It was unacceptable. He hadn't learned how to bow and dress and act like a trussed-up bobkin just to be dismissed within moments. He tightened his grip on the cane k.n.o.b. "Dahlia, blast you, you know that I would never-"

"Lord Kirk," Lady Charlotte interrupted, her eyes so wide that she looked like a fl.u.s.tered rabbit. "Perhaps we should allow Miss Balfour to retire. I'm certain she's exhausted from her travels." She looked hopefully at Dahlia. "Aren't you?"

Dahlia lifted her chin, her fine gray-blue eyes still frosty, the wide brim of her bonnet framing her heart-shaped face. "Actually, yes. I am very tired from my journey."

"Then you must rest," her grace interceded, sounding relieved. "There are several hours before dinner. A maid should be unpacking your things now should you wish to call for a bath or a light repast."

"Thank you. That's too kind."

Lady Charlotte nodded. "I can't ride in a coach myself without feeling as if someone has beaten me with a broom handle. I'm sure you'll feel better for a hot bath and a nap."

"Thank you." Dahlia curtsied to the d.u.c.h.ess and Lady Charlotte. "You've both been too kind." She then gave Kirk a very shallow, very cold bow. "Good day, my lord."

Without waiting for an answer, she turned on her heel and marched out, the picture of fluffed outrage.

Kirk winced as the door slammed behind her.

The d.u.c.h.ess turned her sharp blue gaze his way. "Well, Kirk? What have you to say for yourself?"

"Yes, you never mentioned you'd already asked Miss Balfour for her hand in marriage," Lady Charlotte added.

"As I said before, she refused me, so I didn't see the need to say anything about it."

The d.u.c.h.ess threw up her hands. "Didn't see the- Good G.o.d, how are Charlotte and I to promote your suit if you keep secrets from us?"

"Horrible secrets," Charlotte echoed. "Did you really say such wretched things during a proposal?"

"They didn't seem wretched at the time. I was trying to explain that, despite her lack of experience with the world and her family's lack of standing, I thought her so superior as to offer for her hand despite all I could hold against her. How is that a wretched thing to say?"

Lady Charlotte shook her head, her lace cap fluttering. "Did you at least tell her that you found her pretty? Intelligent? Interesting?"

"She knew I thought those things or I'd hardly have offered to get leg shackled to begin with."

"Good G.o.d," her grace snapped. "I daresay you didn't even offer the chit a decent ring, did you?"

"I had one that belonged to my mother," he replied stiffly. "It's not very pretty, which I admitted to her. In fact, it's d.a.m.ned ugly-but it was all I had on hand."

Lady Charlotte pinched her nose and shook her head. "Oh dear, oh dear."

"What's wrong with that? It's a family heirloom."

"You poor, poor man. You don't really know, do you?"

"Know what?" he snapped, irritated by the whole situation.

Her grace sighed. "You've much further to go than we thought."

"How much further can I go? Look at me! I'm dressed like a popinjay, my hair has been cut like a d.a.m.ned dandy's, and I've been forced to learn mawkish manners and mealymouthed pleasantries until I can't stand to hear myself speak. And for what? She's not in the room two minutes before she's bringing up the past and telling me in no uncertain terms that she wishes I were to go to Hades. And d.a.m.n it, after all of this, that's where I wish I were, too!"

"You must give it time. Give her time. It appears she has more to recover from than we realized."

Kirk turned and made his way back to the fireplace, where he stared into the flames. "I told you she wouldn't wish to see me, fine clothing or no. She is furious with me, and I don't blame her. The terms of the loan were horrible."

"How did that come to be?"

"I instructed my man of business to write up the loan. It never dawned on me he would write one that was other than fair."

"Ah. And since you never really expected to collect on the loan, you didn't examine the terms first."

"Exactly. I dismissed him once I found out, but by then it was too late-the loan had been signed, and Dahlia viewed it as evidence that I am a man without a conscience."

"What a coil."

"Indeed." Kirk placed a hand against the marble mantel and leaned against it.

"Still . . . I remain hopeful," the d.u.c.h.ess said.

"Then you are more an optimist than I."

"I am more experienced in matters of the heart, Kirk. I have hope for a reason."

His dark gaze turned toward her. "Why? Did you see something?"

"Perhaps." The d.u.c.h.ess bent to pat one of the pugs who was staring up at her with a hopeful expression. "For now at least, perhaps you should leave Miss Balfour to Lady Charlotte and myself."

"You think you can help?"

"It's not in my nature to abandon a potential match merely because there are a few difficulties." She pursed her lips. "However, it is a setback that Charlotte and I didn't know the full of your history"-she fixed a hard gaze on him-"which we should have."

"I've already explained that."

"Humph. Because of that, Miss Balfour was not prepared for our meeting. Had Charlotte and I known the extent of the history behind you, we might have softened that blow, but we were not given that opportunity. There's nothing to be done now but press forward. Now that Dahlia has seen you, she won't be surprised again."

"Yes, but she won't speak to me. She hasn't said a word to me in months until today, and you saw how furious she is." He gave a helpless shrug. "She'll have none of me."

"Things will be different here. Good manners will prevent her from ignoring you when you're with the other guests. Those same good manners will force her to speak to you whenever you are together. That should give you time to mend those broken fences of yours, and perhaps forge newer, pleasanter memories."

Kirk rubbed his neck, feeling a dull ache behind his eyes. All he wanted was to bridge this gulf that had grown between him and Dahlia. Why was it so hard? It seemed that the more he wished for it to happen, the less likely it would be so. He looked at the d.u.c.h.ess. "Tell me the truth: do you think I have a chance?"

She hesitated, but finally said, "Yes, but it won't be easy. There's much to overcome and not much time in which to do it."

He looked down at his hand, clenched about the cane k.n.o.b. Hope. That's all I have. But if there is even the smallest chance . . . He sighed. "Fine. I will do what I can to make it so."

"Excellent. Charlotte and I shall come up with a plot to allow you some time to speak with Miss Balfour. You, meanwhile, will find a compliment or two you can pay that poor girl."

"Oh yes," Lady Charlotte agreed. "You owe her some compliments."

"Flowers, too," her grace added.

"And a poem, if you can find the time to write one."

"A poem?"

Lady Charlotte nodded. "Yes, but not about her eyes. Everyone writes about a woman's eyes, and really, what can be said other than they shine like a lamp or a star or-"

"Hold. I don't write poetry."

"No? That's a pity, for if you were to write a poem about her mouth or her hair or- It would be the very thing, I'm certain of it." Lady Charlotte peeped hopefully at him. "Are you absolutely certain you can't write a poem, even a short one?"

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, no!" Catching the d.u.c.h.ess's suddenly stern gaze, he swallowed a growl. "Tomorrow, after I've some time to think it through, I'll ask MacCreedy to procure some flowers. I'm sure I can think of a compliment or two, as well. But the poetry-d.a.m.n it. It's not in me to write an ode."

"That's a great deal too bad." Lady Charlotte looked mournful.

"You might at least try to write one," her grace said calmly. "Not for tonight, of course. However, there's plenty of time between now and tomorrow's dinner."

His shoulders ached as if every word they'd said were weighing them down. With a sigh, Kirk rubbed a hand over his face. "Good G.o.d, is there to be no end to this?"

"Oh, there will be an end," her grace said, a sharp note in her voice. "Hopefully it will consist of a proposal and a happy acceptance. That is what you wanted, isn't it?"

For one sweet moment, he imagined Dahlia as she'd once been, smiling at him, talking about the last book she'd read, sharing secrets with such open trust- His heart ached at the thought. It's been so long since she's smiled at me. Every day seems a year. "Fine. I'll see what I can do, but don't expect a miracle."

"We won't expect anything except your best effort." The d.u.c.h.ess noted the darkness in Lord Kirk's eyes, and once again she wondered how entangled his heart had become. He was such an enigmatic man that it was difficult to tell. "Have heart, Alasdair. This may be a difficult case, but it is far from hopeless."

His gaze locked with hers and for a moment she thought he might admit his true feelings, but then he muttered something about needing to soak his aching leg, bowed, and limped from the room.

As the door closed behind him, Charlotte blew out her breath in a huge whoosh. "Goodness! That didn't go the way we'd wished."

"No. He was very bad for not telling us all. What a horrid history!"

"They have much to overcome."

"Yes, they do. Both of them, I think."

Charlotte dropped into a chair. "Do you really think there's hope?"

"Yes. I would never waste our time."

"I thought perhaps you were just saying that to be kind."

"There were some positive moments."

"There were?" Charlotte blinked. "When?"

"Miss Balfour had quite a positive reaction on seeing Kirk's transformation. She stared at him as if fascinated." Margaret picked up Randolph and took the chair next to Charlotte's. "I think our Beauty is more taken with our Beast than she realizes."

Charlotte nodded thoughtfully.

"Now we need to provide her with more reasons to be so." Margaret patted Randolph absently. "What would a young lady in love with love wish to see in a suitor? Hmm . . ." After a long moment, she stiffened. "That might work . . . yes. It just might."

"Oh, Margaret, I quite love it when you get that look in your eyes! What do you have planned?"

Margaret smiled, and for the next half hour, they plotted. And when they were done, they were both beaming with hope.

Four.

From the Diary of the d.u.c.h.ess of Roxburghe

I did not place Miss Balfour near Lord Kirk at dinner last night. After the scene Charlotte and I witnessed, it would be an error to allow Dahlia to think for a second that I was promoting Kirk as a potential match. Yet.

If there is one thing I know about the Balfour women, it's that they possess pride and stubbornness in abundance, and must make up their own minds about whom they wish to pursue and be pursued by. That can make a.s.sisting them quite difficult. Still, I've never before allowed personal preference, mistaken as it can sometimes be, to get in the way of a good match and I shall not do so now.

Of course, last night was not without some glimmer of hope. Several times I caught Dahlia glancing toward Lord Kirk, and even though it was only to deliver the most burning of looks, it was good that she looked at him at all.

Still, we must change this. Over the course of her stay, we must find ways to remind her of the things she has in common with Lord Kirk. Meanwhile, he must show her that in order to please her, he is willing to leave his least desirable traits behind. If a man or a woman loves another-and I believe Kirk is in love with Miss Balfour, though he has not yet admitted such-he must be willing to improve.

We all must do so for those we love.

Bringing these two stubborn souls together will be a daunting task, and yet the match will be all the more worthwhile because of the difficulty-nay, the impossibility of it.

"Yer waistcoat, me lor'." MacCreedy placed the garment upon the bed.

Kirk turned from the mirror where he'd just finished tying his cravat, yet another skill the valet had taught him. "Hand me a waistcoat, please. I'm- Oh. Not that one. Find another, please."

"Me lor'?"

"It's red satin."

MacCreedy's lips twitched. "Och now, can ye no' wear satin, me lor'?"

Kirk lifted his brows in disbelief. "Do I appear to be the type of man who would wear satin?"

"I'll no' be answerin' tha', me lor'." The valet chuckled. "'Tis satin, but 'tis the fashion fer all tha'."

"Which I'm constrained to follow." Kirk couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. Last night's dinner had been an unmitigated failure. Reluctantly taking the d.u.c.h.ess's advice, he'd given Dahlia a wide berth, though he'd wished for just a few moments to speak to her. But judging from her icy glares, the time wasn't right.