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flaw of one sort or another?”
    “Sometimes it is just the reverse,” Augusta said with a sigh. “Sometimes the most interesting male around perceives a serious character flaw in a certain female who happens to be quite attracted to him.”
    “We are discussing Graystone again?” Sally gave Augusta a shrewd glance.
    “I fear so,” Augusta admitted. “Do you know he all but admitted he has a list of suitable candidates he is reviewing for the position of Countess of Graystone?”
    Rosalind nodded soberly. “I have heard about that list. Whoever is on it will find it difficult to live up to the standards set by his first wife, Catherine. She died in childbirth the first year of her marriage. But in that single year she apparently managed to leave behind a lasting impression on Graystone.”
    “She was a paragon, I presume?” Augusta queried.
    “A model of womanly virtue, or so it is said,” Rosalind explained wryly. “Just ask anyone. My mother knew the family and frequently held Catherine up to me as an example. I met her once or twice when I was younger and I must confess I found her a prig. Quite beautiful, however. She looked like a Madonna in one of those Italian paintings.”
    “It is said a virtuous woman is worth more than rubies,” Sally murmured. “But I believe many men discover the hard way that virtue, like beauty, is often in the eye of the beholder. It is quite possible that Graystone does not seek another paragon.”
    “Oh, he definitely wants a paragon,” Augusta assured her. “And in my more rational moments, I realize he wouldmake a perfectly obnoxious, quite intolerable husband for a woman of my spontaneous and uninhibited temperament.”
    “And in your more irrational moments?” Sally pressed gently.
    Augusta grimaced. “In my darkest hours I have actually considered taking up the serious study of Herodotus and Tacitus, throwing away all my tracts on the rights of women, and ordering up a whole new wardrobe of unfashionable gowns with very high necklines. But I have found that if I have a cup of tea and rest for a few minutes such madness passes quickly. I soon return to my normal self.”
    “Good heavens, one would certainly hope so. I cannot see you in the role of a paragon of female behavior.” Sally broke out in uproarious laughter and the sound caused everyone in the room to turned toward the threesome seated near the fire. The ladies of Pompeia’s smiled knowingly at each other. It was good to see their patronness enjoying herself.
    Scruggs, who had opened the drawing room door at that moment, apparently heard the laughter, too. Augusta happened to glance up and saw him watching his mistress from beneath his thick, beetled brows. She thought there was something oddly wistful in his expression.
    Then his startling blue eyes met Augusta’s and he bobbed his head once before turning away. She realized with a start of surprise that he was thanking her silently for giving Sally the gift of laughter.
    A few minutes later on her way out of the club, Augusta paused to glance at the latest entries in the betting book that was enshrined on an Ionic pedestal near the window.
    She saw that a certain Miss L.C. had wagered a Miss D.P. the sum of ten pounds that Lord Graystone would ask for the hand of “the Angel” before the month was out.
    Augusta felt quite irritable for the next two hours.
    •  •  •
    “I swear, Harry, there is a wager on it in Pompeia’s betting book. Most amusing.” Peter Sheldrake lounged with languid ease in the leather chair and eyed Graystone over his glass of port.
    “I am glad you find it amusing. I do not.” Harry put down his quill pen and picked up his own glass.
    “Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” Peter grinned. “After all, there is very little you seem to find amusing about this business of getting yourself a wife. There are wagers in the betting books of every club in town. Hardly surprising there’s one in Pompeia’s. Sally’s