Morgan took a deep breath of the fresh air. Country air was so much better than London. At least in London at this time of the year it wasn’t quite as odorous as the summer months, but still not as pure and refreshing as this.

“Why are you smiling?” Phoebe asked him.

He turned to her, happy to have her by his side. “I thought the idea was for me to shake off my cold duke reputation. Make me more appealing to the ladies.”

She hesitated and raised her chin. “Indeed. Appealing to the ladies is exactly what we want to happen. After all, you need to find a wife.”

“Yes.” He was certain there was a bit of reluctance in her voice. Perhaps she wasn’t so very committed to helping him succeed in Society. Perhaps she was rethinking his marriage proposals to her. Or maybe he was merely wishing for something that had not entered her mind at all.

Their peace was shattered by a shrill voice. “Your Grace!”

They both turned as Lady Brenda, accompanied by her mother, hurried along behind them. He groaned which brought him a pinch on his arm from Phoebe. “Behave yourself.”

He murmured to her, “If I were truly misbehaving in the manner I wish to misbehave, it would involve you and we would scandalize the ton.”

Her raised brows and a slight flush to her cheeks told him she understood his meaning. He liked that he was able to rattle her with his comment and wished they could do something scandalous together. Instead, he came to a halt and sighed. “Lady Brenda is the very last person I hoped to see here.”

The ladies caught up to them. “How very fortunate you are attending this lovely gathering, Your Grace.” Lady Stevenson regarded him with such warmth one would think he was already her son-in-law. No chance of that happening.

“It is a pleasure to see you, Lady Stevenson.” He turned to her daughter. “And you as well, Lady Brenda.”

She stepped up right next to him, and he was forced to extend his other arm.

Lady Brenda leaned forward, a pinched look on her face. “So nice to see you, Lady Phoebe.”

Morgan was certain Phoebe was the last person Lady Brenda wished to see.

“You, as well, Lady Brenda.” Phoebe glanced over her shoulder. “Good day to you, Lady Stevenson.”

The four of them proceeded down the path with Lady Brenda chattering on about some nonsense while he wished her to perdition. He had hoped to have this time alone with Phoebe to move his courtship along. Every time he attended one of these events, the gleam in the young ladies’ eyes—as well as their mamas—had him terrified that one of them would catch him and he’d be shackled for the rest of his life to a woman he couldn’t tolerate.

Never having spent much time with his father growing up to have any sort of conversation, he now wondered if perhaps that was how his parents ended up married to each other. They certainly hadn’t shown any fondness between them. Had his mother hidden in The Duke’s closet to snag him? Or thrown herself at him in a dark garden?

“Don’t you agree, Your Grace?” Lady Brenda looked at him with expectation.

What the devil had she said? He had not been paying any attention to her, so engrossed he’d been in his own thoughts.

Phoebe nudged him. “I believe you said you were unable to participate in the boating because of an injury to your shoulder, Your Grace?”

Apparently Lady Brenda had asked him about taking out a rowboat on the small lake on the other side of the pathway. Thank goodness Phoebe had been listening to the chit and was giving him a way out.

“Yes. That is true.” He cast a sorrowful look at Lady Brenda who eyed him as if he were a tray full of biscuits and tarts. The chit spun the parasol she carried around so enthusiastically that he was afraid she would hit him in the eye with it.

“That is too bad, Your Grace.” As an afterthought she added. “I am so sorry for your injury.”

The walk continued, but this time he paid more attention to the constant noise coming from Lady Brenda’s mouth lest he get caught up in another of her snares to spend time alone with him.

Phoebe turned toward the French doors. “I believe that is the signal for the guests to dress for dinner.”

Once they returned to the drawing room, Phoebe linked her arm with Lady Brenda, and, chatting away, she moved her toward the stairs. He gave a sigh of relief as they disappeared up the stairs.

“I am sure Lady Brenda would love to have you spend some time with her while we are here, Your Grace. Your mother suggested such a thing would be quite amenable to you.” If the look in Lady Stevenson’s eyes foretold the future, he would be betrothed before the party ended.

Instead of answering her, he merely bowed and continued up the stairs. He felt the woman’s eyes on him all the way to the upper level.

The devil take it. The unsociable woman his mother was, she still managed to attempt to manipulate him when she was miles away. Regardless of what Lady Stevenson had said, he had absolutely no intention of spending more time with Lady Brenda than he did with any other young lady present.

Aside from Phoebe, that meant no one.

* * *

By accident, or on purpose if Lady Stevenson had managed to cajole Lady Bentworth, Lady Brenda had been seated to his right at the dinner table. To his dismay, Phoebe was about eight chairs down, on the opposite side of the table.

“Oh, dear, Your Grace. I seem to have dropped my serviette. Can you retrieve it for me?” Lady Brenda pointed to the cloth between them on the floor. He had no intention of leaning over in her direction and causing any sort of speculation among the diners.

He turned to the footman nearest him. “Please bring a new serviette for Lady Brenda.”

She scowled.

He smiled to himself and sipped his glass of wine.

By the end of the dinner, he was exhausted from dodging Lady Brenda’s attempts to make it appear to everyone else that there was more going on between them than eating. He’d also spent a great deal of time watching Phoebe as she chatted and laughed with her dinner partners.

He didn’t care for the feelings that rushed through him while he watched her. She was lively, smiled a great deal, and appeared to be thoroughly enjoying herself while he was miserable. He wanted to be the recipient of her laughter and teasing. What annoyed him the most were these feelings of what could only be called jealousy.

New to all these sentiments and confused as well, he almost wished he could retreat to his estate and forget the whole idea of marriage. But Mother would never give him a moment’s peace and there was the duty to his title.

Apparently, his initial idea of marrying someone pleasant to look at, easy to live with, and who would be content with a marriage of only money, a title, and children had crumbled. He hadn’t wanted a wife who caused confusion and jealousy. If he went with his latest plan to convince Phoebe to marry him, his marriage would not be peaceful.

Could he trade contentment for the wild ride of love?

* * *

The ladies had all retired to the drawing room, awaiting the gentlemen who were enjoying their port. Lady Stevenson made her way from the tea service to sit next to Phoebe, a bright smile on her face. Phoebe didn’t care for the look in the woman’s eyes and wished Pru was next to her for fortification. Besides which, Pru was much better at pretending to like someone than Phoebe was. And she definitely did not like Lady Stevenson.

Or what she planned for Morgan.

“Are you enjoying the party so far, Lady Phoebe?” Her sweet countenance belied the daggers in her eyes. She took a sip of tea and placed the cup and saucer on the small table in front of them.

“Yes. I am looking forward for the next few days. It’s always pleasant to take a break from the social whirl of the Season and relax in the country.”

There. She had handled that nicely when she really wanted to nudge Lady Stevenson with her hip and knock her off the settee. Instead, Phoebe made to stand, but Lady Stevenson grabbed her hand. “Don’t leave just yet, dear. Let’s have a little chat. Shall we?”

Confused at this development, Phoebe sat back down, her brows raised.

Lady Stevenson continued to smile at her. “I want to make you aware that Her Grace and I both agree that my daughter would make His Grace a perfect wife. We have been working toward this for some time.”

“Indeed?” The angry knot in her stomach threatened to rise to her mouth where she was likely to say something that would scandalize her mother if she didn’t escape Lady Stevenson’s clutches soon.

“Yes. I see that you and His Grace have developed a friendship. Quite odd, that, since he’d been friendless most of his life.”

Since there had been no question there, Phoebe held her tongue and continued to stare at the woman. Let her speak her piece, and Phoebe would be on her way.

“You should know that I plan for this house party to end with a betrothal announcement.”

She could not remain silent. “How lovely for you, my lady, but you are already married.”

That ended the fake sweetness the woman had adopted. “Don’t get fresh with me, young lady. Whatever it is you think you have between yourself and His Grace is over. He will offer for my daughter, and they will marry.”

“Is His Grace aware of this?” Why did she continue the conversation? She should just get up and leave the woman’s presence. But something about Lady Stevenson’s assuredness bothered her. The small voice in the back of her head warned that this woman and her daughter—with possibly the consent of the Duchess of St. Albans—had something planned for this weekend.

Lady Stevenson was much too sure of herself.

She waved her hand in dismissal. “His Grace knows his duty. He needs a wife who will bring grace and dignity to the title of Duchess of St. Albans. He needs connections and solid influences.”

Since very few members of the ton ranked higher than a duke, Phoebe wondered what Morgan would gain by marriage to an earl’s daughter. On another point, Phoebe was the daughter of a marquess and stepdaughter of an earl, placing her in a higher rank than the “perfect” Lady Brenda.

Lady Stevenson’s lip curled. “Certainly not someone like you, whose family is immoral and whose stepfather is more than a bit odd.” She took a deep breath, apparently all that vitriol having taken her breath away.

Phoebe tamped down the desire to spill the woman’s tea in her lap. “I have no idea what you are talking about. His Grace and I are friends. That is all.”

Lady Stevenson lowered her voice and moved closer, causing Phoebe to lean back. “I don’t believe that for one minute,” she snarled. “I see the way he looks at you. The way his eyes follow every move you make.”

Phoebe had had enough. She stood, and, placing her hands behind her back to prevent Lady Stevenson from grabbing her again, she looked down at the woman. “I wish you a pleasant evening, my lady.” With a slight dip, she turned on her heel and crossed the room to join Pru and her mother.

“Whatever was that all about?” Mother asked as she looked over Phoebe’s shoulder at Lady Stevenson.

Phoebe was so angry she could hardly speak. How dare that woman malign her family? Immoral, indeed. So a couple—or maybe more—members of her family produced their firstborn less than nine months after the wedding. They were certainly not the only ones with that record.

And Father being odd? Yes, he was a bit eccentric. He was also loving, funny, smart, caring, and loved his wife immensely. As well as all his daughters, including her and Prudence.

“I don’t know what went on over there, Phoebe, but you are being watched. Pull yourself together and smile. We don’t want to start any sort of gossip.” Mother smiled warmly at her and fussed with the sleeve of her gown.

Phoebe smiled back, so very grateful for the mother she was blessed with, and almost felt sorry for Lady Brenda for being the offspring of that horrible woman.

“Lady Stevenson merely wanted to advise me that His Grace will be offering for Lady Brenda, and she expects an announcement to be made at the end of the house party.”

Prudence drew in a deep breath. “That could never be true.”

“I have a feeling if Lady Brenda and her mother have anything to say about it, it will be true. I am sure they have something nefarious planned for Morgan. Er, I mean His Grace.” She flushed and glanced at her mother’s raised eyebrows.

“Morgan?”

“We are friends, Mother. He asked me to call him by his Christian name since no one ever does.”

“Is there a particular reason why Lady Stevenson decided to advise you of what she expects His Grace to do at the party?”

Phoebe shrugged.

Prudence snorted.

Mother smiled. “I see.”

The door to the drawing room opened, and the gentlemen entered the room. Morgan broke away from the group and made a beeline for her, giving Mother another reason to raise her eyebrows. “Mother, with all of that eyebrow raising, you will get winkles on your forehead,” Phoebe said as Morgan stepped up to them.

“My ladies.” He bowed and turned to Phoebe. “Would you care for a stroll around the room, Lady Phoebe?”

While grateful that he hadn’t suggested a walk in the garden, which would have given Lady Stevenson more ammunition to attack her with, strolling with him around the perimeter of the room would make them quite visible and might give rise to some sort of statement to the other guests.

Frankly, she did not care. She certainly wouldn’t say yes merely to annoy Lady Stevenson, but Phoebe was sure that would be the very conclusion the woman would come to. She took Morgan’s arm, and they made their way through the crowd to the edge of the room.

Lady Brenda broke away from the group of young ladies she’d been conversing with to join her mother on the settee. They both glared in their direction. Lady Stevenson narrowed her eyes at Phoebe and said something to her daughter out of the side of her mouth.

It appeared the battle lines had been drawn.