Lady Stowe had let an elegant house in Berkley Square, facing south across the garden at the heart of the square. Jack fleetingly wondered how much of the rent he was paying before dismissing the thought. After last night, when Sophie whispered that she loved him over and over as he moved above her, joining his body, heart and soul to hers, he’d pay the rent on every house in this street and thank Lady Stowe for it. He tied up his horse and rapped the knocker.

His arrival caused a bit of a flurry inside the house. The butler showed him to a bright morning room while the sounds of running feet echoed upstairs. He strolled to the window and watched the traffic roll by outside as his mind drifted to Sophie—­his love. He wanted to spoil her with every luxury he could. Perhaps he’d whisk her back to Alwyn for a month after their wedding.

The door behind him opened. “Your Grace,” cried Lady Stowe. “How delightful of you to call.”

Jack turned. The countess curtsied, a rather rigid motion compared to Sophie’s flowing one. “Good day, Lady Stowe. I called in hopes of having a word with Lady Lucinda.”

Her face brightened. Lady Stowe was a petite woman and had been a beauty in her youth, with pale blond hair and wide blue eyes. Now her hair was turning to silver and there were lines around her eyes, but Jack was not fooled. The countess might look like a china doll, but she was cut from the same iron-­willed cloth as his mother. “My daughter will be down soon to receive you. She will be most delighted you’ve called.” She came into the room, a proud smile on her face. “Won’t you be seated, sir?” She went to the sofa, and Jack obediently took a chair. “I hope the duchess your mother is well?”

“She is.” Jack thought she must know how his mother was even better than he did, especially since he’d been avoiding his mother since their conversation about Lucinda.

“I am delighted to hear it,” said Lady Stowe warmly. “Family is so important.”

Sophie wanted a family. She’d had no one since she was twelve, not even a managing mother or an irresponsible sibling. Jack, who had never been free of family duty and obligations, thought he would also like a family, one of his own making. His lips curved at the thought. His sons would be better cardplayers than Philip; he had no doubt about that. His daughters, too. Sophie would see to it.

“My husband’s brother, Lord Stowe, is in town at present, as well. Are you acquainted with Stowe yet?”

Jack’s polite expression felt as stiff as a mask. If he had been about to propose marriage to Lucinda, he would have to receive her guardian’s blessing. But he wasn’t about to propose, and he had no interest in speaking to Lord Stowe. “I am not.”

“Stowe is very fond of my Lucinda,” the countess went on. “He treats her quite as if she were his own child! I’m sure I couldn’t ask for a better guardian for her, since her own dear father is no longer here.”

“I’m delighted to hear it,” he replied. He glanced around the room, determined to change the subject. “My man Percy tells me you have had no complaints this Season with the house.”

“Oh no,” she said at once. “This house suits us very well. It is too small to hold a ball, of course, but your own mother—­such a kind lady!—­has offered to host one in Lucinda’s honor.” She gave a little peal of laughter. “But naturally you must know all about it, since it will be held in your very own home!”

There was no doubt in Jack’s mind that his mother had been actively scheming with Lady Stowe to make that ball a betrothal ball for him and Lucinda. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “My mother does not always keep me appraised of her plans, and I rarely attend balls.”

She paused, her expression turning sharp and frustrated for a brief moment before she smiled again. “I hope you will make an exception to attend this one. It would mean so much to Lucinda, and to your mother, I imagine.”

He tipped his head. “Perhaps.” He’d attend that ball only with Sophie on his arm, as his duchess. Otherwise, a regiment of soldiers couldn’t make him walk through those doors.

Lady Stowe pursed her lips. “Where is Lucinda? Normally she is so punctual, Your Grace.” She reached for the bell rope and gave a hard yank. “I’m sure she’ll be so distressed to have kept you waiting.”

The door flew open then to reveal Lucinda, pink cheeked and flustered. She hurried into the room and almost stumbled into a curtsy. “Your Grace, Mother,” she murmured breathlessly.

“There you are at last, dear. Come, ring for refreshments for His Grace,” said her mother, patting the seat next to her.

“Actually,” said Jack as Lucinda flushed at her mother’s criticism, “I wonder if Lady Lucinda would care to take a turn about the square with me. It’s a very fine day out, and I confess I long to feel the sun.”

Lady Stowe blinked, then let out another peal of her tittering laughter. “Why, that’s a splendid idea! It’s been ever so rainy lately, a breath of fresh air would be delightful. I fancy a turn about the square as well—­”

Jack cleared his throat, and she stopped speaking at once. “If I may, Lady Stowe, I have something particular to discuss with Lucinda and wonder if we might speak alone.”

The countess shot a look of triumph at her daughter. “Of course, Your Grace.”

But Jack was watching Lucinda, to see if she shared her mother’s delight. If she did, he couldn’t tell; Lucinda’s expression didn’t change, for better or for worse. Since he’d seen ladies’ faces brighten simply at the sight of him approaching, he took this as a positive sign. If she’d been waiting eagerly for his proposal, as his mother claimed, he would expect to see some indication of gratification. Instead, Lucinda continued looking slightly nervous, fidgeting with a ribbon on her dress.

When she caught him watching her, she dropped the ribbon and blushed. “Yes, Your Grace. That would be lovely.” She curtsied again.

Lady Stowe swept out into the hall, where the butler was waiting. “Lady Lucinda will be walking out, Wilkes,” she told him before turning back to Jack. “I will have refreshments waiting when you return.”

He sincerely hoped there was no reason for him to come back into the house. If Lucinda broke down weeping and he had to escort her back to her mother, it would be awful. He turned to Lucinda, who was tying her bonnet ribbons, and offered his arm. “Shall we, Lady Lucinda?”

They strolled across the street to the large central garden, through a gate in the iron railing. Directly across from them stood Gunter’s Tea Shop, with a cluster of carriages sitting under the shade of the trees nearby and more people sitting on the benches in the park. Jack steered Lucinda toward a quieter part of the square, wanting a little privacy. “Have you been enjoying your Season?” he asked politely.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Lucinda was a tall girl, as slender as a reed with a mop of wild red curls. Or rather, she’d had wild red curls as a child; today her hair was scraped back from her face into a braided knot, now hidden beneath her bonnet.

“Very good.” They walked in silence for a moment. “I asked you to walk with me because I have something of a delicate nature to discuss with you,” Jack said.

“No,” she blurted out.

Jack stopped in surprise. “I beg your pardon.”

Lucinda flushed deep pink. “My mother told me what you are going to ask, and as honored as I am, I must decline.”

“Must you?” he murmured, his mind racing.

She released his arm and took a step away, wringing her hands. “I must. I know you made a promise, and you have been so very generous and good to me and my mother since Papa drowned, but I am afraid I absolutely cannot marry you.”

“Ah.” He was so relieved he felt dazed. “Cannot?”

Her mouth opened in dismay. “Oh—­I meant I don’t want to!”

Jack began to smile. She looked so horrified and then embarrassed as awareness of what she’d said sank in. Yet it was beyond anything he’d hoped to hear from her, and in spite of himself he began to laugh.

“Oh please.” Lady Lucinda was the color of milk, clutching her hands to her stomach as if she would be sick. “Please forgive me—­I ought not to have been so rude. Please, Your Grace, let me explain—­”

He recovered enough to speak. “Set your mind at ease. I am not offended. Quite the contrary, as it happens. That was the matter I wished to discuss with you”—­she made a low moan of anxiety—­“but your answer does not surprise me.”

Her eyes darted from side to side. “It doesn’t?”

He shook his head. “I gather our mothers have been plotting a match between us, entirely without my knowledge. I presume your mother spoke to you about it.”

“Well.” She bit her lip hard. “Yes . . .”

By which Jack guessed Lady Stowe had talked of little else this Season. “Did she never ask your opinion of the matter?”

Lucinda blushed bright pink. “No,” she whispered.

“Then there is really nothing more to explain.” He offered his arm again. “Shall we enjoy the rest of our walk? It really is a fine day out.”

She goggled at him for a moment, then slowly put her hand back on his arm. “You’re not angry?”

“I suppose it’s somewhat lowering to be told a woman absolutely doesn’t want to marry me, but I am not angry.” Vastly relieved, in fact.

Lucinda’s brow knit, and for a moment she looked to be thinking very hard. “I don’t suppose you actually wanted to marry me. Mama said you had given your word to do so, but that was years ago, and I can’t imagine you knew what you were promising.”

“I gave my very solemn vow to look after you and your mother,” he replied. “I shall not break that promise. As for marriage . . . It would be unconscionable for any man to swear to marry a girl who was too young to have any say in the matter. You were scarcely eleven years old.”

Her fingers twitched on his arm. “When my papa died.”

“Yes.”

She was quiet for a moment. “You never promised to marry me, then.”

“No,” he admitted.

Lucinda exhaled loudly. “Thank goodness! Oh, Your Grace, that is such a relief to hear. My mother told me it was my duty to accept you, so that you could keep your vow—­vows being vitally important to gentlemen—­and I’ve been dreading your call for so long! When you left town a few weeks ago, I even began to hope you wouldn’t return this Season at all, and I wouldn’t have to do anything about it.”

A few weeks ago he’d left town with Sophie. A small smile crossed his face. “I considered not returning at all.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” said Lucinda frankly. “Every day my mother has reminded me that it’s my destiny to be a duchess, and all I could think was how terrible that sounded.”

“Why?” This was far more entertaining than expected.

She wrinkled her nose. “First, a duchess is so proper! I should dread everyone watching me to see what I wear and how I behave. It’s bad enough when my mother does it. And then you’re so old—­” She froze, her eyes widening. “Oh dear—­oh no—­”

Jack was losing his battle with laughter. To her he must appear ancient, even though little more than a dozen years separated them. “No, no, I quite understand. Go on.”

“I meant so much older than I,” she said, her face cherry red. “Very kind, of course, and so good to Mama and me, but . . .” She bit her lip before rushing on. “But the most important reason is that if I become a duchess, I shan’t be able to go to Egypt, and that is my fondest wish in the world.”

He wondered why she thought a duchess couldn’t travel, but let it go. “Lady Lucinda, you have astonished and delighted me. Shall we get some ices, and you can tell me why Egypt is your heart’s desire?” Still blushing, she agreed, and he escorted her to a bench near Gunter’s and hailed a waiter who had just served several ladies in a carriage nearby. He ordered some lavender ices, at Lucinda’s eager request, and said a prayer of thanks that Gunter’s was one of the few places he could be seen with a lady and not be presumed to be courting her.

It turned out Lucinda had got her hands on some volumes of Description de L’Egypte, the observations and pictures created by Napoleon’s army in Egypt. She convinced her mother it was to improve her mastery of French and pored over every inch of them. Lucinda was entranced, especially by the Egyptian writing, which she described as artful little drawings.

“What do they mean?” Jack asked as they ate.

“No one knows! I wish I had been able to study Greek or Latin and have some chance at deciphering them.” Lucinda could hardly sit still, she was so animated. “But the country sounds so exotic, so foreign and so beautiful. It’s my dream to travel there, to see the monuments and the wide expanse of sand, barren of trees or other greenery. Can you imagine anything so magnificent here in England, where it rains so often?”

Since his week at Alwyn House with Sophie, Jack had been feeling much more fond of rain. “I cannot.”

She spooned the last of her ice and set down the dish. “I don’t think I shall be able to go until I am twenty-­one. My mother will never let me leave before I’m of age. Her only thoughts are of hairstyles and fashion and how well I can embroider, and no one cares about any of that. But Egypt is like a new world, only very old, and so full of mystery and treasure. There is nothing in England like it.”

“Undoubtedly that is true.” Jack nodded to a hovering waiter, who rushed forward to take their empty dishes. “What shall you tell your mother?”

Lucinda scuffed her toe in the grass. “She would never approve of my traveling to Egypt.”

“Are you certain? It’s quite the thing, now that the war is over. Travel is much safer, as well. I daresay you could go, eventually, if you put your mind to it.”

“Do you really think so?”

He smiled. “I would never underestimate a woman with a plan.”

Lucinda brightened. “That’s so! She’s told me I don’t need to know much beyond keeping household accounts and planning menus, but I want to know so much more. It is so frustrating to feel ignorant. Perhaps I could travel with a scholar and help fund his explorations in exchange for lessons. Do you think anyone would agree to that?”

“The scholars I have known are always eager to find someone to fund their expeditions.” Jack knew Lucinda was heiress to a sizable fortune. She would certainly have the funds when she came of age.

“That’s it, then!” She beamed at him as they strolled back toward her home. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she added shyly. “I cannot tell you how vastly relieved I am. It’s been weighing on me for weeks what I should do, but now I feel so much more hopeful.”

Jack felt bloody pleased himself. Lucinda didn’t want to marry him, and she’d saved him from having to tell her that he didn’t want marry her, either. “I quite agree. Your mother won’t scold you, will she?”

Lucinda made a face. Her anxious air had vanished completely. “Of course she will. She scolds about everything. But I am determined, and since I’ve already given you my firm answer, there’s nothing she can say. I plan to study everything I can find on Egypt and leave her to fretting about fashion and gossip. I want to do something with my life.”

“I hope you do,” he told her honestly. “Will you write to me when you are a famous explorer in Egypt?”

She laughed. “Of course! I shall send you an artifact, too, if I discover any.”

“Very kind of you.” He winked and raised her hand for a kiss. She really was a charming girl, now that she’d got over her dread of having to marry him. “Until later, Lady Lucinda.”

She curtsied politely, but her smile was infectious. “Until later, Your Grace.”

He waited until she ran up the steps and back into the house, touching the brim of his hat when she waved once in farewell. Her mother would be unhappy—­as would his—­but Lucinda’s happiness was more important. He made a note to send her some lithographs and travel diaries from Egypt, and mounted his horse.

His happiness was also more important than his mother’s disappointment. It was time to choose a ring for Sophie.