Chapter Four

"F rom what Georgina tells me…" Lady Roslynn began, then paused for a sip of her tea.

Thorne held up a hand to prevent his mother from continuing without clarification. "Georgina?" While he trusted her information implicitly, he still preferred knowing its origin, even though it could be said that her sources put hunting hounds to shame when they caught the scent of the latest on dit.

Lady Roslynn pulled a face as she leaned forward to help herself to a tomato and cucumber sandwich. "Lady Georgina Westerbin—a most reliable source, dear boy. Remember how much she knew about the Broadmere daughters the other evening?"

"Ah, yes. Lady Westerbin. Carry on."

"Well…" His mother paused for effect, clearly delighting in the conversation. "All the Broadmere daughters were presented at the last drawing room Queen Charlotte held before she passed, and it is said that Her Majesty was duly impressed with all of them."

"But that would have been over two years ago. How is it that they disappeared from Society and are just now seeking husbands? Two of them would have been at an astonishingly young age at that time, but I suppose it would not be unheard of for a future match to be secured." He set aside his tea while fixing a thoughtful frown on his mother.

"Their beloved mother became quite ill." Lady Roslynn sadly shook her head. "Consumption. None of the daughters would leave her bedside to attend any social functions that Season—and later they refused to leave her side because they did not wish her to pass without them gathered around her."

"Then the mourning period," Thorne remarked, remembering what Ravenglass had told him.

"And their father's death and the mourning period after that ," Lady Roslynn added. "Their parents were a rare love match. I am told their father died because he could not endure life without their mother." The hint of a calculating smile curved her mouth. "Did one of them interest you, my dear boy? Are you finally ready to set aside your unacceptable dabbling?"

"Mother, really." Thorne took up his tea again only to discover it had gone tepid.

She twitched a shrug. "Why else would you inquire about the Broadmere ladies?" She surprised him with the suddenness of a motherly scowl. "You will treat them with respect. Do you hear? I refuse to have it known that my son debauched a daughter of such a fine family. The Broadmeres were much admired by the ton , even though they chose to rear their children in a rather unorthodox manner."

"How so?" Now his interest was well and truly piqued, and he also hoped to keep the topic on the Broadmeres and not his pastimes.

"Only a few nannies were retained while the children were extremely young because they are all quite close in age—each of them merely a year apart, I believe. After that, Lady Broadmere attended to her young with great delight, tutoring her son and allowing her daughters to explore their interests, whether such interests were considered standard for young ladies or not. She was a highly educated woman and had her mind set on how her children should be prepared for the world. It is said the duke fully supported her and even saw to it that the children were indulged in whatever educational pursuits they desired."

"Lady Blessing loves the stars," Thorne mused. "Her father built her an observatory."

"Lady Blessing," his mother repeated, squinting as if deep in concentration. "She is the third in birth order, I believe. Or was it the second-born? The current duke is not only the only son but also the firstborn."

"The sister who was with her when I discovered them in the Atterleys' garden was Lady Serendipity." He grinned at the memory. "Lady Blessing made it very clear that her companion was her older sister."

His mother chuckled as she placed another sandwich and a sweetmeat biscuit on her plate. "So, the young lady attempted to deflect your advances onto her older sister, did she?" She clicked her tongue and gave him a teasing look. "Were you rude to her, Thorne? Usually the ladies find you quite charming. I've read their whispers after you've returned them to wherever you found them at whatever soirée we are attending." She made an exaggerated clearing of her throat and arched a brow at him. "Or shall I say I've read them when they were ladies deserving of your attention?"

"Mother." Damned if the topic hadn't veered back to his habits that his mother despised.

"I do not like the other whispers I read about my son," she continued. Displeasure filled her tone, but it was the disappointment in her eyes that cut him to the quick. "You promised me you would never behave like your father." Her soft accusation stung.

"That is why I have never married." When his cruel father wasn't belittling his mother with hateful insults, the man openly flaunted his many mistresses, causing her even more humiliation and pain. Thorne prided himself on discretion and had sworn never to marry to avoid the risk of hurting a woman the way his father had hurt his mother—because his grandfather had been the same. Remaining single would ensure he never became the callous monster his father and grandfather had been.

"If that is your only defense," his mother said with a huff, "then stay away from the Broadmere daughters." She set aside her plate as if her appetite had suddenly left her. "They are all fine ladies, unusual in some ways but fine all the same. And they deserve a marriage where they will be cherished. They deserve better than to be toyed with like a child's bauble, then cast aside when their novelty dulls."

Thorne bowed his head, accepting the scolding advice with humility. Not only because he knew he had earned it, but because he loved and respected his mother. He hated that his behavior had reminded her of painful memories best left buried in the past. "I promise you, I will do nothing to harm any of the Broadmere daughters or lessen your opinion of me even further."

"Do not attempt to heap guilt upon me for speaking my mind," she said quietly. "You know you are my greatest joy and treasure. And I am very proud of you for many things. Always have been. It is your behavior with ladies—and I use that term loosely—that I despise." She rang the small bell on the table beside her. "We are done with our tea now."

"Are you ousting me, Mother?"

"Yes." She lifted her plump chin higher and fixed him with a look that let him know quite clearly she was still not entirely happy with him. "Remember what I said about the Broadmere daughters. Do not disappoint me in that respect."

He rose from his seat, feeling well and thoroughly put in his place. Instead of bowing, he moved to her side and kissed her cheek. "I will not disappoint you, Mother. I promise."

"We shall see." She poured herself another cup of tea, indicating she wasn't finished with her favorite time of day, merely finished with him.

Thorne accepted the dismissal, offered a contrite bow, and quietly left the room. Mother had never before been quite so vocal about his unacceptable dabbling , as she had put it. He found it mildly disturbing.

Cadwick, the family butler, came to an abrupt halt as Thorne cut in front of him upon entering the hallway. "Forgive me, my lord."

"Forgive me , Cadwick. I nearly broadsided you."

The man accepted the apology with a stoic bow. Ever reticent, the butler rarely showed any emotions whatsoever. "I am sure the fault was mine, my lord. Lord Ravenglass is here. I took the liberty of placing him in the library."

"Thank you, Cadwick. That will be all, since we shan't require tea." Thorne turned and headed that way before allowing himself to smile at Cadwick's choice of words. The butler always sounded as if he considered guests as items that required placing somewhere.

When Thorne entered the library, Ravenglass looked up from a book he was paging through as he lounged in the leather wingback chair in front of the desk. "Old Cadwick led me to believe you were having a private tea with Lady Roslynn, so I made myself comfortable."

Thorne flinched, not minding that his friend understood the true intent of Mother's tea. "The old devil probably knew Mother wished to inform me that, in her estimation, my behavior leaves a great deal to be desired, and she wishes me to change it."

"Ah." Ravenglass nodded as he closed the book and placed it on the desk. "I fear the lovely Lady Myrtlebourne did not help your cause in that regard. The other night at the Atterleys' ball, she made quite the scene when you escaped her."

"I still owe you for that one."

"Indeed, you do." Ravenglass steepled his fingers and tipped his head to one side. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you placate your mother—about your behavior, that is?"

"I promised to treat the Broadmere daughters with all the respect and decorum due them."

"So, you lied."

"I did not lie." Thorne went to the liquor cabinet and held up a decanter of port. At Ravenglass's nod, he poured a glass for each of them. "I was the perfect gentleman during my waltz with Lady Blessing."

"And after?"

Thorne shrugged as he handed Ravenglass his drink, then took a sip of his own. "There was no after. The lady disappeared."

"From what I observed," Ravenglass said, "they all did. The sisters, that is. The duke remained in the ballroom looking slightly bored and more than a little irritated."

"Yes, well, if memory serves, while his father was alive, young Broadmere never held on to a coin long enough to warm it in his hand. If he has yet to come into the full of his inheritance, as Lady Westerbin reported, perhaps the estate's will reined in his spending—and therefore reined in his amusements."

"Poor chap," Ravenglass said. "He appeared quite without friends at the ball." The viscount winked. "He had plenty of company in the form of marriage-minded mamas and their daughters, but no men at his side to help fend them off."

"I wonder…" Thorne paused, trying to bring the duke to mind but failing.

"What are you plotting?"

"If we befriend the brother, would that not get us closer to the sisters?"

"Asks the man who just swore to his mother that he had no intention of defiling the Broadmere ladies." Ravenglass arched a dark brow. "Or have you decided it high time to marry and produce the next baron?"

"I have not decided to marry." Thorne rolled his shoulders. Even saying the word set him on edge. "I tire of clingy widows and other men's wives. I merely think it might be a welcome change to visit with a young lady who…"

"You cannot finish that sentence." Ravenglass snorted. "If they do not end up in your bed, you have no idea what to do with them."

"And you do?"

"I am not the one obsessed with the Broadmere sisters."

"I am not obsessed." Thorne downed the remainder of his port and set the glass on the desk. "Merely…interested. If you had spoken to Lady Blessing, you would understand completely. The lady speaks her mind with wittiness and candor and could not care less if anyone likes what she says." He couldn't help but laugh. "She is brutally honest."

Ravenglass joined with his own laughter. "Then perhaps I should endeavor to meet her. She sounds as refreshing as a breath of country air."

"Lady Blessing is mine," Thorne said a little stronger than he intended to. "Pick one of the other six."

The viscount arched his brow again and chuckled. " Yours , you say? Powerful words for a man who intends to treat the lady properly yet refuses to marry her. Do you not fear giving her the wrong impression? I wager that would go against what you promised Lady Roslynn as well."

"I promised her I would treat them with the utmost respect and decorum," Thorne said, "not take them to the altar." However, he knew that no matter what he had promised anyone, he would see Lady Blessing again. When she had scowled at him from her window, looking as though she was threatening to set the dogs on him, he had known at that moment that he needed to—no, not just needed to, but absolutely had to spend more time in the lovely lady's presence. Even if it was merely to endure her cutting wit and stinging tongue. As Ravenglass had said, she was as refreshing as a breath of country air. "As a matter of fact, I was on my way to call upon her this very day."

"Well then, by all means, do not let me delay you any further. I am off to the club. Just thought I would stop in to see if you wished to join me."

Ravenglass's rakish grin assured Thorne his friend had taken no insult at the not-so-subtle hint that the visit was at an end. In fact, he took the amused speculation in the man's eyes as a dare. "Thank you, old friend. I might stop by later—depending upon my visit with Lady Blessing."

"I shall look forward to hearing the report." The viscount headed out the library door and nodded at the butler to fetch his hat and gloves. He turned back to Thorne with a wicked grin. "I could drop you off on my way to the club."

"And then have me begging them to hail a carriage for my ride home? Thank you, but no. I shall take the curricle."

"A curricle is not large enough for yourself, the lady, and her chaperone." Ravenglass donned his hat and gloves and headed down the hall toward the front door. Without looking back, he held up a finger and reminded Thorne, "Respect and decorum, Knightwood. Respect and decorum." The man was out the door and gone before Thorne could come up with a proper retort.

As much as he hated to admit it, though, his old friend had made a fair point. If lucky enough to convince the lady to come for a ride in the park, he needed to offer a conveyance that told her he fully expected them to be respectably chaperoned. The phaeton would do, but undoubtedly Lady Blessing and her chaperone would be more comfortable in the landau.

"Cadwick, have Thompson bring the landau 'round, please."

With a nod, the butler went to do as requested.

Thorne glanced at his apparel: dark blue dress coat, matching waistcoat, and cream trousers rather than pantaloons. Quite respectable, and appropriate for calling on Lady Blessing at this hour of the day. The question was: would she receive him? A rueful smile came to him. He doubted that she would—but then again, he had always loved a challenge.

When Cadwick returned, he brought Thorne his hat and gloves, then strode to the front door and pulled it open. "Thompson will be around momentarily, my lord."

"Thank you, Cadwick." Thorne stepped out into the sunshine and pulled in a deep breath. While London's air was not nearly as fresh as that of the country, at least it was quite tolerable, since it was early spring and the fetidness of the town in summer had yet to set in.

The landau rattled into view and halted, and Thorne climbed inside.

"Broadmere House on St. James's," he told his coachman as he settled back against the opulent leather squab.

"Very good, my lord." Thompson urged the stunning pair of Cleveland Bays into motion.

Thorne was proud of his horses with their rich brown coats, black points, and black manes and tails. They perfectly set off the earthy tones of the landau, its exterior a glossy black but its interior a lighter sable that reminded him of the color of tea with a healthy dollop of cream. It was not unknown to him that some called him a vain coxcomb, but little did they know that it had taken him years to repair the damage his father had waged upon the family coffers. He had bloody well earned the right to enjoy the fruits of his labors.

It took no time at all to reach the Broadmere residence. After Thompson brought the carriage to a halt in front of the place, Thorne sat there for a long moment, staring at the door. What the devil was he doing here? He flexed his fingers, opening and closing his hands where they rested atop his thighs. Indeed, he wanted to see Lady Blessing again. Spar with her wit. Learn more about what it took to make the lady smile. But then what? He pulled in a deep breath, held it for a second, then let it ease out, hoping it would ease the disturbingly warm tightness in his chest that made itself known whenever he thought of the spirited woman who had no qualms about telling him exactly what she thought of him. The longer he sat there, the worse the tightness became.

"What the devil am I doing here?" he asked himself a second time.

"My lord?" Thompson twisted around in the driver's seat and arched a brow.

Damned if Thorne could have the man take him away now. Even if he told Thompson to hie to the club, word would spread throughout the household that the master had lost his nerve. Thorne also knew it would be reported to his mother. The staff cherished Lady Roslynn and took great pains to keep her informed. That was probably how Mother knew so much about his unacceptable dabbling. Servants knew everything.

He forced himself up out of the seat and stepped down onto the walkway. "I am unsure how long I will be, Thompson. If the lads get restless—well, even if they do not, let them stretch their legs and enjoy the day. The park is close. I am sure Broadmere will allow me a footman to flag you down should you not be here when I am ready to leave."

"I can keep a watch on the place while the lads get a bit of exercise, my lord. Never you fear." Thompson tipped his hat and eased the landau away from the curb.

"Up the steps, Knightwood," Thorne muttered to himself, still struggling with the wisdom of coming here in the first place. What the blazes did he hope to accomplish other than to tease himself with a woman he could never have? Before he turned tail and ran like a coward, he tapped the heavy door knocker on the brass plate.

After what felt like an interminable length of time, the same ancient man who had opened the door for the young messenger the other day eyed him with a watery-eyed squint before intoning, "Good day. May I help you?"

Thorne handed his card to the butler and said, "Lord Knightwood to call upon Lady Blessing." If he endeavored to be proper, he would simply leave his card and call at another time to give the lady the opportunity to warm to the idea. But he could only do so much proper in a day. If she chose to refuse him, at least she would have his card. "Lord Knightwood to see Lady Blessing?" he repeated a little louder in case the butler suffered from hearing loss due to his age.

With a perfect nod, the man opened the door wider. "Come in, my lord. I am unsure as to whether the Lady Blessing is receiving today. If you would be so good as to wait here, I shall return momentarily."

Thorne noticed the butler didn't offer to take his hat or gloves before ambling down the hallway. Apparently the man didn't hold out much hope for Thorne's success in being seen by the stargazing Broadmere sister. He ignored the urge to rock forward onto the balls of his feet, then back on his heels. You are not some inexperienced lad, he told himself. Stop acting like one. How on earth had he reduced himself to such behavior? He was always in control.

The elderly servant reappeared, and much like Cadwick's, the man's face was devoid of emotion, revealing absolutely nothing. "Lady Blessing will see you in her observatory, my lord. Please follow me." He turned, then halted almost as an afterthought, spun back around, and held out his hand. "Forgive me, my lord. May I take your hat and gloves?"

Thorne removed his gloves, then swept off his hat and tossed them inside it. "Here you are, my good man. Thank you."

The butler bowed, turned on his heel, then resumed his slow, hitching pace back down the hallway. Thorne almost swore he heard the elderly servant's joints creaking. But he understood Broadmere's desire to keep the man. After all, loyalty was often difficult to come by.

"Here we are, my lord." The butler halted in front of a closed door that was painted a gleaming white and had a large brass plate bolted to its center panel. The plate read: Blessing's Observatory. Entry by invitation only. You have been warned.

Thorne smiled and nervously ran his hand across the folds of his stylishly tied cravat. "I consider myself fortunate indeed to be received in the inner sanctum."

"You have no idea, my lord," the butler said before trundling off—either forgetting or choosing not to announce Thorne's arrival.

With a chuckle, Thorne shook his head. He took no offense. After all, he knew well enough how to work a door latch. He opened the door and eased inside, taking care to move slowly as if a trap awaited.

"He forgot again, Essie," a voice sang out from somewhere deeper in the high-ceilinged, cavernous room.

"Leave Walters alone, Tutie. He's old and doing his best." Lady Blessing stepped out from behind the largest and most elaborate telescope Thorne had ever seen. She smoothed an errant curl away from her face, trying but failing to tuck it back in with the others. The stubborn tress, as silky and white as an angel's wing, escaped again and fell alongside the soft curve of her cheek. "Do not be offended by our butler, Lord Knightwood. It is not just you he treats this way, but everyone. He's getting on in years but refuses to take his pension and rest. Chance…I mean…His Grace…"

As she paused and rolled her eyes, Thorne had to hold his breath to keep from laughing. This woman's wit was so refreshing. It filled him with such joy, he would willingly spend the rest of his days laughing with her.

"His Grace," she continued, "doesn't have the heart to forcibly pension him off."

"I find that quite commendable of His Grace," Thorne said. "There are several members of my staff who have been with me so long they are more family than servants."

Both her fair eyebrows rose as though she didn't believe him. But rather than call him a liar, she slightly turned and motioned for the one she had called Tutie to come forward. "I don't recall if you met this sister of mine at Lady Atterley's ball, so allow me to introduce her. Lady Fortuity. She is fourth in the pecking order, going from oldest to youngest."

"Lady Fortuity, it is an honor." Thorne offered her a bow, noting how she barely stepped out of the shadows as though wishing she could disappear.

The young woman curtsied, then cut her eyes over at Lady Blessing and waited.

Lady Blessing shrugged. "Don't look at me like that. I have no idea what a chaperone does other than make sure my virtue remains intact. Treat this situation like one of your character studies."

Lady Fortuity appeared to like that idea, because she noticeably relaxed before hurrying over to a table and settling down in front of several pieces of foolscap. She picked up what appeared to be a graphite pencil, eyed Thorne for a brief moment, then started writing.

"Character study?" Thorne asked Lady Blessing while trying to behave as if this unusual visit was something he experienced every day.

"Tutie…" Lady Blessing made a face, then drew in a deep breath and blew it out. " Lady Fortuity is a writer. Her stories are delightful, and she hopes to have them published someday."

"How interesting," he said even though he wasn't quite certain he wished to end up in some sort of published story. He had enough trouble avoiding too many appearances in the tittle-tattle sheets. "I trust you write fiction and change the names of all your characters to protect their true identities, Lady Fortuity?"

"Of course," the girl said softly without looking up from her notes.

With a faint smile, Lady Blessing waved him closer to the telescope. After a glance in her sister's direction, she gave an amused shake of her head. "She is lost to us now. The faster she writes, the deeper she delves into her worlds." She squared her shoulders and arched a brow, much like she had done the other day when glaring at him from her window. "What can I do for you, Lord Knightwood?"

"Do for me?" The lady sounded like a merchant ready to wait on him.

"Why are you here?" she said more slowly, as though adjusting her opinion of his intelligence or the lack thereof.

He offered her his most beguiling smile, the one that usually made the ladies swoon at his feet. "Why, I am calling on you, Lady Blessing. I found your company the other evening most charming and wish to know you better." When she didn't react as he'd expected, he pointed at the telescope. "And I wished to learn more about your observatory."

"I see." She puckered her mouth, then seemed to jerk as though startled and smoothed her fingers across her lips as if trying to wipe the pucker away. "Are you a student of astronomy?"

Common sense bade him answer honestly, or she'd call him out on the lie. "Nothing so educated or formal, my lady. I merely find that a sense of peace settles across me when I gaze at the night sky and lose myself in its grandeur."

She almost smiled but managed to catch herself and stop it in time. But her eyes betrayed her. She heartily approved of his answer. It made him even more determined to coax her smile free.

With an acknowledging twitch of a brow, she moved to one side, then pointedly nodded at the telescope's eyepiece. "Would you care to look? I just adjusted it for more accuracy in one of Fortuity's stories. Her research, you might say."

"But it's daylight," he gently reminded her, not wishing to deter or insult her.

Both her fair brows, darker than her gleaming white hair but still quite blonde, rose once again until they nearly reached the short, wispy tendrils framing her forehead. "I am well aware of the time," she said, her tone slightly mocking. She nodded at the eyepiece again. "Have a look, my lord. You might be surprised at what you see."

Deciding to humor her, he peered into the eyepiece, then straightened and frowned.

No. That was not possible.

He bent and looked again.

"What do you see, my lord?"

"The moon," he breathed with reverence. "Every blessed circle, shadow, and dimple of it."

"Craters, mountains, and ridges," she corrected him, a hint of merriment in her voice. "And yet if you step out onto the balcony and peer up into the sky, all you might see is the faintest white outline of the moon's edge, since it's early afternoon."

"Amazing." The image was so crisp and clear, he felt as though he could reach out and touch it. He straightened again and met her lively aquamarine gaze that made everything else pale in comparison. "Now I better understand your wish to be here on the clear night of Lady Atterley's ball. Who knows what stunning things you could have seen?"

"Thank you." The delighted look she gave him made the warm tightness in the center of his chest burn even hotter and radiate through him.

He swallowed hard and fought the urge to reach out and touch her cheek—or, heaven forbid, sample the sweetness of her perfectly pink lips. No. No matter how badly he longed for the feel of her in his arms, Lady Blessing was not to be trifled with.

"You are quite welcome, Lady Blessing," he managed to say. "Glad to be of service." But something in her eyes gave him pause. Was that a bit of longing he saw in them? Might she be attracted to him too?

Perhaps some fresh air was in order. It would do them both good. "I brought the landau," he announced with perhaps a tad too much energy. What the blazes was his bloody problem today? He was not an inexperienced cub. "Would you and Lady Fortuity care to join me for a ride in the park? As I am sure you already know the day is quite lovely for an outing."

Her delight disappeared as though it had never existed, immediately replaced with calm indifference. "No, thank you, Lord Knightwood." She made her way to the door and opened it wide, clearly dismissing him. "But I have enjoyed our visit. Thank you so much for calling today."

He eyed her but then decided against attempting to change her mind. No, that simply wouldn't do. Something about the lady told him she would set her stance and hold fast like the stubbornest of mules. He bowed to Lady Fortuity, who gave him the barest dip of her chin before returning her attention to her papers. "Good day, Lady Fortuity."

"Good day, Lord Knightwood," she said without looking up again.

He went to Lady Blessing and bowed again. "Thank you so much for your time today, my lady. You are indeed a treasure."

"Good day, Lord Knightwood," she said with the slightest curtsy, but he didn't miss the look in her eyes or the heightened blush across her cheeks. The lady liked him. He almost danced his way down the hallway, already planning the next move to impress the lovely Lady Blessing and find a way to draw her expression of delight back out into the open.