Perhaps somewhere, somehow, sometime, there would be love for him too.

In the meanwhile, he was enjoying life – and avoiding the matrimonial traps that were becoming all too numerous and familiar to him.

"I believe," Constantine said as they rode onward, "the lady would have been happy to tumble right out of that seat, Stephen, if she could have been quite sure you were close enough to catch her."

Stephen chuckled.

"I was about to ask you," he said, "what it is between you and Elliott – and Nessie. Your quarrel has been going on for as long as I have known you. What caused it?"

He had known Con for eight years. It was Elliott, as executor of the recently deceased Earl of Merton's will, who had come to inform Stephen that the title, along with everything that went with it, was now his.

Stephen had been living with his sisters in a small cottage in the village of Throckbridge in Shropshire at the time. Elliott, Viscount Lyngate then, though he was Duke of Moreland now, had been Stephen's official guardian for four years until he reached his majority. Elliott had spent time with them at Warren Hall, Stephen's principal seat in Hampshire. Con had been there too for a while – it was his home. He was the elder brother of the earl who had just died at the age of sixteen.

He was the eldest son of the earl who had preceded his brother, though he could not succeed to the title himself because he had been born two days before his parents married and was therefore legally illegitimate.

It had been clear from the start that Elliott and Con did not like each other. More than that, it had been clear that there was a real enmity there. /Something/ had happened between them.

"You would have to ask Moreland that," Constantine said in answer to his question. "I believe it had something to do with his being a pompous ass."

Elliott was /not/ pompous – or asinine. He did, however, poker up quite noticeably whenever he was forced to be in company with Constantine.

Stephen did not pursue the matter. Obviously Con was not going to tell him what had happened, and he had every right to guard his secrets.

Con was something of a puzzle, actually. Although he had always been amiable with both Stephen and his sisters, there was an edge of darkness to him, a certain brooding air despite his charm and ready smile. He had bought a home of his own somewhere in Gloucestershire after his brother's death, but none of them had ever been invited there – or anyone else of Stephen's acquaintance, for that matter. And no one knew how he could have afforded it. His father had doubtless made decent provision for him, but to such a degree that he could go off and buy himself a home and estate?

It was none of Stephen's business, of course.

But he did sometimes wonder /why/ Constantine had always been friendly.

Stephen and his sisters had been strangers when they suddenly invaded his home and claimed it as their own. Stephen had the title Earl of Merton, one that Con's brother had borne just a few months previously, and his father before that. It was a title that would have been Con's if he had been born three days later or if his parents had married three days sooner.

Ought he not to have been bitter? Even to the point of hatred? Should he not /still/ be bitter?

Stephen often wondered how much went on inside Con's mind that was never expressed in either words or actions.

"It must be as hot as Hades under there," Constantine said just after they had stopped to exchange pleasantries with a group of male acquaintances. He nodded in the direction of the footpath to their left.

There was a crowd of people walking there, but it was not difficult to see to whom Con referred.

There was a cluster of five ladies, all of them brightly and fashionably dressed in colors that complemented the summer. Just ahead of them were two other ladies, one of them decently clad in russet brown, a color more suited perhaps to autumn than summer, the other dressed in widow's weeds of the deepest mourning period. She was black from head to toe.

Even the black veil was so heavy that it was impossible to see her face, though she was no more than twenty feet away.

"Poor lady," Stephen said. "She must have recently lost a husband."

"At a pretty young age too, by the look of it," Constantine said. "I wonder if her face lives up to the promise of her figure."

Stephen was most attracted to very young ladies, whose figures tended to be lithe and slender. When he did finally turn his thoughts to matrimony, he had always assumed he would look among the newest crop of young hopefuls to arrive on the marriage mart and try to find among such crass commercialism a beauty whom he could like as well as admire and whom he could grow to love. A lady who would be willing to look beyond his title and wealth to know him and love him for who he was.

The lady in mourning was nothing like his ideal. She did not appear to be in the first blush of youth. Her figure was a little too mature for that. It was certainly an excellent figure, even though her widow's weeds had not been designed to show it to full advantage.

He felt an unexpected rush of pure lust and was thoroughly ashamed of himself. Even if she had not been in deepest mourning he would have felt ashamed. He was not in the habit of gazing lustfully upon strangers, as so many young blades of his acquaintance were.

"I hope she does not boil in the heat," he said. "Ah, here come Kate and Monty."

Katherine Finley, Baroness Montford, was Stephen's youngest sister. She had perfected the skill of riding only since her marriage five years ago, and was on horseback now. She was smiling at both of them. So was Monty.

"I came here to give my horse a good gallop," Lord Montford said by way of greeting, "but it does not seem possible, does it?"

"Oh, Jasper," Katherine said, "you did not! You came to show off the new riding hat you bought me this morning. Is it not dashing, Stephen? Do I not outshine every other lady in the park, Constantine?"

She was laughing.

"I would say that plume would be a deadly weapon," Con said, "if it did not curl around under your chin. It is very fetching instead. And you would outshine every other lady if you wore a bucket on your head."

"Dash it all, Con," Monty said. "A bucket would have cost me a lot less than the hat. It is too late now, though."

"It is very splendid indeed, Kate," Stephen said, grinning.

"But I did not come here to show off the riding hat," Monty protested.

"I came to show off the lady beneath it."

"Well," Katherine said, still laughing, "that was clever of me. I have squeezed a compliment out of all three of you. Are you going to Meg's ball tomorrow, Constantine? If you are, I insist that you dance with me."

Stephen forgot all about the curvaceous widow in black.