"Should you care to leave? I will not force you to remain."

Rosalind got a fat diamond-adorned nanny finger shaken in her face. "You will be quiet. You are really quite common, although it does not surprise me."

"Perhaps I could sing for you. I'm told I have a lovely voice, that when one listens to me sing, one easily forgets my youth and my commonness. I do not even need a pianoforte to accompany me. What you think?" Rosalind didn't smile, she simply stood there, waiting to see what Lady Mountjoy would do.

"I do not wish to hear you sing. That is ridiculous. Now, I am looking for Nicholas, though I imagine he will be rude and not show himself."

"Did not your relatives and your friends tell you his residence is currently at Grillon's Hotel? He has a lovely suite of rooms there and all the staff are quite deferential to him. Should you like the direction to Grillon's?"

"I know where Grillon's Hotel is located, you impertinent little no-account. I have also heard he has a heathen servant who is very likely more dangerous than he is. No, I shall not go there."

"Lee Po, dangerous?" Rosalind nodded thoughtfully. "Possibly so. As for Nicholas being dangerous, I cannot be certain about that. However, in all honesty, he can be rather curt, but it is because he feels things so very deeply, you know."

Lady Mountjoy snarled. "He is a man, you ninny. Men rarely feel much of anything that is worth remarking upon. It is true they feel lust in their younger years, but in their older years one must pry the brandy bottle from their hands."

Perhaps that was part of the reason for Lady Mountjoy's discontent-no lovemaking and no brandy. Rosalind said, "It is a great pity you don't know your stepson at all, ma'am, for I believe him to be truly remarkable.

"I fear Nicholas isn't here at the moment. I believe he went off with my uncles to shoot at Manton's. I wanted to go, but they do not yet allow ladies. Would you care for a cup of tea?"

Lady Mountjoy grabbed Rosalind's hand and held on tight, making the grapes on her bonnet dance. "I don't want tea, you stupid girl, I want to tell you to call off this absurd wedding with Nicholas. I'm trying to save you even though you are as common as a weed and don't deserve to be saved." She lowered her voice to a hiss. "Your life is in danger. Nicholas Vail is a scoundrel. When his father kicked him out, he didn't have a single sou-"

Ah, so she was finally getting to it. Rosalind said easily, "Well, how could he have a single sou when his father kicked him out? Wasn't he a little boy?"

"It is one and the same thing. My dear husband told me the old earl gave Nicholas quite a lot of money before he died, but I ask you, what happened to it? We heard Nicholas simply disappeared-I know he gambled the money away. He was sly and mean, a-good-for-nothing from the age of five. He had nothing when he left England."

"Do you know, I don't believe Nicholas gambles at all, but I shall ask him. I wonder too what happened to the money if his grandfather did indeed give him some. Was he robbed? Perhaps left for dead?"

"Control your melodrama. Nicholas was a wastrel when he was a boy, and I'm sure he's remained one. Whatever happened, Nicholas lost the money his grandfather gave to him. All know he is still poor. He has a title and no money and thus he needs an heiress. So I am here to tell you the truth. He is only after the money the Sherbrookes will give you. He will get a boy child off you, then murder you in your bed. If you trust him you are more a fool than I believe you are."

"As in the fruit never falls far from the paternal or maternal tree?"

Rosalind believed for an instant that Lady Mountjoy would strike her. Her bosom heaved, she turned alarmingly red in the face, and her breath was as loud as a bellows. But she held herself still. Rosalind realized in that instant if the woman had hit her, she would have retaliated, knocked her flat, with great enjoyment. Chin up, shoulders squared, Lady Mountjoy said, "My sons are gentlemen, nurtured by the parental and maternal tree. They know what is what, they know how to behave. If possible, my husband would have declared Nicholas a bastard, but the boy had the gall to look the picture of him, curse the fates."

Rosalind managed to pull her hand free of Lady Mount-joy's surprisingly strong grip. She turned away from the woman to sit down on the sofa. She watched Lady Mountjoy pace in front of her. Her imposing bosom looked ready to topple her, but didn't, possibly because she was so tightly corseted. She had once been very pretty, Rosalind thought.

Rosalind said finally, "I met your sons Richard and Lancelot, at Drury Lane, to see Hamlet. I, myself, didn't care for Kean's performance all that much. Have you seen him as Hamlet?"

"You are trying to distract me and it won't work. Be quiet." She paused, eyed Rosalind up and down. "Besides, I know you are a fraud yourself."

"Ah, so I am no longer the victim. Like Nicholas, am I now a scoundrel too? If that is what you believe, then why are you concerned? We are both poor and we are both scoundrels. Like to like. Don't you think it fitting?"

Rosalind thought the woman would explode. That made her feel quite good. She was learning an excellent lesson: Hold on to your temper with both hands, and breathe. As for Lady Mountjoy, she hadn't learned this lesson. Her face was alarmingly flushed. "You mock me, you worthless excuse for a proper lady. The only reason society is forced to pay any attention to you at all is because of the Sherbrookes."

"Well, of course that's quite right. What is your point, ma'am? That I am not good enough to marry the Earl of Mountjoy, even though you believe he is poor and a scoundrel?"

A spasm of rage seamed Lady Mountjoy's mouth. She realized she was getting far afield and couldn't find the road. "You are certainly not good enough to marry the real Earl of Mountjoy! Nicholas, the earl? Bah, I say. Neither of you should carry that proud name! And your name-La Fontaine-the man wrote nothing but silly fables about rabbits and turtles racing, of all things-ridiculous!-morality tales that have no bearing whatsoever on life."

"Well, to be honest yet again, I fear you are right. But don't you see, I somehow misplaced my own name and had to cast about for a new one. Since I love sly foxes and vain crows, you can imagine my delight when I learned that Jean de La Fontaine wrote such charming tales. La Fontaine-it floats rather nicely on the tongue, don't you think?"

Lady Mountjoy looked hath amazed and furious. In fact, she looked as though if she'd had a gun, Rosalind would be lying dead at her feet. She shook a plump white fist, three large rings on her fingers, in Rosalind's face. "None of this is to the point, my girl. You will be quiet."

"Then why, ma'am, did you bring it up?"

Lady Mountjoy heaved and huffed and Rosalind feared for her stays. "The fact remains, you are not a real La Fontaine."

Rosalind said, "Well, naturally not. I already explained that to you. I must say, ma'am, you don't seem to have found out very much about me. Perhaps you don't have a very competent solicitor."

"Glendenning is an idiot. He even allowed Nicholas to claim my son's tide. It is my very special friend, Alfred Lemming, who is competent. Unfortunately he is in Cornwall at the moment, visiting his moldering estate in Penzance."

Lady Mountjoy had a lover? Rosalind said, "You mustn't blame poor Glendenning about losing the title. I believe the law of primogeniture prevents any other course of action. Nicholas was the firstborn, after all, and despite his father's machinations, he is the rightful Earl of Mountjoy."

"Primogeniture, what a ridiculous word, what an outmoded, outrageously unfair bit of law. It is ancient, not at all to the point in the modern world.