside her aunt, she smiled. “Forgive me for my display of temper. I really do not know what came over me. I am not usually so cross.”
    “No, you are not. Ah, here is Witchell with the tea tray already. You read my mind, Witchell.”
    Aunt Amy poured two cups of tea, putting a spoonful of sugar in one and three in the other. She handed the first to Olivia and then took a deep drink of the other.
    “Ah, that is good. And let’s see what Cook has for us this evening. Macaroons, my favourite. Oh, and a little strawberry tart for you, my dear?”
    Deep in thought, Olivia did not reply. Her aunt put one of the tarts on a plate and placed it on her niece’s lap.
    “Oh, thank you, Aunt.” She took a bite and then replaced it on the plate. “Quite good. I must tell Cook she has outdone herself.”
    A moment passed in silence. Aunt Amy glanced at the forgotten tart and clucked her tongue.
    “Such a waste. And you know the best praise a cook can receive is to have her offerings eaten.”
    Olivia then looked at the tart and smiled. Dutifully, she popped the rest of it into her mouth.
    “That is much better. Now, perhaps we should discuss this problem you are having with Lord Sheridan—such a handsome man! Oh, his friend, too. And so charming. Sir Richard, I mean. To remain with us until Miss Featherstone regained her senses and then to accompany us home.