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inevitably draw male eyes. Something that was not quite vulgar—not at all vulgar, in fact. But something very different from what one expected to find in a fashionable ballroom in London. Some—well, some raw femininity.
    Her grace of Bridgwater might well have problems marrying the girl off
, Lord Francis thought. Not just because of her origins—indeed, if it was true that the father was almost indecently wealthy, there would be any number of impecunious gentlemen, and even a few moderately pecunious ones, who would be only too delighted to overlook the fact that he had made his fortune in trade. No, it was the woman’s looks and manner that would discourage serious suitors. Any red-blooded male would immediately dream of setting a mattress at Miss Cora Downes’s back, whereas precious few of themwould indulge in any corresponding dream of leading her to the altar first.
    It was unfortunate.
    He rather suspected that before the Season was over—unless the considerable awe in which both Bridgwater and his mother were held by the
ton
acted as a restraining force—Miss Cora Downes would be offered more than one carte blanche.
    She was breathless and flushed and bright-eyed when the set was over. Her bosom was heaving as she tried to replace the missing air in her lungs.
    “Oh, that was wonderful,” she said. “Far more fun than any of the assemblies in Bath. There the dancers are mostly elderly, you know, and so the music is slower. Thank you so very much, Lord Francis. You are very kind.”
    “Thank
you
,” he said, taking her arm on his sleeve and leading her back toward the duchess. “It was my honor and my pleasure, Miss Downes.”
    “May I ask you something?” she said, looking sideways into his eyes. Her own were a dark gray, he saw. He had at first thought them to be black. “What is your
name
? I was woolgathering when his grace presented you to me—or perhaps I was still flustered over the fact that I had tripped over my own feet and would have disgraced myself utterly instead of only partially if you had not stepped smartly forward and grabbed me. I am
always
woolgathering when something important is being said. It drives my papa insane. It drove my governess to despair.”
    “Kneller,” he said, repressing the urge to chuckle. “It is the family name of the Dukes of Fairhurst. My elder brother is the current holder of the title.”
    “Oh,” she said with an openmouthed gasp, “you are the brother of a
duke
. I am so glad I did not know it when I danced with you.” She laughed.
    There was a quality of merriment in her that was almost unladylike and was quite infectious, Lord Francis thought. He would like to draw the cork of any man who offered her carte blanche during what remained of the Season.
    Perhaps he would take her under his wing, he thought suddenly. Bridgwater would undoubtedly be relieved and the duchess would surely not be displeased. As for himself, he had perhaps a great deal of a leftover life to kill. He had no wish to spend it pining away to a mere shadow of his former self over a woman who was now in Yorkshire with her new husband, doubtless proceeding with the pleasant business of living happily ever after.
    Taking Miss Cora Downes under his wing would amuse him. And perhaps it would protect her from harm. Perhaps too he could steer toward her some likely candidate for matrimony. It might be diverting to become a matchmaker for the few weeks that remained of the Season. It would be a new role for him, one he had never even in his wildest imaginings thought of for himself. It was a feminine role, one his elder sisters delighted in. She had been trying to do it to him for so long that it was a testament to her endurance that she had not long ago lost faith in her powers.
    It would be an amusing role to assume—if anything in life could ever again be amusing.
    He returned Cora Downes to her place, stayed to make himself agreeable to the duchess and Lady Jane—Lady Elizabeth