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on his face when she’ d reached the other side of the ditch. He must have gotten an eyeful of “what she had to offer” from his vantage point atop that devil horse of his.
    Lady Hargrave seemed entirely oblivious of the megrims suffered by the two young women accompanying her. She was much too eager to assess the “competition” already enjoying the lavish breakfast laid out on the sideboard to consider anything else.
    “Thank goodness I thought to have Madame Fanchon make up this French-green morning dress for me,” she whispered, when the guests looked up from their plates to cast critical eyes on the newcomers. She fluffed the neck ruffle of the fashionable creation which hugged her portly figure like a celadon sausage casing. “First impressions are so important.”
    Emily assumed it must be the four other anxious mamas she was endeavoring to impress since the duke had chosen to forego the privilege of viewing their daughters in all their morning finery.
    Mr. Rankin, who had leapt to his feet the moment they entered the room, stepped forward to introduce them to the assembled guests, including three passably pretty young blond ladies, Lady Sudsley s daughter (a ravishing redhead), four of London ‘s most dashing young Corinthians who looked enough alike to be brothers , and Percival Seymour Tremayne, the Earl of Chillingham. Emily had heard that the earl was heir presumptive to the Duke of Montford’ s title and estates until such time as the duke produced a son of his own.
    The earl appeared to be no more than twenty, with a thin, anxious-looking face, ears that protruded from the sides of his head like door knobs, and an oversized Adam’s apple which seemed to have a life of its own. He was a true pink of the ton , with collar points that stabbed his cheekbones, gleaming tasseled Hessians and a cutaway coat and breeches in remarkably vivid shade of rose. With his thatch of unruly straw-colored hair and attenuated physique, the heir presumptive closely resembled an upended broom with a pink handle, and Emily was hard put to keep from laughing when she saw his goggle-eyed reaction to her lovely cousin—until she caught Lucinda’s blushing response.
    Emily took another look at the gawky earl. Could this unlikely Galahad be the knight who would rescue the fair Lucinda from the dragon duke? Miracles had come wrapped in stranger packages than this, she told herself, and filed her observations away for future reference.
    Breakfast completed, Mr. Rankin announced that the duke had instructed him to conduct a tour of Brynhaven for any of his guests who were interested. Lady Hargrave declined as her knees were still tender from her abortive curtsy, but she immediately pushed Lucinda forward. “Good way to see what will be yours one day,” she hissed, and since Lucinda had a death grip on Emily’s hand, the two found themselves part of the group of eager young ladies gathered around Mr. Rankin. Lady Sudsley and the other mothers followed close behind, with the male members of the party bringing up the rear—all except the Earl of Chillingham, who declared his intention of taking the tour even though he “knew the manor house as well as the back of his hand”…and promptly attached himself to Lucinda’s side with all the fervor of a honey bee hovering over the perfect flower. Lucinda, whose hitherto pale cheeks had miraculously regained their usual healthy glow, cast him a shy smile, and the earl’s Adam’s apple took such a leap, Emily was not the least surprised his precisely tied cravat ended up slightly askew.
    “We shall begin the tour in the domed entrance hall,” Mr. Rankin said and proceeded to give a brief history of the house and the seven eccentric dukes of Montford who had preceded the present holder of the title. Emily was intrigued by both the colorful stories and the wry humor with which Mr. Rankin related them, but she could see he was drawing nothing but yawns from the rest of the