"Then he is interested. Oh, Meg!" Charlotte had clasped her hands in ecstasy. "Did he kiss you?"

Margaret had hesitated. "Yes, he kissed me."

"Meg! I just knew the two of you were meant for each other. You are going to see him again, are you not?"

"I don't know, Lottie. I think this charade has gone far enough," Margaret had said firmly, and no amount of coaxing or protesting from her sister had been able to change her mind.

"Oh, Meg," Charlotte had said finally, "Mr. Northcott knows."

"What?"

"He recognized you immediately, Meg, and I was forced to tell him the whole story."

"Lottie!"

"Oh, he promised not to breathe a word to Lord Brampton," Charlotte hastened to assure her sister, "and he promised to help if he could."

"Lottie!"

"I am sorry, Meg," Charlotte said in a small voice. "But if I had said it was not you, you see, he would surely have gone after Lord Brampton to see what was going on."

Margaret had covered her face with her hands, overpowered by humiliation and doubly determined that this mad escapade must end.

On the morning after, though, as she sat at the window waiting for the appointed time for the picnic, she knew that she would don that costume one more time the following week and go to Vauxhall to keep her tryst with Richard. She had to know just once what it would be like to have him make real love to her. And she knew without a doubt that that was what would happen the following week. After that, she would be contented to resume her married life as she had known it so far. Richard's angel would die a natural death.

They drove up into the hills north of the city, the ladies in an open landau, a wicker picnic hamper on the seat opposite them, the men riding alongside. Margaret found the day to be a delightful interlude in a life that kept her apart from her husband a great deal. He and Devin Northcott rode close to the carriage, carrying on a gay conversation, mainly with Charlotte, who looked her best in a sky blue high-waisted dress and darker-blue pelisse and bonnet.

They stopped for lunch on a delightful grassy slope that overlooked the city of London. Brampton's cook had packed them a meal of chicken pieces, lobster patties, bread rolls, cheese, eggs, salad, jellies, and cakes-and bottles of wine.

Devin was the first to rise from the blanket on which they all sat.

"Lady Brampton, would you care to walk?" he asked, bowing in her direction and extending his arm.

Margaret felt embarrassed, knowing that he was aware of her adventure of the night before, but her usual calm demeanor came to her aid. She rose to her feet and took his arm. They walked slowly up the slope away from the panoramic view.

"Is your headache better, ma'am?" he began.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Northcott, but I believe you know that was a piece of deception," she replied calmly.

He gave her a sidelong glance and coughed delicately. "Quite so, ma'am," he agreed. "Afraid I forced the story out of Miss Wells."

"That is quite all right, sir," Margaret said, "but I would beg of you not to breathe a word of the matter to my husband." She kept her face pointing forward, feeling the color rising to her cheeks.

"Wouldn't dream of doing any such thing, ma'am," he replied, eyebrows raised, "and wouldn't be so indelicate as to raise the matter now. But felt you should know one thing." Devin coughed again.

Margaret looked inquiringly into his face. "Yes?" she prompted.

"Bram ain't usually into this sort of thing," Devin said, reddening himself. "Females, I mean. Not since his marriage, that is."

"Pray do not trouble yourself, sir," Margaret cut in hastily. "I do not pry into Richard's private life."

"No, but that's the point, ma'am," Devin said earnestly. "Ain't been anything to pry into."

"Until now?"

"Until now, ma'am. And I b'lieve he's drawn to you now just because it's you, if you know what I mean, though he don't know it himself."

They continued their walk in silence for a while as Margaret digested what he had been saying to her. She could hear the approaching voices of Charlotte and her husband.

"Thank you, Mr. Northcott," she said, smiling up at him.

"M' pleasure, ma'am," he replied seriously.

"You two look like a staid old couple," Charlotte called gaily. They looked back to see her approaching with Lord Brampton.

"Come, Mr. Northcott," Charlotte said, taking the arm that Margaret was relinquishing, "let us see if we can spot St. Paul's Cathedral from the top of this rise." And they moved ahead at a brisk pace.

Margaret took Brampton's proffered arm.

"Are you feeling more the thing, my dear?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you, Richard," she replied with a placid smile.

They walked together in companionable silence, viewed the city with the others, and started on their way back to the carriage and the horses. Margaret noticed the way Charlotte clung to Devin Northcott's arm and the animated way in which she talked to him. She noticed the warmth of his smile as he listened to and replied to her sister.

Was Charlotte spending too much time with Devin Northcott? Margaret wondered. Only a few weeks before, she had had great dreams of introducing her sister to the ton, of ensuring that she met a large number of eligible young men. Margaret hoped that her sister would make a sound love match within the next year or two. She did not wish to see her sister suffer the years of pain and loneliness that she had suffered. And Charlotte had been quite a hit. A number of young men came to call on her and take her driving in the park; Charlotte never lacked for partners at a ball.

But somehow Mr. Northcott had come to be her accepted regular escort. And Margaret wondered if she and Richard were responsible for that. It was very convenient to have Richard's closest friend as a partner for her sister. But was it a good thing for Charlotte? Devin Northcott must be almost of an age with Richard, certainly well over a decade older than Charlotte.

Margaret came to the conclusion that she had been so preoccupied with her own affairs in the last few weeks that she had been neglecting her duties as chaperone to her sister. She must redouble her efforts to see that Charlotte met more eligible young men from her own age group.

As the earl, Margaret, and Charlotte entered the house on Grosvenor Square late in the afternoon, Chalmer met them in the hallway with the news that the Dowager Countess of Brampton and Lady Rosalind Crowthers were awaiting their return in the drawing room.

"Mama?" Brampton asked, his eyebrows raised in some surprise. "What the devil does she want at this hour?"

Chalmer tactfully ignored the question, but climbed the stairs ahead of his master and mistress to open the door to the drawing room on the first floor. Charlotte retreated to her own room.

"And Rosalind too," Brampton commented to his wife. "Something's up."

The dowager was sitting stiffly on a sofa when they entered the room. Rosalind was hovering over her, vinaigrette in hand.

"Richard, dear," his mother said faintly, "where ever have you been? Good day, Margaret, my love."

"Had I known you were planning to pay us a visit, Mama," Brampton said dryly, "I should have been sure to be here."

"Richard, if you just knew what poor, dear Mama has to suffer, you would not talk with such a note of levity," Rosalind scolded.

"Have you had tea brought up?" Margaret asked soothingly. "I shall ring immediately."

"No, no, my love, I should choke on it," the dowager replied tragically. "Richard, dear, it's poor Charles."

Brampton paled noticeably. "Charles?" he said. Margaret moved swiftly to his side and put a steadying hand on his arm. His other hand covered it.