The coach swayed as it turned a corner and Maribella clutched the strap swinging by her head. As equilibrium returned, she settled her skirts once more and glanced at the other two occupants of the carriage. The glow from a street lamp momentarily lit the interior of the coach, then faded as the four horses hurried on. Maribella grinned into the darkness.

Margaret had insisted that she and Emma share their guardian's coach. One had to wonder why. Too often these days, her eldest sister had the look of the cat caught just after it had tasted the cream. Tonight, that look of guilty pleasure, or, more specifically, the anticipation of guilty pleasure, was marked.

She had gone up to Margaret's room to hurry her sister along. Margaret has been sitting, staring at her reflection in the mirror, idly twisting one copper curl to sit more attractively about her left ear.

"Maggie? Are you ready? Felix is here." Maribella informed her elder sister.

"Oh!" Margaret has stood abruptly, then paused to cast one last critical glance over her pale sea-green dress, severely styled as most suited her ample charms, neckline daringly décolleté. She had frowned, her fingers straying to the ivory swell of her breasts. "What do you think, Bella? Is it too revealing? Perhaps a piece of lace might make it a little less...?" Margaret said, uncertainty laced her beautiful face.

"Attractive?" Maribella has brazenly supplied, staring at her sister with eyes full of meaning. "To be perfectly frank, I doubt our guardian would approve a fichu."

The delicate blush that had appeared on Margaret's cheeks had been most informative. But, "too true," was all her sister had replied.

Maribella looked across the carriage once more and caught the gleam of warm approval that shone in their guardian's eyes as they rested on Margaret. It was highly unlikely that the conservative Mr. Chistlebury was the cause of her sister's blushes. That being so, what game was the Duke of Twyford playing? And, even more to the point, was Maggie thinking of joining in?

Heavens knew, they had had a close enough call with Sophia and Lord Daniel. Nothing had been said of Sophia's strange affliction, yet they were all close enough for even innocent Emma to have some inkling of the root cause. And while Felix has been the soul of discretion in speaking privately to Margaret and Sophia in the hall before they had left, it was as plain as pikestaff the information he had imparted had not included news of a proposal. Sophia's pale face had paled further. Sadness and disappointment obviously painted in her beautiful face, try as she may to hide it. But the Flemings were made of stern stuff and Sophia has shaken her head at Maggie's look of concern.

The deep murmur of their guardian's voice came to her ears, followed by her sister's soft tones. Maribella's big eyes danced. She could not make out their words but those tones were oh, so revealing. But if Sophia was in deep waters and Maggie was hovering on the brink, she, to her chagrin, had not even got her toes wet yet.

Maribella frowned at the moon, showing fleetingly between the branches of a tall tree. Henry, Lord Byron. The most exasperating man she had ever met. She would give anything to be able to say she didn't care a button for him. Unfortunately, he was the only man who could make her tingle just by looking at her.

Unaware that she was falling far short of Margaret's expectations, Maribella continued to gaze out of the window, absorbed in contemplation of the means available for bringing one large gentleman to heel.