Clara, Lady Portland, thought Felix savagely, had no right to the title. He would grant she was attractive, in a blowsy sort of way, but her conduct left much to be desired. She had hailed him almost as soon as he had entered the Park. He rarely drove there except when expediency demanded. Consequently, her ladyship has been surprised to see his curricle, drawn by his famous match bays, advancing along the avenue. He had been forced to pull up or run the silly woman down. The considerable difficulty in conversing at any length with someone perched six feet and more above you, particularly when that someone displayed the most blatant uninterest, had not discouraged Lady Portland. She had done her best to prolong the exchange in the dim hope, Felix knew, of faking an invitation to ride beside him. She had finally admitted defeat and archly let him go, but not before issuing a thickly veiled invitation which he had had BJ compunction in declining. As she had been unwise enough to speak in the hearing of two gentlemen of her acquaintance, her resulting embarrassment was entirely her own fault. He knew she entertained hopes, totally unfounded, of becoming his Duchess. Why she should imagine he would consider taking a woman with the morals of an alley cat to wife was beyond him.

As he drove beneath the trees, he scanned the carriages that passed, hoping to find his wards. He had not seen them since that first ride in the Park, a feat of self-discipline before which any other he had ever accomplished in his life paled into insignificance. Daniel Hammington has put the idea into his head. His friend had returned with him to Delmere House after the first jaunt, vociferous in his complaints of the waywardness of Sophia Fleming. The fact that she was Felix's ward had not subdued him in the least. Felix has not been surprised; Daniel could be ruthlessly singleminded when hunting. It had been Daniel who had suggested that a short absence might make the lady more amenable and had departed with the firm resolve to give the Fleming girls the go-by for at least a week.

That had been six days ago. The Season was about to get under and it was time to reacquaint himself with his wards. Having ascertained that their horses had not left his stable, he had had the bays put to and followed them to the Park. He finally spied Twyford barouche drawn up to the side of the Avenue. He pulled up alongside.

"Aunt Amelia," he said as he nodded to her. She had beamed at him, clearly delighted he had taken the trouble to find them. His gaze swept over the other occupants of the carriage in an appraising and approving manner, then came to rest on Miss Fleming. She smiled sunnily back at him. Suddenly alert, Felix's mind tether from where it had wandered and again counted heads. There was a total of five in the carriage but Marian Winford was there, smiling vaguely at him. Which meant one of his wards was missing. He quelled the urge to immediately question his aunt, telling himself there would doubtless be some perfectly reasonable explanation. Perhaps one was merely unwell. His mind reverted to its main preoccupation.

Responding automatically to his aunt's social chatter, he took the first opportunity to remark, "But I can't keep my horses standing, ma'am. Perhaps Miss Fleming would like to come for a drive?"

He was immediately assured that Miss Fleming would and she descended from the carriage. He reached down to help her up beside him and they were off.

Margaret gloried in the brush of the breeze on her face as the curricle bowled along. Even reined in to the pace accepted in the Park, it was still infinitely more refreshing than the funeral plod favoured by Lady Hillsborough. That was undoubtedly the reason her spirits had suddenly soared. Even the sunshine seemed distinctly brighter.