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chair, Lord Raynor studied the fashionably dressed peer sitting across from him.  Though there were any number of fobs hanging from his puce stain waistcoat with its elaborately embroidered border, Will Townsend was no dandy.  He didn’t conform to George Brummell’s decrees for plain unexceptionable attire with an eye to minute detail.  Still, Townsend cut a very pleasing picture, especially where the fairer sex was concerned, as Raynor knew all too well. 
    With Townsend’s hunting instincts obviously having been aroused, Raynor was concerned.  He knew that once informed Miss Forsythe was indeed a respectable lady, Townsend would cease the chase.  At least he hoped that was so. 
    Walking over to a sideboard with a tray of glasses and an assortment of bottles, Raynor poured them each a glass of Madeira.  After handing a glass to Townsend, he settled into the wingback chair next to his friend, and described his newest employee’s straightened and unusual circumstances.
    “Sounds like a flip-flopped fairy tale,” Townsend said, staring into the bottom of his crystal goblet.  “What did she mean about seeing you tomorrow?  Pretty sassy for a governess, wasn’t it?”
    “In the ordinary sense, you’d be right.  Except she’d just finished raking me over the coals for grossly neglecting my niece.”  As another act of impertinence by Miss Forsythe came to mind, Raynor let out a hearty laugh.  “Get this, Will, she had the audacity to pen me a note saying, ‘It would behoove your Lordship’s understanding to spend some time with your niece.  Respectfully, The Governess.’”
    After both gentlemen shared side splitting guffaws over the tone as well as the curt closing of Georgeanne’s missive, Raynor retrieved the wine decanter from the sideboard and refilled their glasses.  “She thinks Marissa needs a mutt for a companion.”
    “Ain’t such a bad idea,” Townsend said.  “Remember, I had old Rufus, a springer spaniel, when I was a brat.  Used to sleep with me, too.  My sister claimed he had fleas, but I didn’t care.”
    “She was correct.  Rufus did,” Raynor chuckled.  “But you haven’t heard the best yet .  Miss Forsythe conned me into having tea with Marissa several days each week.  Said the child misses my company.  Dare say she may have the right of it, for Marissa clings to me whenever I try to leave her.”
    “Tea, you say?”
    “I’m hardly looking forward to it since Marissa can’t be depended upon to behave.  Still, it will be well worth the try.”
    “I’ve never seen Marissa cut up, though I’ve hear d her a time or two,” Townsend duly commiserated.  “Still, as you say, some good might come of spending an hour with the little girl.  And with her governess in attendance, even if it’s a sore trial on the ears, it won’t be on the eyes,” he added with a meaningful grin.
    “Speaking of screaming fits,” Raynor said, taking a fortifying gulp of his Madeira , “did I tell you Lydia Russell and Olivia Cosgrove dropped by not too long ago?”  At Townsend’s raised eyebrow, he continued.  “Lady Russell had gotten wind of Marissa’s last governess leaving.  Wanted to take the child.”
    “No doubt you squelched that idea,” Townsend said, with a chuckle.  “Only thing she wants is the child’s inheritance.”
    Raynor nodded.  “Olivia never said a word. She seemed not to take her mother’s side. But Marissa hadn’t been in the room five minutes before Lydia Russell had Marissa screeching like a banshee.”
    “Lady Cosgrove do esn’t seem to take after the mother.  Easy on the eyes, too.”
    “There’s that, and it might do Marissa some good to develop a relationship with Olivia,” Raynor acknowledged .  Then turning the topic of interest, he set about describing his morning’s drive, tooling the pair of grays he’d recently acquired.  Shortly thereafter, the two gentlemen called for their hats and headed to Tattersalls, where they