"No, no. Fine chaps, I assure you. Quite up to the mark."

"I fear I do not believe in miracles." Solomon heaved a sigh as he turned his attention to Rachel. "Well, my dear, it appears that I must leave you to your own devises for a time. Do try not to break too many hearts while I am gone."

She raised her sparkling eyes and quirked her brow. "I shall be on my very best behavior."

"That is what worries me," he murmured before allowing himself to be led away by the anxious Mr. Carlfield.

Rachel chuckled, knowing her father fully intended to enjoy his role as the caustic, wretchedly arrogant Mr. Foxworth. She might have felt pity for the other gentlemen if they weren't so deserving of a good set-down.

Once alone, Rachel glanced toward Lady Broswell. She knew that it would be a perfect opportunity to rile the older woman's temper. What could be more galling than having Rachel at her home with no means of retaliation? But on the drive over Rachel had already determined what she intended to accomplish this afternoon. For the moment it was more important than her plot for revenge.

Glancing about to make sure that she was not being watched, Rachel slowly strolled along a low hedge until she was certain she was out of sight of the guests. Only then did she seek out a method of slipping into the house.

At last finding a doorway, she stepped into a long hall with an open-beamed ceiling. Not surprisingly it was as depressingly formal as the garden, with heavy shields on the paneled walls and suits of armor standing at rigid attention. Making her way through the heavy shadows, she at last discovered what she was looking for.

A heavy-set woman with a bundle of keys attached to her somber gown, proclaiming her to be the housekeeper.

Rachel had already discovered that the woman had been a servant at Broswell Park for the past twenty years. Certainly long enough to know the truth of poor Julia hidden in the dowager house.

Busily arranging a bowl of freshly cut flowers, the woman did not notice Rachel's approach until she was nearly upon her. With a start of surprise she abruptly turned to regard the sudden intruder.

"Oh."

Rachel smiled in a charming fashion. "Forgive me. I did not intend to startle you."

Swiftly recovering, the servant ran her hands over her apron. "May I help you?"

"Thank you, but I merely wish for a place to rest from the sun for a moment."

"Of course." With brisk motions a chair was pulled from further down the hall and Rachel was urged to settle on the brocade cushion. Once assured she was comfortable, the woman gave a nod of her head. "I shall leave you to your rest."

"A moment, please." Rachel hastily halted her departure.

With a faint start of surprise the servant obediently halted. "Yes?"

Rachel paused, knowing that she would have to be extremely careful not to arouse undue suspicion. She did not make the mistake of most aristocrats in assuming that servants were stupid or incapable of understanding what was happening about them. She knew that there was little in the household that was not fully discussed below stairs.

"Are you the housekeeper?"

"Yes. I am Mrs. Stalton."

"Have you been with Lady Broswell long?"

"Near on twenty years."

"Ah." She smiled again, hoping Mrs. Stalton would dismiss her chatter as that of a rather dim-witted maiden. "This is a lovely house. You must be very proud."

The compliment had the desired effective of lessening the natural restraint of the older woman.

"I do my best."

"That is obvious. Not that I am surprised. My mother often said that Lady Broswell was most particular."

A grimace was barely suppressed at the mention of the overbearing matron.

"That she is. Your mother was acquainted with Lady Broswell?"

"Yes, although it has been several years since they have seen one another." Rachel deliberately paused, her head tilting to one side. "You know, it is the oddest thing."

"What is?"

"I was certain that my mother said that Lady Broswell possessed three daughters, and yet, there are only two."

A sharp silence fell as the housekeeper nervously clutched her hands together.

"Yes, well, the youngest died when she was just a babe."

Rachel felt a fierce flare of satisfaction. So, her suspicions were correct. There had been a third daughter. Although she would bet her last quid that she had not died as a babe.

"Oh, how horrid," she forced herself to murmur in sympathy. "I did not know."

"It was a terribly tragedy," Mrs. Stalton said stiffly.

"I believe her name was Julia, was it not?"

Obviously disturbed, the housekeeper glanced over her shoulder as if she feared Lady Broswell might suddenly emerge from the shadows.

"I believe so. Now, you must excuse me. I am very busy today."

This time Rachel did not attempt to halt the housekeeper as she scurried away. Indeed, she doubted that a team of oxen could halt her determined flight. Besides, she had already discovered the truth she had been seeking.

Julia was indeed the daughter of Lady Broswell. And the woman had deliberately hidden her away from the world, pretending that she had died.

Rising to her feet, Rachel slowly made her way back to the garden.

She realized that she had discovered the answers she had desired, but she hadn't the least notion what she intended to do with the information.

She was still pondering the dilemma as she entered the garden and made her way back along the hedge. Lost in her thoughts, she did not notice the slender gentleman hurrying in her direction until too late.

"Miss Cresswell, there you are." Reaching her side, Lord Newell smiled in relief. "I feared that you had left."

Rachel bit back a curse of annoyance. She was in no mood to play the role of flirt. She simply wished to be on her own so that she could consider what she had learned.

"Good afternoon, my lord," she said, her expression impatient.

"Please, can you not call me George?"

She ignored his soft plea, wanting only to be rid of his persistent attentions.

"Should you not be with Miss Hamlin?"

He gave a deliberate shudder. "I do not wish to ruin such a beautiful afternoon with talk of Miss Hamlin. I would much rather discuss you."

"A rather tedious subject, I would think."

"Tedious?" He stepped closer, nearly overwhelming her with the heavy scent of his cologne. "How could one tire of speaking of your beauty or the charm of your smile?"

Her lips thinned. "How, indeed?"

"Would you care to walk beside the lake?" he asked eagerly. "Or perhaps we could enjoy the shade of the grotto?"

Not about to be alone with this man so that he could clumsily grope at her, Rachel gave a firm shake of her head.

"I do not believe that would be wise."

"I do not wish to be wise. I only want to be alone with you," he said with a petulant frown.

"I think it best that you return to the others."

"But why?" he demanded. "Have I offended you?"

Gads, what would it take to rid herself of this man?

"Of course not."

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

"I merely have no desire to create undue gossip."

"You have never concerned yourself with gossip before."

"My concern is for you," Rachel said, suddenly struck by inspiration. There was one certain means of driving Lord Newell from her vicinity. "My uncle can be swift to anger and even more swift to use his dueling pistols to soothe his pride."

The boyish countenance abruptly drained of color at her casual threat.

"Good Lord."

"I think it best that we take care until we return to London."

He gave a furtive glance toward the Devilish Dandy, obviously not relishing the thought of a duel at dawn. Even if she were an angel fallen from heaven.

"Yes, perhaps you are right. I shall call upon you when we return to town."

She flashed him a smile. "A most sensible notion."

Anthony had no intention of attending the garden party. He had no desire to witness Rachel continuing her determined game of revenge. He found it oddly disturbing. Not that he feared she possessed a truly spiteful nature. Her love for her family and kindness toward Julia was proof of her tender heart. But there was something deeper beneath her open dislike of Lady Broswell. Something he could not put his finger on.

Besides, he had told himself, he still had a few last-minute touches to finish with his current invention.

But after an hour in the stables he had reluctantly acknowledged that he could not stay away.

Rachel was youthful and passionate enough to plunge herself into disaster. And Anthony had little faith that her unpredictable uncle could hope to restrain her. It was clearly his responsibility see to it that she did not become too outrageous.

Convincing himself that his urgency to be at Rachel's side was more a matter of duty than a mere aching desire to see her smile, he had hurriedly bathed and changed. Then, deciding it would be quicker to walk than call for his carriage, he had cut through the nearby woods and angled across the parkland to arrive directly in the gardens.

He had just reached the hedge when he heard the sound of Rachel's voice, clearly followed by the pleas of Lord Newell.

At first Anthony was forced to exercise undue restraint to keep from plunging through the hedge and blackening the forward fool's eye. Absurd, considering he had never experienced a twinge of jealousy in his life. But even as his hands clenched at his side he heard Rachel firmly threatening the boy with visions of dueling her uncle.

His annoyance had fled to be replaced with undeniable surprise. Hearing Lord Newell scurry away, he stepped around the hedge to confront the woman who was a constant plague to his thoughts.

"Well, I must admit to being rather bewildered, my dove," he said in low tones.

Her eyes widened at his sudden appearance, appearing quite fetching in a brilliant sapphire gown and straw hat with matching ribbons.

"Anthony, I did not think you would be here," she said, not bothering to disguise her pleasure at his sudden appearance.

Anthony's heart warmed and any unease at the knowledge he was not nearly so comfortable alone with his work as he used to be was dismissed.

"I became bored with my own company. I thought I w-would amuse myself by watching you vex Lady Broswell. It appears that my trip was in vain, however."

Her expression became guarded at his words. "I do not know what you mean."

"Oh, come, Rachel, you have obviously lured young Newell into your web for the sole purpose of making Lady Broswell gnash her teeth."

"Perhaps I simply find him charming."

Anthony stepped forward, clasping her chin in a firm grip. "N-no, he is far too weak and easily swayed to tempt you."

The hazel eyes sparkled in a deliberate challenge. "Surely a lady of sense would prefer a gentleman who is malleable? Far more comfortable than a gentleman who refuses to do as one wishes."

His gaze swept over her pale features, lingering on the stubborn line of her jaw.

"You would be bored witless in an hour. Only a challenge would suit your passionate nature."

"You are very confident that you know me."

"Not nearly as well as I would desire to know you." Her eyes abruptly darkened at his soft words and Anthony felt a fierce stab of need. He remembered the evening two nights ago when he had held her and caressed her with such intimacy. Good heavens, he had never wanted a woman as desperately as he wanted this one. "By God, you could tempt a saint. And I have n-never been a saint."

She swayed forward, then seeming to abruptly remember that they were in full sight of the other guests, she took a hasty step backward.

"I should return to my uncle."

"In a moment." He halted her retreat. "First I wish to know why you chose to send that eager whelp back to Lady Broswell rather than further your revenge."

She gave a shrug. "Does it matter?"