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Chapter One

London, 1814

"Now, if you gentlemen do not object, I shall be off to celebrate my winnings and mourn my losses before any of us fully sobers up."

Lord Harry Montague rose unsteadily from the green baize table as he spoke, stuffing a wrinkled wad of pound notes into the pocket of his rumpled coat made of blue superfine. He looked up, and was mildly surprised to see that daylight was leaking in around the edges of the heavy curtains covering the windows. How long had he been playing faro? He remembered sitting down at the table at 9 p.m. with a bottle of claret, long since emptied and replaced by several others.

He flagged a sullen porter shuffling by, who was holding a tray and placing empty glasses on it.

"My good man, have you any idea of the time?"

"It';s gone past ten o';clock, milord."

"In the morning?"

The porter looked at him as though he was daft, and nodded.

"Have we really played faro all night?" said Harry to his companions. He carefully placed his tall beaver hat on his sandy blond hair, cut fashionably short, a la Brutus, so as not to overly jostle his head, which was beginning to ache from all the wine he';d imbibed.

"Along with hazard, whist and a host of other games that we all lost at, except for you, you lucky scoundrel," said the Honorable John Vernon-Wentworth, Harry';s best, and some would say only, friend among the limited circle of London aristocracy. "You';ve had equal luck at cards and throwing dice tonight, my dear fellow. I assume you';ve been at it all night. You certainly outlasted Penroy and Davis. The rest of us joined in later in the evening as they were leaving."

"Don';t flatter him, Wentworth," said Wilcox in an irritable tone, "or the great Lord Harry Montague will become even more insufferable. Besides, Charles Fox, God rest his Whiggish soul, still holds the record when it comes to all-night gaming. He gambled across the street at Brooks once from eight in the evening till three the next afternoon, and then proceeded to the House of Commons to deliver a lengthy speech on the Thirty-Nine Articles. After which, I believe he came back here for a late dinner and then on to White';s for more gaming. I daresay Montague couldn';t improve on his stamina."

"And I';ll wager he can," chimed in a young buck with bloodshot eyes and an impressive pedigree.

"Let';s get the betting book, shall we?" another young peer added eagerly. "I';ll lay twenty to one odds that Montague can gamble another twelve hours, at the very least."

"Hold, my young friends," said Harry, buttoning his finely tailored coat. "Save your wager for another time. I plan to take my winnings and retreat to the privacy of my rooms in Pickering Place. I';ll have you know it is quite fatiguing to be a man of leisure; I have two routs and a ball to attend this evening. Perhaps I shall return to the club later. But now I must rest an hour or two, and scold my valet. The ruffian sadly creased my cravat in all the wrong places as I dressed last evening, and the sorry state of my neckwear has almost crushed my spirits. ‘Tis a wonder I could play at all."

With as much dignity as he could muster with a spinning head, Lord Harry headed out the door of Brooks and onto St. James Street. He winced at the bright morning light, and tried to focus his eyes, which felt as if they had all the sands of Brighton Beach in them.

The street was a blur of activity; carts and drays rumbled on the cobblestones as carriages jostled them in an effort to pass. Harry saw mostly tradesmen serving the exclusive shops; it was still too early for the dandies and Bond Street loungers to be promenading, much less taking their place in the bow windows of their clubs, from which they could observe and judge all passers-by.

The busy morning din hurt his ears, which were still accustomed to the relative hush of his club and the gaming table. Yet one sound made him stop and pause. What was that sad whimper? He looked down and saw a dog sidle along a stone pillar and weave through the rungs of an iron railing. The creature stopped long enough to look up at him, and Harry';s mind registered the image of a skinny yellow cur, surely no more than 20 pounds, its ribs showing beneath dull, patchy fur, with a wary face that featured mournful brown eyes and a long snout tapering into a wet black nose. The dog gave him one hopeful look, almost in spite of itself, Harry thought, before lowering its head in resignation and preparing to slink away. In that one instant that its head was raised, Harry saw the remnants of what must have been once a fluffy white marking like a scarf circling the dog';s neck.

Harry, who was seldom innocently amused, almost hurt himself with a smile that cracked the corners of his dry mouth. "Brummel would certainly approve of you, little dog. Your white neckerchief could be quite pleasing, were it clean. Still, I daresay it looks much better than my cravat, thanks to my sausage-fingered valet."

The dog uttered another whimper in response, prompting Lord Harry to bend down in an attempt to pat its head. As Harry started his descent he suddenly felt a bit dizzy and fumbled his cane, which fell to the pavement with a clatter. The dog took off like a shot from a blunderbuss, right into the busy traffic of St. James.

Harry watched helplessly as the dog scrabbled over the cobblestones. The malnourished canine was certain to get crushed under all the carriage wheels.

Harry wasn';t sure what prompted his next move. Perhaps it was the memory of the beloved dog he had as a boy. Or, it was possible the dog';s bedraggled and unloved state was too near Harry';s own for Harry to remain unmoved.

Whatever the reason, Harry acted on an unfamiliar impulse to help another creature in need, and without pausing to consider the consequences to his person, much less his coat, Harry abandoned his fallen Malacca-tipped cane and ran out into the street after the dog, holding up his hand and shouting for the traffic to stop.

An ear-blistering chorus of Anglo-Saxon swear words assailed him as coachmen pulled their reins and cart drivers leaned into their horses to get them to stop. Harry dove for the dog and scooped up the pathetic bundle of bones, in the process getting bumped, bruised and even more roundly cursed at.

Together man and dog fell back on the relative safety of the pavement. Harry paused and panted to catch his breath as the dog trembled in his arms, its heart beating a frantic tattoo against Harry';s chest. Then Harry, at last realizing he';d risked his life for a mere canine, hoisted the dog up to eye level and let out a string of his own Anglo-Saxon-isms.

"That is certainly no way for a gentleman, much less a future peer of the realm to express himself in broad daylight on a public thoroughfare," a familiar voice interrupted his tirade. "Imagine my chagrin at discovering it is my own flesh and blood that blisters the family name with such foul language."

With a sinking in his stomach, Harry lowered the dog and turned around. "And a glorious good morning to you too, Father. What brings you to London on this fine summer day? I thought you safely ensconced in the crumbling family Hall in Surrey."

"I';ve been attending to estate business, something you know little about and care for even less," retorted the Marquess of Merlton. "What are you doing abroad at this hour of the morning? Judging by your disheveled appearance, the smell of claret that clings to your clothes and your red-rimmed eyes I would feel safe in assuming you were not attending an early service at St. Paul';s Cathedral."

"No, quite the opposite, sir. I was conducting business of my own at my club. And quite successful I was in my endeavors, I might add. Afterwards, in a stunning act of heroism unrivalled by Wellington himself, I rescued this noble animal you see before you."

Merlton frowned. "Put that disgusting stray down in the gutter. You demean yourself."

"Oh, I disagree. I intend to adopt this haggard little fellow. I';ll name him Atlas, for he looks as though he carries the weight of the world on his scrawny shoulders." Harry squinted at the dog, swaying a little as he spoke, which caused his father to narrow his eyes. "Damme, if it isn';t a remarkable likeness!"

Harry let out a hearty laugh, punctuated by a hiccough.

"I cannot begin to tell you how much you disappoint me. My younger son, a useless dandy. A fop, a gambler and a wastrel. And if I';ve been informed correctly, a heartless womanizer, indeed, a rake."

"Are you quite sure you';ve left nothing out?" murmured Harry. " Perhaps it';s been put about that I steal from the poor box, or torture insects."

"Dare you laugh at me, sirrah?"

"I do when you are being ridiculous, my lord."

The two men';s eyes met in a cold, hard stare of mutual dislike. The marquess broke the stalemate.

"I will not engage in a vulgar exchange on St. James Street. I am on my way to White';s. Meet me there. We have much to discuss."

"I am afraid that won';t be possible." Harry affected an exaggerated yawn. "I';m off to my rooms in Pickering Place. I have a busy evening ahead of me. Even wastrels have to rest some time."

"Pickering Place," said the Marquess, stroking his chin. "A somewhat unsavory location, is it not?"

"You would probably agree it is quite appropriate for me."

Merlton seemed to have made up his mind about something. Despite his protective envelope of alcohol, Harry felt the first faint prickles of unease, wondering what was in his father';s mind.

"Go to your bed and get some sleep," said the marquess. "I will be by to collect you at 3."

"For what purpose?"

"It';s past time we had a serious chat, my boy. You wouldn';t deny me that, would you? After all, I am your father."

"So you do acknowledge our kinship. The situation must be grave indeed. All right, Father, I will see you at 3. I must be back by 8 if I am to make my social engagements. And I warn you, I shall be ravenous by the time you come for me, as I shall not have had any luncheon. I shall expect you to provide me with a good meal and a bottle of wine. If I have to listen to a lecture, I at least deserve to be well compensated for my pains."

"Don';t concern yourself, son. You may be sure you will get exactly what you deserve."

* * *

It seemed to Harry that he had just fallen into a fitful sleep when a sharp rapping on his door awoke him.

"The devil take it, Harry, you';re not asleep, are you?"

Lord Harry recognized the old marquess';s voice, and oddly, the sound of his father';s ivory-tipped cane on the oaken door. From his bed he made a laconic response, fully aware it would irritate his sire.

"How could I be, with such a racket going on?"

"Present yourself at once. I will not wait upon a sluggard." Harry could hear the disgust dripping from the words. "I shall be in my carriage. If you do not appear in ten minutes, I will send my tiger to assist you."

At the sound of his father';s departing footsteps outside the door, Harry moved to swing his legs out of bed. He jumped when they hit something solid and fur-covered. He let out a yelp, which was echoed from the direction of his feet.

"What in the Devil';s name--?"

He was greeted by a bewhiskered, inquiring face.

"Oh, it';s you. What did I name you? Atlas? Yes, that';s it. I see you made short work of those sausages I bought at the butcher';s on our way back to my rooms this morning."

The dog licked his lips, eliciting a laugh from Harry. "So, you will be my friend as long as I feed you, is that it? Well, I';ve made friends on worse terms."

Harry looked around, which was a mistake, for the movement made his head pound.

"I don';t suppose you';ve seen my man, Savage, have you?" He addressed the dog as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "He should have been here by now. Savage, where are you hiding, man? I need you to help me with this mongrel. I';m far too irresponsible to care for a dog myself."

There was no answer, so Harry forced himself to explore further. What he saw made him stop in shock. The drawers of his bureau were turned out, and his wardrobe was ransacked. He whistled.

"By Jove, the scoundrel has cleaned me out." With the dog trailing behind him, Harry knelt down to search through his things, which were scattered on the floor. After several minutes of careful sorting he stopped.

"Well, Atlas, it looks as though I';m missing a diamond stickpin and the buckles on my best evening shoes."

He sat back on his heels. "I never did quite trust him, you know," he addressed the dog thoughtfully. "I haven';t had a decent valet since Jenkins betrayed me by going to America to work for Phelps."

He shrugged. "Savage is no great loss, of course. He was simply terrible with a cravat, and I shuddered every time he sharpened the razor to shave me. But the agency vowed he would be the last man they would send. How dare they accuse me of mistreating my valets when they send me such scurvy fellows? If I ever catch up with this one I shall see him clapped in irons. I am almost of a mind to call the Runners."

His long fingers lightly scratched the dog';s rump, eliciting an enthusiastic tail wagging. "And indeed I would call the Runners, if the diamonds weren';t pawned long ago and replaced with paste replicas."

The dog started to pant. "I suppose you';re hungry again, as I should be, though to be honest I';m feeling a bit queasy. Still," he reached for a discarded cheese bun, wrapped in a piece of linen on the table. "You may have this if you';d like. I confess I do not know how old it is, nor do I remember its origin."

He crumpled the bun and the dog wolfed it down. "I see you possess yet another admirable trait, a calm and cheerful acceptance of whatever fortune brings. Egad, I have half a mind to keep you." The dog wagged its tail. "But that is out of the question, of course."

As he spoke he pulled on his pantaloons, buttoned his waistcoat and adjusted his jacket. "It';s a pity you cannot help me with these boots," he said, tugging on a pair of tight Hessians. He tied a cravat around his neck and brushed his hair. Feeling the stubble on his chin, he knew he didn';t have time to shave.

"I';m sure I look a right fool but that';s what the marquess deserves for rushing me through my dressing ritual." He grabbed his tall beaver hat. "I';ll be back, little dog, after I';ve appeased the old man, and then we';ll decide what to do with you. Perhaps you would amuse one of the young bloods down at the club. I';ll inquire tonight. You certainly cannot stay with me, for your own sake. You would probably fare better back on the streets of London."

He opened the door, and the dog moved forward to follow him. "I said you have to stay here." The dog remained standing by the door, obstinate. Harry sighed. "I suppose you have to heed the call of nature. Well, that';s it, then. My brief guardianship must now come to an end. You can follow me outside and gain your freedom."

Waning afternoon light greeted his eyes when he stepped out into Pickering Place. His father';s carriage was unmistakable with the family crest on the door. The coachman jumped down from his perch and opened the carriage door for him with a slight bow, which Harry acknowledged with a nod.

"Well, Father, where are we headed? I warn you, the longer the lecture, the more courses I';ll require of the meal."

"You can eat on the road. We';re headed for Surrey. Merlton Hall, to be exact"

"That';s a sorry jest. I told you I have engagements to keep this evening."

"Not any longer. Get in."

At the marquess'; command the dog, which had been following Harry closely after making a brief detour to the base of a nearby lamppost, leapt with a single bound into the carriage. Harry burst out with a guffaw of laughter.

"Capital fellow! I see he knows how to deal with you, Father. Why, I believe I must keep him after all."

"Get that mongrel out of my carriage at once," the marquess sputtered.

"If I must go, so must Atlas. I absolutely insist, Father. It';s the smallest boon you can grant me, after forcing me to absent myself from all my planned festivities tonight. Of course, if you want Atlas to go, then I shall have to depart with him. He follows me everywhere, apparently."

The marquess spoke in an angry hiss. "I do not have the patience for any more foolishness. We are bound to attract attention if this goes on much longer." The marquess glanced down on the floor of his carriage, where the dog had curled itself into a tight ball. Harry had the impression Atlas was trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible.

"I will ignore the animal," said the marquess, "for I am sure he will prove to be less trouble on this trip than you. If this sorry specimen is still with us when we get to Merlton he can join the hounds out in the stable. Now, for God';s sake get in, or I will instruct my coachman to toss you in forcibly."

Surprised at his sire';s determination, Harry jumped in and sat on the squab cushions opposite his father. The dog looked up at him with adoration in his liquid brown eyes before resettling his small furry body at his feet.

"I still believe this trip of yours is all a hum," said Harry once they were underway. "Our destination is most likely some nearby inn."

"I assure you I am not joking. In Surrey at least you will not incur any additional debt. I am weary of seeing estate assets drained through your reckless gambling and ruinous spending. So unlike your dear brother Gervais--"

"Yes, yes, I know. The sainted Earl of Lexington, currently on protracted tour of newly liberated Europe, I believe. I am also fairly sure that you and he are not on the best of terms, unless that situation has changed without my being aware of it."

"Do not mock me, Harry. My quarrel with Gervais has to do with his complete disinterest in running the estate or begetting heirs. He';s a fine one to have your lands entailed upon! But you, sirrah, seem to do nothing but deplete our estate by gambling, and become embroiled in one scandal after another. I have thought of cutting off your funds, but I believe you would only go farther into debt, and I have no desire to see our distinguished family name dragged through debtor';s prison."

The marquess held his stomach, causing Harry to speculate that the old marquess was experiencing one of his bouts of dyspepsia. No doubt he would claim his sons were giving him indigestion. Merlton recovered himself, and continued.

"No, as I see it, you have two courses of action open to you: learn to be responsible, or at least not spend our money as though it were water flowing out of the pump, or if you prefer, I';ll buy you a commission in the Army. Be aware it will not be a comfortable post: no Royal Household Troops or Guards barracked in London. I';ll make sure you';re with Wellington himself, on the Peninsula, on patrol, sleeping on the ground and hunting your food. Of course, there';s always the clergy, but somehow I do not think the Church of England would have any more use for you than I do at present."

The marquess gave a mirthless chuckle. "It would be funny if it were not so serious."

"This is outrageous. You cannot just abduct me on a London street in the middle of the afternoon, and hie us both off to the country."

The marquess adjusted his caped greatcoat with dignity. "I can do as I please. I am a peer of England, and more to the point, I am your father."

"And an unnatural one at that. I refuse to bury myself in Surrey. What will I do there? Expire from boredom? Court the local village virgins?"

"Do not be offensive, boy. Our Surrey maidens would be marked improvement over the London doxies you favor."

"Careful, my lord," said Harry, ice in his voice. "You may be my father, but I will not allow you to insult me, or my friends."

"Friends, ha! You have no friends, just people who would exploit you. If there was just some way I could persuade you to do the duty you owe your name..."

"Marry a suitable female of your choosing, no doubt." Harry folded his arms tightly in front of him, pressing the buttons of his coat into his chest. "With a sizable dowry. Isn';t that what you have in mind, my lord? Father, are you listening to me?"

But Merlton looked lost in thought. "You have given me an excellent idea, son."

"And you have worsened what was already a monstrous headache. Stop this carriage and allow me to go back to my rooms. To pack at least." Harry felt the dog sleeping on his feet. "And attend to a few unexpected loose ends."

The marquess appeared unmoved. "Whoever your loose end is, I am persuaded she can look after herself. And we can always send someone for your things. I';ll make an arrangement to do so when we stop."

"You are very sure of yourself, Father."

"Naturally. Especially when I know I am right. And even more so now, when I have just conceived the most brilliant idea, which could be the answer to my prayers."

The marquess sat up, his face brightening, as his words began to tumble over themselves.

"You see, at last I have found a use for you, Harry. Your time in Surrey need not be wasted. There is something you can do that will greatly benefit the family, and make me almost glad I sired you. I came to London because the estate is in trouble. Our investments have been faltering. But now I see how you can remedy the situation."

"I can? How do you propose I do that? As you may recall, I was sent down from Oxford, and as you yourself noted earlier, my chief talents lay not in the realm of business."

"No, you are a rake and a gambler, and well-known for seducing women. I suppose that means the opposite sex finds you charming, though I cannot see it myself."

"Thank you."

"Once you even persuaded a woman to marry you, though you abandoned her at the altar. Another proud moment for the family."

Harry started to speak, but his father held his hand up to silence him.

"But by Jove, now you finally have a chance to redeem yourself. You should fall on your knees and thank me, boy. The squire next to our estates has a marriageable daughter. He is a wealthy widower and she is his only child. If you marry her, her father will undoubtedly bestow a large dowry on her, and in addition our lands can be joined. It is the perfect solution to our problems. And it was your idea."

Harry leaned forward insolently and clapped his hands.

"Congratulations, Father, you have outdone yourself. Never have I heard a more ridiculous notion, and I number among my acquaintances quite a few lackwits. Allow me to humor you for a moment. Do I even know this woman who you have destined to be my future bride?"

The marquess brushed the question aside as if it were irrelevant. "I suppose that is possible. The fellow';s name is Culpepper, and his daughter is Prudence. Yes, that';s right, Prudence Culpepper. Not a great beauty as I recall, but she will not injure your eyes, either."

Prudence Culpepper. The name resonated faintly. Harry racked his brain to recall her face. If he had known her, it would have been a long time ago. When Harry left home to go up to school, he had never looked back. Even after being sent down from school, he went to London, not Surrey, to celebrate his release from the grind of academia.

He seemed to remember a shy, mousy sort of girl who was forever picking flowers in the woods. Devoted to her father, or so he remembered, and active in the village, visiting the poor, helping the vicar';s wife, that sort of thing. With a name like Prudence, could he expect her to be otherwise?

He could not imagine someone more diametrically opposed to the type of woman he was attracted to. His father had to be dicked in the nob, to use the vulgar expression.

Harry sank lower in his seat, deeper against the squabs. He was well aware the marquess held the upper hand. If his father chose to cut off his funding, Harry would have a rough time enjoying the pleasures and diversions of London. And the truth was, those very pleasures and diversions were beginning to pall. Nothing had really been the same since the scandalous incident with Lady Rosalinda a few years back, when he ignominiously got cold feet--as well as truly foxed--and left her standing at the altar of St. George';s in Hanover Square. The fact that he had sailed all the way to Boston to try to win her back, only to lose her once again to a prig like Simon Phelps, only made matters worse.

So perhaps he could do worse than rusticate in the country for a while, especially if it pacified the marquess. He would be back to his London haunts and hells soon enough. Let the old man think he';d won for the time being.

But no matter what pressure his father brought to bear, there';d be the devil to pay before he would ever allow himself to be leg-shackled for life to one such as Prudence Culpepper. If he could not have Lady Rosalinda, he';d be damned before he';d settle for a countrified milk-and-water miss.

And tipping his hat forward on his head, Harry settled back and let his father';s strictures flow over him like a spring rain shower during a Hyde Park stroll. Let the old man ramble on. He couldn';t force Harry to do anything against his will. At Harry';s feet, the contented dog started to snore, despite the jostling of the carriage.

At Lord Harry';s insistence, he and his father stopped at the Falcon, an inn outside of London, for something to eat. They shared a silent meal of a joint of beef, bread, cheese and ale inside the taproom. The dog crouched under the table at Harry';s feet and begged with his eyes, so Harry slipped him some beef. As he ate his meal and drank weak ale from the pewter tankard, Harry couldn';t help but notice that his father seemed enormously pleased with himself.

After the meal Harry approached the innkeeper, who was behind the bar, wiping out the pewter tankards with a greasy-looking cloth.

"My good man, I find myself in dire need of an attendant, someone who will go back to my rooms in London to fetch my things and meet me in Merlton Hall in Surrey. If I like him, I may retain him as my valet. Do you know of anyone I could entrust with such a mission?"

The innkeeper stopped twisting the towel inside the tankard. Harry saw the flash of hope in his eyes, followed by an assessing stare.

"And just how long would you be needing this man, my lord?"

"That would depend entirely on his honesty, diligence, and knack for tying cravats. Why, do you know someone who would be interested in the job?"

"Well, as to that, I don';t know if he';s interested, but I know I am. It';s my wife';s brother. He';s been with us for four months now, ever since his tour with the Army ended. He came back from the Peninsula with a bad leg and he';s been helping out around here ever since."

"And you';d like to rid yourself of him. Now I wonder, why would I want to employ him?"

"You';ll never find a more honest or earnest fellow, my lord." The innkeeper banged the pewter vessel on the bar for emphasis. "It';s just that my wife, she';s been fussing over him, cooking him special meals, doing extra work, and--"

"And largely neglecting you," finished Harry. "Yes, I believe I understand. Well, he sounds as if he could do. He cannot be any worse than some of the other servants I';ve endured, and God knows I haven';t anything valuable left in my rooms to worry about. Are you quite sure his injured leg won';t present any obstacles, such as carrying bundles or climbing stairs?"

"Oh no, he can do all of that. He';s just not as fast as he was. A French bullet has clipped his wings a bit. But you';ll never find a better-humored chap."

"Any chance I can interview this paragon? Though I am unfortunately in a hurry."

"My wife sent him into town, but he should be back in an hour or so."

"Then I shall have to hire him sight unseen. I will hold you responsible for him, however, and you can be sure I shall inform you, and all your customers, should he prove unsatisfactory. Give me a moment to write some instructions for him, along with my London address and where to find our Hall. Tell him I expect him to leave at once for London. And ask him if he knows anything about tending to stray dogs."

The innkeeper looked puzzled, but clearly didn';t want to voice any objections that might result in his brother-in-law';s continued presence at the inn.

"Yes, my lord, I will deliver your instructions. He can take the mail coach and reach London by this evening. He shall not fail you. I guarantee it."

"Good. And what is his name, so I shall know whom to expect at Merlton Hall?"

"Bumble, my lord, Timothy Bumble."

The marquess got up from the table and gestured impatiently.

"Are you ready to leave, son?"

"I will meet you at the carriage. I am just making arrangements for my belongings in London to be collected. "

The marquess harrumphed. "Quite so. Your stay in Surrey may be an extended one."

Harry decided to allow the old man to think he had won this battle. But if the marquess thought his younger son was an easily vanquished foe, he was in for an unpleasant surprise.

Chapter Two

"Prudence, pray make haste! Something is wrong with Cromwell."

Prudence put down her basket and hurried to the stables to be with her father. When she arrived, she found him kneeling on the straw beside a panting dog.

"What is it, Father?"

Squire William Culpepper was in distress. "He';s my best hound, and he';s limping. I fear he';s broken something."

Prudence knelt down beside her father and lifted the dog';s legs, one at a time, until she touched the dog';s back left paw. Cromwell yelped and licked her hand. With infinite gentleness she lifted his paw into the light and carefully examined the cracked pink pads that cushioned his feet.

"Why, here is the problem, Father. Cromwell has a thorn embedded deep in the connecting tissue between his toes. If you hold his head I will try to extract it."

Such was the deftness of Prudence';s touch that she had the offending prickle out before the dog could react. The dog licked her hand in gratitude as her father blustered his appreciation of her skill.

"It';s a right wonder you are with animals, Prudence, and that';s a fact. Cromwell is my best tracker, and I';d be lost on a hunt without him. Indeed," he added gruffly, "I';d be lost without you, my gel. Ever since your mother died you have taken such good care of me, and the household. I owe you a debt of gratitude. I shall miss you so when you are gone."

Her father';s rueful tone and air of impending loss raised the first stirrings of unease in Prudence.

"Nonsense, Father. I am not going anywhere. It is I who am grateful, for your loving fatherly care. You know I am very happy here."

Squire Culpepper cleared his throat. "You are a beautiful young woman, Prudence, and I have selfishly kept you here when I should have allowed you to venture out into Society. My only defense is that I was so lost after your mother died."

Prudence saw a flash of the familiar look of grief in her father';s eyes. Then he recollected himself, patting the head of his beagle.

"Still, it was inexcusable for me to deny you the opportunity to find a suitable young man who will appreciate your virtues and offer marriage. I hope to remedy that omission soon."

The budding unease Prudence felt earlier blossomed into alarm. "I am in no hurry to marry, Father. My place is here with you."

The squire smiled. "You are the best, and most dutiful of daughters. But I cannot allow you to sacrifice yourself this way. Indeed I will not."

Prudence reached for his hand, having to detach it first from the top of Cromwell';s head. "Now, Father, what has put this notion into your head?"

"I had a visit from our neighbor, the marquess. He admires you greatly, and believes you would make a dutiful wife for his younger son, Lord Harry. It would be a perfect union--our estates would be joined, you would have a title, and best of all, you would live close by, and I could see you often. If I have to lose you, daughter, this seems like the best plan. And I admit I find the prospect of grandchildren most appealing. I will teach them to hunt when they are old enough, and present them with their first hounds."

Prudence could see her father had given the matter much thought. To be fair, she could see the advantages of the plan from his perspective. But marry Lord Harry Montague? Even Prudence, rusticating in the country, had heard stories of the handsome, rakish Lord Harry. While still a child he gained the reputation as a mischievous lad, always pulling pranks and earning the disapprobation of his strict sire. And how could she forget the day he pushed her in the stream?

Aside from the occasional teasing and tormenting, though, Harry never really took much notice of Prudence. Indeed, the whole time they were children he only had eyes for Lady Rosalinda, the Duke of Wallingford';s daughter. There was no way Prudence, the daughter of a country squire, could compete with the beautiful and titled Lady Rosalinda. Prudence felt completely overshadowed by Rosalinda. Indeed, for all the notice Harry or his friend Simon Phelps took of her when Rosalinda was around, Prudence might as well have been invisible.

Prudence had a secret fondness for the wild Harry, and for a time she had been quite devastated by his almost complete disregard of her. But when she heard of Harry';s disreputable behavior in London, and particularly the way he had left Rosalinda at the altar, she told herself she was truly better off without him.

And now her father wanted her to marry Harry, apparently with the marquess';s blessing. Prudence couldn';t help but wonder what Harry thought of this plan, or if he even remembered her. Her head swirled with doubts. In spite of herself she found the idea of marrying her old childhood playmate both disturbing and exciting.

The squire cleared his throat. "Of course, Prudence, I would not coerce you into any marriage you did not want. I am too fond a parent for that. But I remember your beloved mother, and how much she dreamed of your marrying one day. She and I always believed marriage and family are a woman';s surest route to happiness on this earth, and I do want you to be happy, my dear."

"I do not doubt you, Father. It is just that at the age of three-and-twenty I thought I was already on the shelf. Indeed, I would almost say I was quite resigned to my fate, until I met.... But that';s another matter, which has nothing to do with this."

She looked down, adjusting her skirts and wishing she hadn';t said anything. She wasn';t ready to discuss Lieutenant Franklin with her overprotective father. But fortunately he was so intent on selling her on the prospect of marrying Harry that he didn';t seem to notice her little slip-up.

She cleared her throat and plunged back into the conversation. "Indeed, Father, to hear this talk of marriage, and to Lord Harry Montague of all people, is somewhat of a shock. He has been seen escorting the most beautiful women in London. And you must know he has a reputation as a heartless rake."

The squire gave an indulgent chuckle. "They do say reformed rakes make the best husbands, daughter. And if anyone has sufficient virtue to reform a rake, it is undoubtedly you."

Prudence laughed, too, a little weakly, and stood up, brushing straw off her skirt.

"You have a very flattering opinion of my abilities. But now that I think on it, I am afraid our discussion may be premature. We should see if the marquess is serious about this scheme, and what Harry decides to do, before squandering any precious time worrying about it."

The squire shook his head. "I have never known the marquess to make frivolous suggestions. I recollect the time we met in the village, and he said he had a mind to buy one of my mares, for breeding purposes. The next day his land agent came to the manor with a generous offer, and the deal was done."

Prudence just stared at her father, and then burst into a reluctant laugh. "Think, Father. That story is hardly flattering to me."

A deep red suffused the squire';s already ruddy complexion. "Of course, I did not mean to draw any comparison between you and my mare."

"Of course not, but there it is. The marquess must think of me along the same lines as a breeder. Oh well, I refuse to let myself get too flummoxed. Somehow I doubt Harry will come to the Culpepper Manor to pay his addresses. His requirements in a wife must surely exclude me, no matter what property I bring to the union."

Prudence stopped, and gave the tail-wagging Cromwell a final pat.

"But if I am mistaken, and Lord Harry does make me an offer, I suppose I shall have to decide if it is wise to trade a life of unmarried contentment for the tempests that are sure to accompany marriage to a rake."

* * *

Harry spent the second night in his father';s house downing two bottles of claret as he sat up late in the library, staring at the fire. He could tell by his father';s pursed lips that the marquess disapproved of a fire being laid in August, no matter how unseasonably chill the weather. So this was what his life was to be like--being treated like a child, unable to give a servant a simple command without his father';s permission? It was almost too depressing to contemplate as he drank and watched the glowing embers burn.

The dog at least appreciated the unseasonable treat. Atlas lay at Harry';s feet by the hearth, its skinny body absorbing the warmth. Not that the dog would be anywhere else. Ever since Atlas had jumped into the marquess';s carriage on the busy London street he had stuck to Harry';s side like a barnacle to a man o';war. Even in the inn where they had broken their journey the dog had refused to leave Harry';s side, much to the consternation of the innkeeper.

Smiling at the memory, Harry';s eyes drooped to a close, and the wineglass he was holding slipped from his slackened grip and fell with a thud to the carpet.

Harry woke up with a throbbing headache, jarred by the sound of cheerful whistling. His neck was stiff from his having fallen asleep in his chair. Opening one eye, he saw a small, rotund man with balding hair kneeling beside him, pressing a cloth to the carpet.

"Stop that infernal racket! And just who the devil are you?"

The man stood up, brushing dust off his breeches. "Timothy Bumble, sir. I';m just removing a small stain. I think I have most of it. I found the glass you dropped. Most fortunately most of the liquid was gone."

Harry thought he must have been hallucinating. He stared at him blankly.

"You engaged me through my brother-in-law at the Falcon Inn two days ago," the man explained patiently. "I';ve been to London to collect your things, as per your instructions."

"Ah, yes, Bumble." Harry relaxed. "Did you find everything at my lodgings?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And the landlord?"

Bumble coughed discreetly. "Never knew I was there."

Harry nodded his approval, though he found it painful to move any muscle in his head. "Good man. I';ll settle with the landlord later."

"My lord?"

"What is it?"

"Here in your chamber this morning I discovered an animal in your rooms. A dog, most likely a mongrel. I didn';t know whether to shoo him out, or allow him to stay. Observe if you will, my lord, he is even now curled at your feet, almost as if he is occupying that space with your permission. I was not sure if it was my place to remove him, under the circumstances. I did not want to disoblige you, or overreach my bounds, on this my very first day in your employ."

Harry moved his foot experimentally, and he prodded a small ribcage with the tip of his boot.

"It appears I have a dog. As I recall, his name is Atlas. You will see to it that he is fed and let outside regularly."

"Yes, my lord. I will take the animal to the kitchen, straight away."

Bumble reached down and attempted to pick up the dog. Atlas raised his head and snapped at him.

"My lord, I do not believe the animal wishes to leave just yet."

"Nonsense. He must be hungry. And even more to the point, soon he undoubtedly will have to relieve himself. I do not care for that to happen in my chamber. Just pick him up and take him--he';s pathetically light."

Bumble made another move in the dog';s direction and was met with a low growl.

"My lord, I do not think it safe for me to go near this animal. He showed me his teeth! Perhaps you should call the gameskeeper."

Harry sighed, and got out of the chair, willing the pain in his head to subside. As he stood, stretching, the dog got up, too, and stretched his legs. Then he sat at Harry';s feet, looking up at him adoringly. Harry bent down and scooped the unresisting animal into his arms.

"I suppose I shall have to take care of the creature myself. Go down to the kitchens and bring up some bacon, or some sort of meat for the animal. Cook should have some scraps lying around."

"Certainly my lord. I shall go to the kitchens at once. The housemaids already know you have a dog. One of them saw it climb the stairs last night, and apparently she almost fainted dead away. Thought it was a ghost, silly girl. So Mrs. Beasley, the housekeeper, had to come out, and tell her not to be such a pea goose. Mrs. Beasley said a dog wasn';t much different than a cat, and there';s already a cat what sleeps near the stove. Cook dotes on it, she does, and gives it fish head stew whenever she has the fish. Mrs. Beasley said she';d been wanting a cat to keep mice out of the pantry, and my wasn';t this a cute little fellow, all dressed up like a clergyman, or perhaps a fine gentleman, in his black and white suit. She';s taken to calling it Harper, after the local curate."

Harry';s headache was intensifying, listening to Bumble';s long-winded accounts. He began to understand more thoroughly why the innkeeper was so eager to get rid of him. Harry was tempted to send the garrulous little man on his way as well. But Harry was still without a valet, and he';d be damned before he would ask one of his father';s servants to attend him.

Harry stopped the flow of Bumble';s prattle with a curt question.

"Have you had any experience as valet, Bumble?"

"I was a batman in the army to Captain Granger, who was a baronet. I kept my captain shaved, his gear clean and orderly, and his uniform pressed. I even starched his neck cloths when I could, just the way he liked them, even though we often camped in the most dismal conditions on the Spanish Peninsula."

"Well then, consider yourself my valet for the time being. Leave me now, and in two hours come back to attend to me. I have a notion to take a ride on the estate, if my headache will allow it."

"Yes, my lord. And I';ll have your clothes laid out for dinner. The butler told me the neighboring squire and his daughter are coming to dine, and your father wants you dressed in your best clothes, with an attitude to match, or so he said, according to the butler."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You listen to far too much gossip, and repeat more than is prudent."

"Yes, my lord, thank you."

"That wasn';t a compliment."

"But Captain Granger told me that was why he employed me. He said I could pry information out of a dead man, and make the man wish he could die all over again, just so I would leave him in peace."

The little man puffed his chest out with pride.

Harry laughed again, despite the effect on his aching head. "I can see you are an Original, Bumble, and quite determined never to recognize an insult. I wonder if I shall not soon find myself in agreement with your Captain Granger."

"Yes, my lord. Is there anything else?"

"Just one question. Why aren';t you still with Granger? I understood that an officer';s batman usually goes with him into civilian life. Did you talk the poor fellow to death?"

"No, my lord." Bumble';s round face crumpled. "He died at Waterloo."

Harry could count on the slender fingers of one of his own hands the number of times he was ashamed of something he said, and this was one of them. But his aristocratic upbringing and his own pride would not allow him to apologize to a servant.

"That will be all, Bumble."

When his new valet left the room, Harry considered lying back down on his bed in an attempt to court more sleep. But Atlas';s restless circling convinced him that he had better take the dog out before he did anything else. It wasn';t until the dog was fed, and distracted by chewing a ham hock Cook supplied, that Harry was able to put his plan for a morning ride into action.

A brisk ride on his stallion through the softly rolling hills did clear his mind, making his headache almost disappear. Feeling better, he galloped his horse through the countryside, finally stopping at a stream to let the animal take some water.

Dismounting, Harry sat on the stream bank, and looked up through a leafy canopy as the summer sun climbed to its midday position. He was reminded of his boyhood, and the few happy times he had that weren';t overshadowed by his father';s rigid discipline. The sun, which had been absent for several cloudy days, warmed his face. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to fall into a light doze.

Meanwhile, Prudence was making her way down the stream bank, collecting herbs. The horse had wandered beyond the next bend, and she didn';t see Harry, asleep and motionless a few yards up from her position by the stream.

Prudence spied a willow tree growing at the water';s edge. She needed a bit of its bark, so effective at treating headaches. There was a strip of peeling bark on the far side of the trunk, facing the stream. Not wishing to get her feet wet, she leaned precariously forward, bending at the waist, hoping to grasp the bit of bark that protruded from the tree.

Oh, botheration! It was just beyond her reach. She took another step forward, snapping a twig with her boot.

Harry woke with a start and a yell.

"Who';s there?"

Startled, Prudence lost her balance. With a little scream she fell forward and plopped right into the stream.

Fortunately the water was only waist-high, but it was enough to get her and her dress thoroughly wet. Standing, she grabbed her skirts and scrambled up the bank. Her gown was dripping with water, so she tried to shake some of it off much the same way Cromwell would have if he had fallen into the stream. In the process she dislodged the pins holding her hair up, and long, sopping curls cascaded down her face.

She was a mess. She turned, and saw Lord Harry Montague standing on the bank behind her.

For a moment she was utterly speechless, and nearly breathless as well. Oh, how handsome he had grown! Standing there, his blond hair and athletic figure outlined in the sunlight against the leafy green trees, he looked like a modern-day Greek god. Though she hadn';t seen him in years, she knew him in an instant.

She wanted to rush up to him, but an uncharacteristic shyness held her back. Or maybe it was the weight of her damp clothes. She experienced a gamut of emotions, unsure of what to say to him.

And then he laughed, no doubt at her bedraggled appearance. And that got her words flowing.

"Oh!" she sputtered. "I cannot believe it. You pushed me into the stream again. And the very same stream!"

Harry was taken aback by her breathless accusation.

"Who are you? And why do you address me so familiarly?"

It was painfully obvious he didn';t recognize her at all. She was reminded forcibly of how invisible she used to feel around him. And that stung.

It also didn';t improve Prudence';s embarrassment and indignation to notice how much he apparently appreciated the fact that her wet clothing had become nearly transparent. She covered her bosom with her arms.

As she pulled a wet, dank lock of hair out of her eyes, she decided not to enlighten him for the moment. Or answer his questions. Instead she countered with a question of her own.

"Do you enjoy startling innocent maidens on their rambles through the countryside, so that they lose their footing and plunge into streams?"

Harry grinned in response. "Not usually. I generally reside in town, where there is a scarcity of country maidens and streams for them to plunge into."

This surprised a laugh from Prudence. He smiled more broadly in return, and she marveled at how it transformed his face, and the way his blue eyes matched the cloudless sky. Once again she had to catch her breath.

"You seem unscathed," he said, raking her body with his gaze. Prudence was once again uncomfortably aware that her wet muslin gown was clinging to her figure.

"It';s not the first time I';ve been in this stream."

"Is that so? How interesting. Are you employed at one of the local houses?"

Did she really look like a servant, just because her clothes weren';t in the latest mode, or her hair fashionably arranged? What a snob he must be!

"I come from Culpepper Manor."

"You don';t say. How very providential. Is that not the same Culpepper Manor where the squire and his daughter live?"

"Do you have business with them, my lord?"

"Don';t be pert. And what makes you assume I am a nobleman?"

Prudence thought fast. "It is your riding clothes, my lord. I know all the gentlemen in the county, and none of them have anything quite so fine."

"Ah. Well, yes, I am Lord Harry Montague, of Merlton Hall."

Prudence strove hard to look impressed.

"It';s been quite some time since I have been here. What can you tell me about your mistress? I used to know Miss Prudence, but it has been many years. She wasn';t anything out of the ordinary way, as I recall. In fact, I cannot recall her at all. She has grown up, one would assume."

He frowned, as if trying to picture a grown-up version of a girl he could barely remember. Then he recollected himself, and gave Prudence another blinding smile.

"Oh yes, my lord." Prudence struggled to keep her temper in check. "She is quite grown up."

"Ah, but surely the mistress is not as pretty as the maid." He lightly traced the line of her chin with his finger. Prudence felt a thrill travel from her face, where his finger made contact with her cheek, all the way to her toes, and making everything in her body between those two points feel like it was catching fire. Even though she was indignant at his presumption, Prudence found she still couldn';t pull away from his touch.

"I understand she has not wed," Harry went on, in a caressing tone. "Is she much courted?"

"Why do you wish to know?" Prudence put down her dripping basket and wrung out her handkerchief, more to distract herself than anything else.

"I am just curious. If I meet her socially, I want to avoid any awkwardness that might ensue from my being away for so long. I wouldn';t want to embarrass her, especially if she is unused to society."

Prudence creased her brow to simulate deep thought.

"I wouldn';t say she is entirely without admirers. Farmers from this and even the neighboring shires do appreciate the value of a woman who can slaughter a pig in the morning and have it roasted and laid out on the table for that evening';s supper."

Harry drew back, jolted by her description.

"Slaughter a pig?"

"Certainly. Anyone can handle a chicken; it takes a woman of unusual strength to handle a 400-pound sow."

"So I would imagine. What other talents does Miss Culpepper possess?"

Prudence thought for another moment. Then inspiration struck her.

"Well, she has a whistle that can bring her father';s pack of hounds right out of the field and back to the stables, anytime she pleases. It';s so piercing it gets all the roosters going, and makes the hens scatter. And she can handle a team of draft horses like nothing you can imagine. Many';s the day during plowing season when the squire has to let the farmhands take the day off because Prudence has finished the job for them."

Prudence had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the look of dismay on Harry';s face.

"It sounds as though our Prudence has developed a wealth of special attributes. Is she as comely as she is talented in other areas?"

There was hope in his voice. Prudence decided to dash it.

She cast her eyes downward. "I cannot speak for a gentleman, of course, but I have heard her compared to a breeding mare, which I can only assume makes her a desirable marriage prospect."

Harry looked like he had just swallowed a dose of castor oil, his lips thinning in distaste.

"Indeed. Well, thank you...er..."

"Betty," Prudence supplied helpfully.

"I am glad we had this chance to meet. Our discussion has been very helpful, since I am due to meet with Miss Prudence shortly. At least now I shall be prepared, thanks to you."

He softened his voice, and held her chin again for a moment. "It is my misfortune that in this case the servant cannot exchange places with her mistress."

Prudence felt her cheeks fill with warmth, and knew she was blushing furiously. She backed away, and he caught her hands, delaying her.

"Indeed, my lord," she said, breathless. "Though as I remember once hearing my mistress say, ‘there are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'; Or some such thing."

Harry frowned. He recognized that as a quote from Hamlet. He had just seen a production of the play a few months ago in London. Could a woman who slaughtered pigs and plowed fields have the delicacy to quote Shakespeare? Betty must be mistaken--she must have heard it from the vicar, or even the squire. But how charming of her to repeat what she';d heard, almost as if she had read it herself.

"Betty--"

"I must go, my lord. They will miss me back at home. And I must get out of these wet clothes. Besides, it would not do for you to be seen talking to me--it could ruin my reputation!"

Despite her words, he noticed she didn';t seem to be in a great hurry; she favored him with a saucy smile and a wink.

Harry realized he was having more fun than he';d had in weeks. Betty was surprisingly comely, a most delicious womanly morsel, and she engaged him with her wit in a way that rivaled the most cultivated London beauties of his acquaintance. He found he did not want this dalliance to end.

"Come, Betty, do not be so cruel. Must it be my fate to never see you again? I do not believe I could bear it."

Still holding her hands, he pulled her to him. She looked surprised, but she did not resist.

"Would you not miss me, too?" he murmured, coming closer. "Just a little, perhaps?"

When his mouth was less than an inch from hers, he paused, using all his self-control. Meeting no objections, he gently lowered his mouth onto hers.

For one long glorious moment, they kissed. Harry could no longer help himself, and he pulled her into his arms to deepen their kiss. He tried to part her luscious full lips with his. At first she complied, then she pulled back suddenly, breaking their embrace.

"My lord! How dare you!"

"Come now, Betty, you enjoyed it as much as I!"

"But you were just inquiring about Miss Prudence!"

Harry laughed. "That was business, Betty. With you, it is pure pleasure."

Betty';s eyes widened, and then she did something most unexpected. She slapped him.

It didn';t hurt. And certainly he had been slapped before. But this was no teasing blow from a coquette. This was the slap of an outraged woman.

"Betty, don';t be angry. I didn';t mean any harm. You do not have to leave so soon. At least tell me when we can next meet, for I shall be desolate if I cannot see you again."

But the serving girl had picked up her basket, and was wiping her eyes. Whether she was crying or why, Harry couldn';t discern.

"I am sure you exaggerate, my lord. But do not despair. I am confident we will meet again, and when you least expect it." Holding her sodden skirt away from her body, she turned and ran as fast as she could in the direction of Culpepper Manor.

Harry watched her trim figure cut a speedy swath through the grassy bank, feeling much better. Betty couldn';t really be upset with him. She must be playing the coquette. In his experience, women usually capitulated to his unfailing charm.

Whistling, he walked over to his grazing horse, placed a booted foot in the stirrup and swung back up on the saddle. However things worked out between his father and himself concerning the Culpepper chit, at least he knew where he could find some amusement. And it was right here in Surrey.

He was in no hurry to return to the Hall, so he took a much longer ride, stopping in the village for a pint and meal. The sun was low on the horizon when he got back to Merlton. Bumble was waiting for him in his chamber, wringing his hands. Rushing forward to greet him, Atlas wagged his tail so hard at the sight of his master that the little dog';s whole body gyrated.

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," said Bumble. "The marquess has been asking after you. He expects you in the drawing room in twenty minutes time. And just look at your clothes, my lord, covered in road dirt! However can we be ready in only twenty minutes?"

"Do not fret so," said Harry with a drawl. "The squire can wait. And so can my father. I am not accustomed to hurrying for anyone. And I will not allow you to scrimp in preparing either my wardrobe or my person."

Bumble clucked with his tongue, and set to work as quickly as possible. He kept up a steady stream of chatter as he assisted Harry with a wash and shave, while Atlas barked and circled in excitement. Bumble';s conversation continued unabated as he helped Harry into his clothes.

"I have been told that this is a most important evening for you, and indeed Merlton tonight, my lord. Cook says if all goes well we could be hearing wedding bells soon. I have not been to a wedding in quite some time, since my sister got married to that innkeeper you met. Now, there is a marriage made in hell, if you';ll pardon my bluntness, my lord. You should see what my poor dear sister has to put up with..."

Harry let Bumble';s words pour over him like the warm water that bathed his face before his shave. Glancing down, Harry was pleased to see Atlas had finally settled at his feet. It was rather nice having a faithful companion. None of his friends, and not even his most ardent lovers, had ever evinced quite so much pleasure and excitement when he walked into a room.

He wondered if Betty would like his little dog. Perhaps he could contrive a way to show it to her. Most women, in his experience, had a special affection for furry creatures. And that affection was often transferred to the creature';s owners.

Atlas could go a long way to cementing Harry in Betty';s good graces. And once that was achieved, who knows where it would lead? He certainly knew where he would like it to lead. Harry let his thoughts drift in that pleasant direction, as Bumble changed from one topic to another.

"--and the Cook is quite pleased with the cat I mentioned, my lord, and says he is an excellent mouser, just what she was looking for. She is relieved Atlas has shown little inclination to chase it. That dog is too concerned with watching your every move, if I may say so. Never have I seen an animal show such devotion. And Cook agrees with me, though the poor dear was quite run off her feet, she was, preparing tonight';s meal. There will be three removes, and more courses than I can remember. She promised to save me some food in the larder."

"It seems Cook has formed a tendre for you, Bumble. Or is it the other way around?"

The valet had the grace to blush. "I';ve always been a fool for good food, well-prepared. I think it was all my years in the army. Eating whatever I could scrounge. And the best of that went to my captain."

"I';ll not come between you and Cook," promised Harry. "I';ve just recently discovered how delightful household staff can be, if you catch my meaning. Particularly the female staff."

"Indeed my lord," said Bumble in shocked tones. "I do hope you are not speaking of the staff at Merlton Hall."

"No of course not. But I did meet a delightful wench today, a girl who works at Culpepper Manor. Perhaps you know of her? Her name is Betty."

"Oh no, that will never do!" exclaimed Bumble, in tones of great distress. "You must not think of any other woman, not now. Everyone knows Miss Prudence is being brought here tonight especially for you, as your potential bride."

"Do you dare chastise me?" said Harry, in his haughtiest tone of voice.

"Only when necessary," said Bumble, in a surprised tone of voice. "As your valet, I am empowered to tell you the truth, as I see it. That';s what Captain Granger taught me."

"Damn Captain Granger." Harry flicked Bumble';s fingers away from their task of straightening his lapels. Then he saw the hurt in Bumble';s eyes, and softened his tone. "It won';t do you any good to try and change me, you know. I am a hardened rake."

With that Harry extracted the snowy linen from Bumble';s hands, and wrapped it around his own neck, nimbly tying a perfect "Oriental" knot.

"If you wish to remain in my employ, you must accept that I am not a paragon, much less a hero, like your Captain Granger evidently was."

"Yes, my lord."

Harry sighed. "You may take the rest of the evening off. I can put myself to bed later. But first, an interminable dinner awaits."

As Harry wound his way down the curving staircase, lightly gripping the elaborately carved oaken banister, he found his thoughts returning to earlier in the day, when he was dallying with Betty by the stream. How he wished he could enjoy the sweet company of a dainty lass like her tonight, instead of having to endure the formidable Miss Prudence Culpepper!

Once downstairs he could hear his father';s voice speaking, no doubt, to his guests. Harry sighed, and he crossed the marble hall floor towards the drawing room.

"That must be my tardy son now," said the marquess. "Harry, come here and allow me to introduce you to the Squire Culpepper and his delightful daughter, Prudence."

Harry pasted a practiced smile on his face and headed into the room. Then he froze.

Standing there, next to a stout man with a welcoming smile was a sylph-like vision in white. Her lustrous chestnut-colored hair, shapely bosom, and clear hazel eyes struck him like an unexpected blow. He noticed two rosy spots of high color in her creamy cheeks, as she defiantly met his startled gaze.

"Is something amiss, Harry?" said the marquess. "You are unusually quiet."

"Pray excuse him," said Prudence. "I believe he is recollecting that we have indeed met before, under much less formal circumstances. Are you not, my lord?"

Then Harry, well-known in London circles for his polish, sophistication and smooth address, did something most unexpected.

"Your name is Betty," he blurted out before he could stop himself. "Prudence is a big woman, who can slaughter pigs and drive a team of plow horses. Dash it all, I have you pegged as Betty, not Prudence Culpepper!"

Chapter Three

The squire';s face was a study in outrage, and the marquess looked at him as though he had lost his mind.

"You must excuse Lord Harry," said Prudence. "I am afraid this is my doing. We met earlier today, by the stream, and when I realized he did not remember me from childhood, I invented an alias."

The squire gave a hearty guffaw.

"Bamboozled him, didn';t you, my girl? I am not surprised; we Culpeppers are a crafty lot. But perhaps you shouldn';t have used your wits to unsaddle poor Lord Harry. See how you have upset him."

"Indeed, I am sorry, but I vow he did deserve it," said Prudence, opening her fan and wafting it vigorously in front of her flushed face. "He was quizzing me about Prudence, without the least regard of her--my--feelings in the matter."

"Is this true, boy?" said the marquess with a scowl.

"It was an inquiry, not an interrogation," said Harry, doing his best to muster a smile. "Besides, I was prolonging the jest. I knew you were Prudence all along."

"Gammon," said Prudence, with a strained laugh. "If you had only seen the look on your face when you entered the room! Faith, you looked as though you were gazing upon some unearthly apparition."

The marquess and the squire laughed along with her, as Harry burned with humiliation. He did not relish being made fun of--not in London, and certainly not in his own house. Men who played such tricks on him in town found themselves at the sharp end of his sword. But since Prudence was a woman, he would have to find some other way to avenge himself.

He offered her his arm. "Shall we go into dinner?"

"Ho now, boy, I must claim the privilege of escorting Miss Prudence into the dining room," said the marquess.

"I persuaded myself you would not mind, Father. But perhaps we should defy convention and allow Miss Prudence to choose which arm she';d rather take?"

Prudence blushed prettily and looked from one man to the other as if she could not decide. Looking on, the squire smiled fondly at his daughter. With a bow and a charming smile, Harry graciously ceded the honor to his father, allowing the marquess to lead the way into the dining room with Prudence on his arm.

Let the old man be the victor for now, thought Harry. He could afford to be generous because he was determined it was the last time the marquess would get his way concerning Lord Harry Montague and Prudence Culpepper.

* * *

The squire had a hearty appetite, and since the marquess was set on assuaging it, supper consisted of three courses and lasted a couple of hours. Harry tried to avoid looking at Prudence, but he found himself drawn to her again and again. She seemed intent on avoiding him as well, looking down at her plate whenever he caught her eye. Yet, when he let his attention wander elsewhere, he felt her looking at him. It was as if they were a pair of magnets, helplessly attracted to each other.

Since there were no ladies to accompany Prudence into the drawing room, the marquess decided to forego the men';s traditional port after the meal. The squire and Prudence took an early leave, citing their concerns with traveling on a moonless night, even though the distance was not far.

After a cordial goodbye at the door, Harry was ready for the evening to end. But his father had other ideas.

"Meet me in the library," he told Harry. "I';ll have the butler bring us our port there."

"Must we, Father? I would prefer to retire."

"Now, Harry, I suspect that in Town you never retire till the sun is peeking over the chimney pots. Do not try to oppose me. Come along. We have much to discuss."

Seething with resentment, Harry followed his father into the oak paneled study.

"So, son, " said the marquess, settling himself on the leather settee. "What did you think of the lovely Prudence?"

Harry shrugged, striving to appear casual while stronger emotions burned in his breast. "She is comely enough, I';ll grant you, but I do not trust her. She is much too frivolous in her manner. And she is but the daughter of the local squire. Frankly, Father, I am surprised you would entertain the notion of my joining our name to hers for even a moment."

"I had no idea you were such a snob, Harry. Well, it';s true she is no duke';s daughter, but then you had such an opportunity once if I am not mistaken and you let it go. And then there';s the problem of your reputation."

The squire paused to light a cheroot with his tinderbox.

"Regrettably, some ladies are drawn to rakes, but their fathers take a different view. You may be unaware how unpopular you are with fathers, Harry, but I am not."

"If I am such an anathema, why is the squire willing to give me his daughter?"

"Because he realizes the advantages of such a union to his family and our mutual holdings. He also rarely goes to Town, and doesn';t hear much of your exploits. What he does hear, he';s inclined to dismiss. He';s rather naïve, which is all in your favor."

"I am sorry to hear you have such a low opinion of me, Father. But I will not leg-shackle myself to Prudence Culpepper just because you tell me to."

The marquess frowned. "You mistake me, boy. I am not suggesting you offer for Prudence Culpepper. I am ordering you to. It';s all been arranged between the squire and myself. You can have no idea how much this will benefit the estate. Besides, the marriage will mark a singular event--it will be the first worthwhile thing you';ve done in your entire life."

"And if I refuse to offer for her?"

"Then I shall cut you off without a penny. You are not the heir, and you have no entailments."

"I do not have to endure this sort of treatment from you, Father. I am a man, and no one tells me what to do."

The marquess shrugged. "Do as you please. There';s always His Majesty';s Army, or the Royal Navy. But don';t expect me to buy you a commission. You will be on your own."

He sipped his port. "Think it over. I am sure you will see reason. Offering for Prudence Culpepper is the sensible thing to do."

"And if she refuses me?"

The marquess laughed. "You must be jesting. She will gladly accept your offer. The squire has guaranteed it. You need have no fear on that score."

* * *

At the same moment the marquess was laying down the law with his son, Prudence and her father were having a similar conversation.

"So, daughter, what is your opinion of Lord Harry, now that he is back in residence at Merlton Hall?" prompted the squire.

"Much the same as it has always been, Papa," Prudence answered sweetly. "Lord Harry Montague is a rag-mannered coxcomb, and by all accounts a rake as well. His sort should be forced to wear a sign around their necks, warning impressionable females to stay away."

The squire laughed uneasily. "Is that not a bit harsh?"

"I do not think so. If anything I am being too kind. You should have seen him earlier today, when we met at the stream bank and he thought I was a servant at the Manor. He was only too ready to accept that Prudence Culpepper was a most unattractive female, with habits that would embarrass a fishmonger';s wife. It was evident he did not recall me at all from childhood, though we grew up within a stone';s throw from each other. He was much too high and mighty to notice me. So now, I shall not deign to notice him."

"Ah, I perceive your vanity has been pricked." The squire nodded sagely.

"It is more than vanity," said Prudence, stung by her father';s assessment. "I am describing a serious character flaw. Besides, you should have seen how he treated me when he thought I was Betty, the serving girl. He was most shockingly free in his manner." Prudence decided not to tell her father about Harry';s kiss--the experience was still too confusing for her to describe.

"Oh, well, if that';s all it is, then there is nothing to be concerned about. Of course he was free in his manner to you as a serving girl--you were there on your own, which could be construed as provocative behavior, as I have often warned you, and, well, men will be tempted in situations like that."

Prudence opened her mouth to object, but the squire shook his head, forestalling her.

"No, daughter, I do not doubt that Lord Harry has his flaws. But flaws can be fixed, especially by a loving and dutiful wife. You should have seen me before your mother reformed my character."

"But that';s not the same thing at all!" Prudence protested. "Mother loved you, as you loved her."

The squire scratched his chin in thought.

"Well now, that';s not exactly the way it happened. We really didn';t know each other all that well before we were betrothed. Oh, I had no objections to her. But I would have to say that love, on both our parts, came after we made a life together."

Prudence was rendered speechless for a moment by her father';s stunning revelation. She remembered her parents as a most devoted couple, very affectionate, and her father was clearly devastated by his wife';s death.

Why was her father telling her this--was it just to allay her doubts about Harry, or had he indeed married her mother without love? Could she have been so naïve about her parents'; marriage all these years?

She pushed the troublesome thoughts aside to concentrate on the point of the discussion.

"Well, I do have an objection to Harry, and grave doubts concerning his character. And I doubt love could ever grow where such doubts persist."

"Now, Prudence, let us not be hasty. Your womanly scruples do you credit. But to be plain, Prudence, you have not been besieged by marriage offers. You have already discouraged the few men who have shown any interest in you."

Prudence was incredulous. "Are you talking about Farmer Henley, who is fifty if he';s a day?"

"Best pig farmer in the county." The squire set his jaw stubbornly.

"And perhaps you are also referring to the local curate," added Prudence, bitterness in her tone. "He held quite a high opinion of himself. He spoke of heavenly salvation as though the only means I could attain it were through him."

"I admit I did not relish the thought of him as a son-in-law. That';s why I said nothing when you turned him away. But Prudence, Lord Harry is a different matter. He is the son of a marquess."

Prudence took a deep breath in the darkened carriage, summoning her courage to continue with the most important point she wanted to make.

"Surely, Father, knowing how I feel, you will not press me to accept an offer of marriage from Harry. Especially when my affections are engaged elsewhere."

The squire started to bluster. "I hope you are not referring to that slippery fellow, the havey-cavey lieutenant that has been hanging around Culpepper Manor."

"Father, you mustn';t talk that way. Lt. Franklin is a brave hero."

Prudence felt warm just thinking about him. She recalled the snippets of poetry he recited, along with the pretty compliments he had paid her--so unlike the bold attention Harry had given "Betty." Harry had left her feeling breathless, confused and tingling in the most unfamiliar places in her body. In that way he was so unlike her dear lieutenant, who inspired only the purest romantic feeling in her breast. Indeed, Lt. Franklin was romance personified, much like Lord Byron, with his dark hair, brooding countenance and flashing eyes.

Though it had been only two weeks ago that she met him while shopping in the village, she felt they had a deep connection. He had such speaking glances, and was so very dashing. He was unlike anyone she had ever met, and when he spoke he focused so completely on her that she felt as though she was the only person in the world.

She glimpsed a melancholy in his black eyes that thrillingly suggested a Byronic Hero, straight out of Childe Harold';s Pilgrimage or The Corsair, both books she had read and her father would no doubt have disapproved of, if he knew of them. Prudence was not surprised that the squire disliked the lieutenant; she knew that dark, brooding heroes were often misunderstood.

Her father unwittingly mocked her thoughts. "A brave hero who left the army after six months. Claims he was injured but I see no sign of it. Must have nicked his little finger on his bayonet. I think he seeks his fortune through other means--marrying rich men';s daughters."

"That';s a despicable thing to say." Her voice trembled.

"Oh, pray do not turn into a watering pot. I won';t say another word about your precious lieutenant. But do think a moment, my dear. When you marry Harry you will be Lady Harry Montague. And someday your son will be the next marquess."

"Harry does have an older brother, Father."

"Pshaw. I';ve known Gervais since his boyhood. He';s shown no inclination to oblige his father by doing his duty, nor any bent towards marriage, for that matter. Mark my words, Gervais will dally around the great capitals of Europe, content to leave the begetting of heirs to his brother."

"Who no doubt already has plenty of practice." Prudence sniffed.

"Prudence! Such commonness does not become you, or the grand lady you will become once you marry Lord Harry. All our Harry needs is a wife to settle him down. And what';s more, when you marry Harry our family';s land holdings will be consolidated with those of Merlton and expanded in the bargain. This union will be a great benefit to both parties, not to mention your future children."

"But what of my feelings, father? What of Harry';s? As you may have noticed, there was nothing lover-like in his address to me tonight at supper. I doubt he appreciated my little masquerade. In truth, I wanted him to be sorry for all the hurtful assumptions he made down by the stream today."

"Lord Harry will do as he is told," declared the squire, with a hint of steel in his voice. "As I expect you to."

"Would you force me to marry against my will, Father?" said Prudence. She asked the question quietly, with great intensity, as the air inside the closed carriage seemed to throb.

The squire sighed heavily. "Of course not. But, Prudence, you have to understand that this turn of events is an unexpected blessing for our family. If you do not see this now, I am confident you will when you are a little older. Right now, you are far too young and emotional to know what';s best for you."

He reached for her hand and patted it reassuringly. "Believe me, daughter, I am urging you to accept Lord Harry for your own good. You have always been an obedient child. I am persuaded that once you fully comprehend the benefits of this marriage you will come around to my point of view. You are very reasonable, for a female, and I rely on your good sense. You must have faith in me, and trust that I am giving you the best possible counsel in this matter."

Prudence had no reply to that. She felt confined, like she couldn';t breathe, and not because of the close quarters in the carriage. It was just like the time she got trapped in an old priest';s hole--she felt as if the walls were closing in on her. Panic rose inside her, threatening to overwhelm her, and she had to work to quell it.

"We shall have to see what transpires," was all she could say. Her father had made it clear she would be expected to assent to any marriage proposal Lord Harry might make. The only glimmer of hope she had lay in what she knew of Harry. He was too much of a proud aristocrat to offer for her. If his father pressed him, he would no doubt simply return to London.

And with that happy thought she was able to relax.

* * *

Two bottles of claret and a bottle of brandy did nothing to improve Lord Harry';s opinion of his father';s marriage scheme. The alcohol did not even make a dent in his equilibrium. He went back to his room in a foul mood.

He flung open the door to see Bumble fussing over his dressing table. Atlas, sleeping in the corner, leapt joyfully to his feet at Harry';s entrance. He licked Harry';s hand, and tugged on his sleeve.

"Not now, Atlas." Harry shrugged off the dog';s attempts at play. Then Harry turned his attention to Bumble, who was clattering jars of hair pomade together with Harry';s grooming and shaving implements.

"I thought I told you to take the night off," Harry said in a growling voice, causing the dog to prick its ears.

"As if I could abandon you in your time of need," said Bumble.

"What are you talking about?" Harry shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it into a corner, deliberately ignoring the pained expression on Bumble';s face. He began unbuttoning his waistcoat.

Bumble laid the silver-handled brushes neatly side by side on the dressing table, and turned to Harry with a worried expression.

"It';s all over the servant';s quarters downstairs. They say the marquess is forcing you to offer for Miss Prudence Culpepper, despite the difference in your stations and your own inclinations. Most everyone thinks it';s devilishly hard for you, except Arnold, the marquess';s valet. His opinion is that you have given the marquess more than enough trouble for one lifetime, and you should do everything you can to oblige your father. But do not be too downcast--his views were definitely in the minority."

"Is that so?"

Harry sat down on the edge of his bed. Atlas quickly jumped up to lay down beside him. Harry rewarded him with a scratch behind his ears before elaborating on his comment to Bumble.

"I cannot begin to tell you what little interest I have in the opinions of the servants regarding my life. I would hope that as my valet you would discourage any such gossip concerning my person."

"Oh, you would not want me to do that, my lord." Bumble widened his eyes in earnest. "Servants know everything, especially in a grand house such as this. They will talk regardless of whether I listen. And if I cut myself off from their gossip, we will lose a valuable source of information."

Harry wondered just when he and Bumble had become a "we."

"You are not doing reconnaissance in Spain for Wellington," said Harry, amused in spite of himself. "This is not a war."

"Begging your pardon, my lord, but it isn';t that far off."

"Oh, really? I fear you';ve been into the wine cellar, Bumble. Your analogy doesn';t make sense."

Bumble set his jaw. "Oh, but I can show you it does, my lord. Bear with me for a moment while I explain."

Harry shrugged. "Why not? I welcome any distraction from my depressing thoughts."

Bumble stood eagerly in front of him. "In this battle you are engaged in with the marquess, from what I understand, there is territory at stake, yes?"

"Well, yes, there is the Culpepper estate, if that is what you mean."

"And your father has taken one position and you have taken an opposing one?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose you could characterize it that way."

"And what are the consequences if you do not give way?"

"Exile. The marquess vows to cut me off without a penny." Harry';s voice was flat.

"And what if you accede to his demands?" Bumble pusher on.

"My home shall be subject to a hostile occupation, in the form of a wife."

"Indeed, my lord. Then the situation is just as I said."

"Devil take it, it is war," said Harry, dumfounded. "But what can be done about it, Bumble?"

"Why, we must develop a winning strategy, my lord."

This time Harry didn';t notice or object to Bumble';s use of "we."

"But there is no way I can win. If I agree to my father';s demands, I shall have to marry Prudence. And if I do not, I shall be penniless. The marquess has quite cleverly boxed me into a corner."

"Has he? I wonder.... Think, my lord, what exactly did he say you must do?"

"Offer for Miss Prudence."

"And that is all? He did not stipulate you had to marry her, did he?"

"No, but if you';re suggesting what I think you are, I have already thought of that. The marquess assured me there is no way she would be inclined to refuse, and I must agree. After all, I am the son of a marquess. The chit would have to be bird-brained to turn me down."

"Not necessarily," said Bumble as he knelt to remove Harry';s shoes.

Harry straightened his spine and looked down at his valet. "I beg your pardon?" His eyes narrowed as he studied his valet';s face. "Just what are you implying, you rogue? Nothing too dishonorable, I trust."

"Of course not. But if, just in theory, Miss Prudence took a strong dislike to you, perhaps she would be disinclined to accept your suit."

"Aha. That';s clever. But regardless of her feelings she will undoubtedly have her father pressing her to accept."

"That';s as may be. But the squire is at heart an indulgent parent, from what I hear. Should his daughter have good, solid reasons to spurn your suit, he will not insist."

"I am not convinced. What of my father? If he discovers I deliberately jinxed matters, he will be furious."

"We would have to be discreet. Subtlety would have to be the order of the day. To give offense under the guise of giving pleasure...not many men could accomplish that. But I believe, my lord, you are capable of it."

"Indeed, I believe I am," said Harry, with no attempt at modesty. "I could use my famous charm in reverse, so to speak."

In a much better humor now, Harry got up and slapped Bumble on the back, making the dog jump off the bed and bark to participate in the fun.

"This is capital," Harry continued. "You have given me an idea, Bumble, that may well save the day. Now I know exactly how to proceed. I shall do my father';s bidding with unbridled enthusiasm. Tomorrow I shall call on Miss Prudence Culpepper and begin my wooing. And by the time I am finished, she will be determined not to have me, and neither she nor I shall be faulted in the least for how events have transpired. Bumble, you have just witnessed genius at work!"

"Yes, my lord. It is both humbling and inspiring."

"You may go now, but wake me early. We have to find some perfectly dreadful clothes for me to wear when I pay my call on Miss Prudence at Culpepper Manor."

And Bumble helped Harry undress and get into bed, knowing with the wisdom that came with years of service that he would be sharply reprimanded on the morrow if he tried to rouse his master before noon.

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