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paired with matrimony.
    She did not fit his idea of a mistress in other ways either. Sweet and accommodating, she was not. There was no evidence that she possessed the requisite sophistication for such affairs, either. Such dalliances demanded an acquired level of emotional superficiality in order to be fun, pleasurable, and intense, but also not entangling, and ultimately finite.
    No, Miss Fairbourne obviously would not do, for numerous reasons.
    He acknowledged with some chagrin that he had examined most of those reasons, from far too many angles and perspectives, and for all the wrong purposes. Fortunately, he would be free of such pointless rationalizations within the hour.
    While he emerged from his reflections regarding Miss Fairbourne, a young blood, no more than twenty-two years in age, trotted his horse down the street, dismounted, and tied his gelding right next to Darius’s own. He strode up the stone stairs, brushing his embroidered brown frock coat with his hands. He paused with his foot on the top step, and bent to rub at a scuff on the toe of his high boot.
    He gave Darius a quick but incisive inspection, then flashed a cocky smile. Reaching around Darius he gave the knocker three sharp raps.
    Displeased by this intrusion on his call, and wondering who the devil this fellow was, Darius waited, feeling the face hovering at his shoulder.
    Maitland, the Fairbournes’ butler, did not open the door. Rather Obediah Riggles, the auctioneer, did the duty.
    Obediah appeared just as surprised to see Darius as Darius was to see him.
    “Has Maitland gone?” Darius asked quietly after Obediah had taken his hat and card. The young blood busied himself primping the hair around his face, making sure the artful wisps of his Brutus fell just so.
    “No, sir. Miss Fairbourne asked me to man the gate, just for today. I’m to turn away unsuitable sorts.”
    Presumably there were adventurers and even thieves aware that Miss Fairbourne was now a woman alone. Unsuitable sorts might well find excuses to impose on her, and it was unlikely she could identify who had been an associate of her father, seeking to offer condolences, and who had not been.
    “I was told to bring visitors to the drawing room, sir,” Obediah said, angling his head for a private word. “I think it might be better to escort
you
to the morning room instead. I will tell Miss Fairbourne that you are there.”
    “If she is receiving in the drawing room, take me there, Riggles. I will not have special accommodations made due to my station. I insist that you present my card exactly as you do the others. I can ask for a private word after her other callers leave.”
    Obediah vacillated. The young blood cleared his throat impatiently.
    “The drawing room?” Darius prompted.
    Bearing the salver with two cards, the auctioneer led the way up the stairs. He opened the doors to the drawing room and stood aside.
    Darius entered into a most peculiar scene. Miss Fairbourne had not come down yet. She had a great many callers waiting, however. Ten young men lounged around the chamber.
    The callers gave the newcomers critical examinations, then went back to doing nothing. Darius turned to ask Obediah the meaning of this masculine collection, but the doors had closed and Obediah had returned to his post.
    Darius positioned himself in front of the fireplace and took stock of his company. All of them were of similar cut—young, fashionable, and handsome. Miss Fairbourne was an heiress now, and perhaps these were suitors, lining up to court her.
    He pictured the earnest entreaties that would be made as each one pressed his case in turn. Considering his own experiences with Miss Fairbourne, these young men would likely get their ears burned. He was rather sorry that he would miss the show.
    He strode to a divan and sat beside a polished blond swain wearing a striped red and blue waistcoat of considerable cost but questionable taste. The fellow smiled an acknowledgment but