"I have the feeling that Beau Brummell will not cut you or your cousin," Bradford predicted.

"You're far too beautiful to be discarded," Mr. Smith interjected.

"Being attractive should have nothing to do with being accepted. It is what is inside a person that matters," Caroline advised.

"Besides that noble fact, I hear that he values his grays exceedingly," Bradford commented, his tone dry.

"His grays?" Caroline asked, clearly confused.

"His horses," Bradford answered. "I've no doubt that you'd try to shoot them if he dared to cut you or your cousin."

His expression looked serious but his eyes had turned warm and teasing. "I would never!" Caroline said.

He smiled then and Caroline shook her head. "You jest," she stated. "There," she said, turning back to Mr. Smith. "I've finished. Keep this medicine and have the bandage changed once a day. And don't allow anyone to bleed you, for heaven's sake. You've lost enough blood."

"Another one of your mama's practices?" Mr. Smith inquired with a good deal of suspicion in his voice.

Caroline nodded as she moved out of the carriage. When she stood outside, she turned and propped Mr. Smith's legs on the opposite seat, next to Bradford's looming form. "I fear you're correct, Mr. Smith. Your lovely boots look ruined. And your tassels are coated with blood. Perhaps if you wash them with champagne, the way Mrs. Maybury explained that Brummell does, then they'll be just the thing again."

"That is a most guarded secret," Mr. Smith decreed with indignation.

"It can't be much of a secret," Caroline replied. "For Mrs. Maybury knew all about it and it appears you do too." She didn't wait for a reply to her logical statement and turned to Bradford. "You'll see to your friend now?"

"We've found the groom," Charity called out just as Bradford nodded to Caroline. "He has a bump on his head the size of a church steeple, but he's coming around."

Caroline nodded and said, "Good day to you both. Benjamin, we must go now. Mr. Bradford will tend to Mr. Smith."

The black man said something to Caroline in a language Bradford had never heard before but he knew, from the way that Caroline smiled and nodded, that she understood perfectly.

And then they were gone. Neither gentleman said a word as they watched the black-haired nymph lead her cousin down the road. The Duke of Bradford jumped out of the carriage for a longer look while his friend stuck his head out the window and also watched the retreat.

Bradford found himself smiling. The little cousin with the blonde curls was talking to Caroline, and the silent black man, with his pistol drawn, followed behind, obviously intent on seeing to their protection.

"My God, I believe I've contracted the king's madness," the injured man stated. "The chit hails from the Colonies," he added with a hint of a sneer in his voice, "and still I find I'm infatuated."

"Get over it," Bradford advised, his voice curt. "I want her." His tone didn't suggest an argument, and his friend wisely agreed with several vigorous nods. "I don't care if she is from the Colonies or not."

"What a stir you'll cause if you pursue her. If her father isn't titled… Well, it simply isn't done. Remember your position."

"And you therefore condemn it?" Bradford asked the question with quiet interest.

"I do not. I would support your cause. She saved my life."

Bradford raised an eyebrow and his friend hurried to answer his unspoken question. "She came upon the rascals and shot the gun right out of the leader's hand. Just seconds before he was going to shoot me."

"I've no doubt that she was capable of doing just that," Bradford commented.

"Injured another one in the shoulder."

"Did you notice how she evaded my questions?"

Mr. Smith began to chuckle. "I didn't think it was possible to see you smile, Bradford, and yet this day I have seen you do nothing else. The ton will be agog with speculation. You won't have an easy time of it with the chit. I envy you the challenge."

Bradford didn't reply but turned and again stared off into the distance, toward the curve in the road where the threesome had disappeared.

"She's going to cause quite a reaction when the fashionable ladies see her. Did you notice the color of her eyes? You'll have to fight for her attention, Bradford. My God, man, will you look at my boots!"

The Duke of Bradford ignored the request. And then he began to laugh. "Well, Brummell, do you dare cut her?"

The hired carriage rolled along at a steady pace back into London. Benjamin, suspicious of the coachman's disrespect for his duties, decided to ride beside the man to oversee his actions.

Caroline and Charity sat opposite each other inside the vehicle, and after Charity had talked herself out, they lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

Charity wasn't usually so nervous. Caroline understood that the excited chatter was a necessary outlet from the tremendous strain she was under. While Caroline kept her own council, she was privy to Charity's every thought. That wasn't any particular honor, for her cousin liked to share anything and everything with just about everyone. Her mother said that Charity was quicker at spreading the latest news than the Boston Journal.

Caroline was the complete opposite of Charity, known as the quiet, shy cousin, and had accepted long ago that it just wasn't in her nature to confide. Unlike her cousin, Caroline bore her burdens alone.

"I wish we had a plan to put into immediate action, now that we have finally arrived in England," Charity stated with a rush. She was twisting her hands together, making a fine mess of the pink gloves she held. "I'm counting on you to tell me how to proceed."

"Charity, we've been over this again and again. I know that it goes against your disposition, but do try to stop worrying. You'll grow old and wrinkled before your time." Caroline's voice was gentle but firm. "You know that I'll help you. But in return you must promise to use caution."

"Yes. Caution! That is the key. If only I had a portion of your confidence, Lynnie," she said, using Caroline's nickname from childhood, "You're always so calm, so controlled." Charity sighed again, a long drawn-out affair that caused her cousin to smile. Charity was certainly given to theatrics. "But what if I find that he is married?"

Caroline decided it was best not to answer. She wouldn't be able to keep the anger and frustration out of her voice, and that would set Charity off into another fit of tears. Caroline, after such a long journey, didn't think she was up to it.

Men! They were all scoundrels, except for her dear cousins, of course. Why sweet, loving Charity had given her heart to an Englishman was beyond Caroline's imagination. There were plenty of suitors fighting for Charity's attention right in Boston, but her cousin had to choose one from halfway around the world. The Englishman, Paul Bleachley, had been visiting Boston when the two accidentally met, and Charity insisted that she had fallen instantly in love. The only part of that nonsense that Caroline believed was the fact that she had fallen. Charity hadn't been wearing her spectacles and had literally toppled on top of Paul Bleachley when she rounded the corner of Chestnut Street in the town square.

The relationship had lasted six weeks and had been most intense. Charity had vowed her love and confided to Caroline that Bleachley had done the same. She believed that the Englishman was honorable in his intentions, even after his sudden disappearance.

She was terribly naive. But Caroline wasn't so easily taken in. She and the rest of the family hadn't even met the man. Each time a date for dinner was set, Paul

Bleachley had other duties to attend to at the last minute.