DOUGLAS AND THE twins shut their mouths fast. Douglas said, “Er, Alex, my dear, did you say that Hollis was kissing a strange woman? In the butler’s pantry?”

“Yes, Douglas, and she was much younger than Hollis, no more than sixty years old, I’d say.”

“Hollis taking liberties with a younger woman,” Jason said, threw his head back and laughed, then stopped. “My God, Father, what if she’s an adventuress, after his money? I know he’s well-heeled. He told me you’d been investing his money for him for years and he’s nearly as rich as you are now.”

“I will ensure that Hollis hasn’t been snared by a rapacious grandmother,” Douglas said.

James said, “You’re sure they were actually kissing, Mother?”

“It was a rather passionate embrace, and yes, quite a bit of nuzzling and kissing,” Alexandra said. “I’ll tell you, it fairly made my eyes pop out of my head.”

She took a step closer to her husband and whispered, “They both appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely.”

Douglas said, “One hopes this is the young woman Hollis intends to marry.”

His wife and his sons stared at him.

“You know about this, Douglas?”

“He spoke of marriage several days ago-something to the effect that a young wife would make him feel just fine.”

“But-”

Douglas raised his hand to cut her off. “We’ll see. After all, it really isn’t any of our business.”

James said, “It’s Hollis, sir. He’s been here longer than you have.”

“Do not equate old with dead,” Douglas said. “A man isn’t dead in his parts until he’s six feet under. Strive not to forget that.”

Alexandra sighed. “All right, enough of this excitement. Now, Douglas, you will tell me what happened to you and you will tell me all of it. You will include all references to a bloody cloth found in the washbasin in your bedchamber, and you will not fob me off with a cut finger.”

“I told you she’d find out, sir,” Jason said.

“Mother even found out that I’d kissed Melissa Hamilton behind the stables when I was thirteen,” James said. He gave his mother a brooding stare. “I’ve never figured out how you found out about that.”

Alexandra looked at him. “I have spies who owe me their loyalty. It’s best you never forget that. Just because you’re men now doesn’t mean that I’ve sent my spies into retirement.”

“They certainly must be old enough,” Jason said, and gave her a beautiful smile.

Alexandra said, trying not to melt under that smile, “Now, Douglas, speak and make it to the point.”

“All right if you’re going to make a big to-do about it.”

Alexandra grinned at him. “I wonder, is that the Virgin Bride I hear applauding?”

TWYLEY GRANGE,

HOME OF LORD AND LADY MONTAGUE

AND CORRIE TYBOURNE-BARRETT

“My goodness, is it you, Douglas?” Simon Ambrose, Lord Montague, came quickly to his feet, blinked as he shoved his glasses up his nose, and nearly tripped over a journal that had fallen from the table at his side. He straightened himself and his vest.

“Yes, Simon, and I am here without invitation. I hope you will allow me to enter.”

Simon Ambrose laughed. “As if you wouldn’t be welcome to come into my bedchamber if you wished to leap through my window.” Simon frowned. “Of course, you wouldn’t be quite so welcome if you slipped into Maybella’s bedchamber, but that is a possibility that isn’t likely to occur, is it?”

“No more than you climbing in through Alexandra’s bedchamber window, Simon.”

“Now that is a thought that tickles my brain.”

“Don’t let it tickle too much.”

Lord Montague laughed, waved Douglas to a seat. “It is very pleasant to see you. Maybella, here is Lord Northcliffe. Maybella? ”You are not here? How very odd that I don’t see her, and I’d believed she was close by, maybe sewing in that chair over by the window. Simon sighed, then brightened. “Surely Corrie must be near. You know, she’s quite able to entertain guests in her aunt’s absence. Or maybe not.” He threw back his head and yelled, “Buxted!”

“Yes, my lord,” said Buxted, hovering at Lord Montague’s elbow. Simon shot into the air, knocked his glasses off, and stumbled backward to hit against a small marquetry table. Buxted grabbed his arm and pulled him upright with such energy that Simon nearly went over on his nose. Once Simon was upright, Buxted handed him his glasses, and straightened the table. He then began brushing off his master, saying, “Ah, my lord, what an idiot I am, surprising you as I would a young lass who’s hiked up her skirts to cross a stream.”

Simon said, “Ah, yes, that is better, and quite enough. What happens when you surprise a young lady with her skirt up, Buxted?”

“It was a thought that shouldn’t have traveled further than my fantasies, my lord. Wipe it from your mind, sir. Long white legs, that’s all there can be at the end of that delightful thought.”

Douglas remembered what Hollis had once said of Buxted, “He is quite maladroit, my lord, altogether scattered in his brain, and quite an entertaining fellow. He and Lord Montague fit together excellently.”

Douglas smiled to see Buxted still brushing off Simon even as Simon was trying to push him away. “Buxted,” Simon said, slapping at his hands, “I have need of Lady Maybella. If you cannot find her, then bring Corrie. Perhaps she is helping in the kitchen, the girl loves to bake berry tarts, at least she did when she was twelve. Douglas, do come in and sit down.”

“I don’t know who is where, my lord, no one tells me anything at all,” Buxted said. “Ah, my lord Northcliffe, please do be seated. Let me move his lordship’s precious journals from this lovely brocade winged chair. There, only three left, and that makes the chair look interesting, does it not?” Buxted hovered until Douglas sat himself on the three journals. Then he went flapping from the room, his bald head shiny with sweat.

Douglas smiled at his host. He quite liked Simon Ambrose. Simon was luckily rich enough so that he was known as eccentric, rather than batty. And he was as eccentric today as he’d been twenty years before, when, after his father had passed to the hereafter, Simon, now Viscount Montague, had taken himself to London, met and married Maybella Connaught, and brought her home to Twyley Grange, a neat Georgian house built upon the exact foundation of the granary attached to the long-defunct St. Lucien monastery.

Douglas knew that women vastly admired Simon until they came to know him well, and realized that his very handsome face and his sweet expression masked a mind that was usually elsewhere. But when, upon rare occasion, his mind did focus, Douglas knew he was very smart. Given Simon’s mental inattention, he’d wondered upon occasion how the wedding night had gone, but surely something had transpired since Maybella had birthed three children, all, unfortunately, having died in infancy. Simon had a younger brother, Borty, who was as batty as he was, waiting in the wings. His brother was obsessively devoted to the collection of acorns, not leaves, like Simon.

Simon said, his glasses now firmly on his nose, “Truly, Douglas, I didn’t forget you were coming, did I?”

“No, this is a surprise visit, Simon. I’m here because I fear my wife would come if I didn’t.”

“That’s all right, isn’t it? I quite like Alexandra. She could come into my bedchamber anytime she wished.”

“Yes, she is likable, but you can forget her coming through your bedchamber window, Simon. The point is that my wife has no taste in clothes.”

“I see. Goodness, I had no idea. I assure you, whenever I see her, I am struck by how very round and white, er, well, it’s best to stop right there, isn’t it? She is very lovely, I will say, and wisely leave it at that.”