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As the Baron Shrewsbury was the only nobleman within reach of her circle, Hélène would not be surprised if she was building dreams about him.
    “Very handsome, indeed. But also very aware of his own consequence.”
    “Yes, I know that part,” said Monique. “But what of his physique? Is he well built? Is he a sportsman?”
    “I have no idea. But, yes, he is exceedingly well built.” Hélène felt a flush begin creeping up her neck as she remembered the baron’s broad chest and shoulders.
    “What color are his eyes? His hair?”
    “Monique! Shall I paint a miniature for you to carry about?”
    “Just tell me, so I can imagine him.” Monique was now sitting on the floor at Hélène’s feet, her elbows on her sister’s lap as she gazed up with shining eyes.
    “He has very penetrating green eyes. His face is tanned, and his hair is light. Sun-bleached, I would say.”
    “His chin. That is very important. Tell me about his chin.”
    “He has a very decided chin. With a dimple.”
    Even Jacqueline gave a sigh. “Oh, Ellie, what a wonderful thing it would be if you could attach him!”
    Hélène stood abruptly. “I have no intention of marrying. And if I did, it certainly would not be to a gentleman of the ton. You have no idea what a frivolous life they lead. Added to which, there would be no possibility of equality with one’s spouse in such a marriage.”
    “But Lord Shrewsbury founded the orphanage,” Jacquie protested. “He cannot be completely frivolous.”
    Biting her lip, Hélène went to the dresser where her offering of bread stood, and began slicing it with the all-purpose knife. “If you must know, he does not like me at all. Nor I him. We did not make good first impressions on one another.” Placing the sliced bread on a plate, she handed it around to her sisters. “Now, let us consider this topic closed.”

{ 5 }
     
    CHRISTIAN APPROACHED his mother’s townhouse feeling mixed sensations of dread and duty. The afternoon post had brought a letter from Frank with a post script from Sophie. His friend had waxed eloquent on the delights of Vienna, the Tyrolean Alps, and Lake Como. Sophie’s brief lines were imprinted on his mind and heart:
    Dearest Lord Shrewsbury,
    I was able to meet with the great master, Beethoven, for an afternoon. We played duets! It was a very great honor. The man is a genius. He is working on a masterful symphony, but his health is so poor and his hearing so bad, I do not know if he will finish it.
    I hope all is progressing well with the orphanage and girls’ school. We have decided to stay in Italy for the winter, and will not return to England until the spring. God bless you, dear friend.
    Sophie, Lady T.
    Christian fingered his cravat as he ascended the stairs to his mother’s door, and raised the knocker. Sims, her mother’s butler, welcomed him. “Lord Shrewsbury, what a pleasure. Your mother is receiving in the blue parlor.” He led him upstairs and announced him.
    His mother stood and walked past all her guests toward him. “Dearest Christian!” Her voice simulated surprise. “How nice of you to call on your mother! Come, you must meet my friends.”
    He met several dowagers and greeted Lady Susannah Braithwaite, a patron of the Orphanage and Lady Clarice’s companion. “And how is your tortoise, Lady Susannah?”
    “Henry Five is always in good health. I have decided to leave him to Elise in my will. Her children adore him.”
    “I am certain the duchess will be thrilled, but it is far too soon to be talking of bequests.” He kissed her aged hand and then turned to a young lady with very large hazel eyes who was watching him.
    “Christian, dear, this is Lady Virginia Mowbray, a new friend of mine. Ginny, please meet my son, Christian Elliott, Lord Shrewsbury.”
    Bowing over her hand, his experienced eyes took in her appearance. She was pretty, but not an outstanding beauty, he decided. A heart-shaped face held those large eyes, a small nose, and a