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took it warily.
    “I’m pleased to meet you, child. I am Lady Mab, as my disgraceful son failed to tell you.”
    “Lady Mab, dowager viscountess of Rawson,” Adam insisted.
    “A title to impress the insolent.” Without moving her head, Mab transferred her attention back to Bronwyn. “Are you insolent?”
    Bronwyn was stricken dumb. With a privileged few she was dreadfully insolent, yet she couldn’t admit that.
    Tiring of waiting for her answer, Mab said, “I believe you’ve found the girl you desired, Adam.”
    “Yes, Mab.”
    Unspoken messages lurked beneath the surface, but Bronwyn was too befuddled to decipher them.
    Adam asked, “Mab, will you come to dinner?”
    “I wouldn’t miss the first meal with my future daughter-in-law.” Mab hoisted herself to her feet.
    “I warn you, Robert Walpole is here,” Adam said.
    An anticipatory smile spread across Mab’s face. “Perhaps you should warn him, not me.”

Chapter 3
    “Bronwyn’s my girl, she is.” Lord Gaynor leaned back in his chair, his supper pushed away and his wineglass tilted. “She’s got all the Edana daring and intelligence. The other girls took after m’wife”—he lifted his goblet in salute—“but Bronwyn’s all mine.”
    Lady Nora’s smile strained to remain pleasant. “Dear, surely you jest! You’re not trying to say Bronwyn is intelligent. Why, she’s just a girl who enjoys nothing more than a fancy needlework and a canter on a gentle horse.” She patted Bronwyn’s hand. “Isn’t that the truth, dear?”
    Lord Gaynor snorted, ready to disagree. Intercepting a poisonous stare from his wife, he subsided with a cough. “Good dinner, Rawson.”
    “My thanks.” Adam wondered if the interminable supper would ever end. He’d had enough of Lord Gaynor, singing his plain daughter’s praises, and enough of Mab’s sorrowing glances. He wanted to get down to the business of the evening, and that he couldn’t do while the ladies remained. His mother, the official hostess, refused to lead the exodus from the table so the men could drink their brandy and smoke their cigars. Stricken with an inspiration, he said, “Since my future wife is seated at the table with us, perhaps she could take the ladies into the parlorfor conversation.” His eyes flashed triumph at Mab. “Would you do that, Bridget ?”
    The insipid girl he’d contracted to never blinked an eye. She rose with a gracious smile. “Shall we depart, ladies? The gentlemen wish to discuss important matters unsuitable for feminine ears. Will we see you later, Abel ?”
    He almost missed it, she slipped it in so easily, and when he did react he saw only the backs of three skirts as the women abandoned the dining room. Dismissing her dig as a slip of the tongue, he glared at his mother and prepared for verbal battle. To his surprise, she stood.
    “As my daughter-in-law wishes, I’ll leave you gentlemen.” Before she exited, she turned back. “So good to see you again, Robert. Do return soon.”
    As the footman shut the door behind her, Robert Walpole was pulling at the scarf that bound his neck. “I tell you truly, Adam, your mother terrifies me.”
    “She knows it, too,” Adam confirmed.
    “She’s so big and”—Walpole gestured with his hands—“big.”
    Adam smiled fondly. “Most people find my mother a gentle soul, kind to a fault.”
    “She’s nice to everyone but me.”
    “I think, Robert, you disgust her with your boasting and your licentiousness.”
    “Who could be offended by me?” Walpole adjusted his wig. “Besides, women should be womanly. Silly, vain, seeking a man’s attention. Not watching a man with wise gray eyes until he squirms, nor pricking his little fantasies with the sharp end of her tongue.”
    “She does do that, doesn’t she?” Adam smiled with wicked pleasure at his friend. “Why do you think she enjoys having you for supper?”
    “Cannibalism?” Walpole quipped.
    Adam relaxed. “Have you lost your pound of