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ready to escort his lady into the house. “Perhaps I might call this afternoon? That is, if you are free?"
    Clare thought of how little there was to do in Bath what with the dearth of invitations. “The only people we know in town are Miss Oliver and her charming aunt, Lady Kingsmill. Oh, and Lord Welby. I fear we are not overrun with guests."
    It was galling to be so brutally revealing about her social life, but Clare determined that the renewed friendship with Mr. Talbot should be based upon that notable trait—honesty. She wished for no subterfuge in the relationship, as was customary with young ladies bent upon flirtation. She put all thoughts of intentions and hopes from her mind. She would concentrate on the problem of the moment, then think of other, more intriguing matters later.
    No mocking smile quivered on the well-formed lips belonging to Mr. Talbot. Indeed, if anything, he had a trifle grim look about him. “I shall present myself at your door later this day, Miss Fairchild. Together we shall endeavor to solve this mystery.'’ He tipped his hat, again revealing that glorious wealth of dark chestnut hair so modishly cut and arranged, then strode off down the hill.
    Clare lingered for a moment before entering the house. What a well-set man, so broad of shoulder and tall of frame. Those unusual green eyes that had turned to hard malachite when confronted with the snobs in the gardens had looked like liquid pools of serenity when gazing down at her. It brought to mind the appeal of a sylvan glade; dreamy, a retreat from the cares of the world where one would be protected from the cruel tongues of the patronizing ladies of local society.
    Once inside the hall, she handed the baby to the maid with instructions to take him up to Jenny. Then, an abstracted expression on her face, she strolled into the study, stripping off her gloves, tossing them and her exquisite bonnet on the small chair before the fine mahogany secretary along the far wall of the room.
    "I see you found a gallant while on your morning walk,” Venetia chided. “I trust nothing improper occurred when you were thus unchaperoned? Or do you feel your advanced years protect you from impropriety?"
    "That was unkind, Venetia,” murmured Clare, sinking down onto a large mahogany stool covered with pretty needlework. “There is scarce need for a chaperon at my age while carrying a babe in my arms. I should imagine most people thought it mine.'’ The whimsical tone of voice hid her inward hurt at the malicious nature of the Bath gossips. “And anyway, I have known Richard Talbot for simply ages. We met the spring of my entrance to society. As a matter of fact, he was at my come-out ball. He was much admired by all of us young things, but his lack of sufficiently warm pockets kept all at a proper distance, at the mamas’ insistence, of course. He went away that following summer.” Clare's eyes gleamed with her delight in the change for Mr. Talbot. “He is now possessed of a proper fortune and can stare down any of the dowagers with those wicked eyes of his and be promptly forgiven. I have observed much can be condoned if one has enough money."
    "That sort of levity will get you into trouble, mark my words,” Venetia scolded. “That man looks to be calamity in person.” Her derisive sniff added volumes to her words.
    "He has offered to help the. I agreed. We shall begin to formulate a list of prospective parents this afternoon. I daresay it could take some time. If you do not wish to join us, I will understand. But, Venetia, your memory of all the doings of the ton is marvelously prodigious. How shall we get on without you?"
    The sop to Miss Godwin's piqued pride at being left at home while Clare sallied forth to meet such a handsome gentleman was thus soothed. Never mind that Venetia would not have deigned to be in the company of the baby for a short outing, much less a foray to the Sydney Gardens.
    "I trust you are correct, dear Clare,” Venetia