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hostess, he had claimed her hand for a set of
country dances.
    Enchanted with her
pretty manners as well as her beautiful face, the then Lord Phillip had
introduced himself to Letitia’s mother, only to receive a chilly rebuff. Letitia
had received a most advantageous offer, and only the details of the marriage
contract remained to be settled before the betrothal was announced. The third
son of a marquess was of no interest to Lady Bainstall. Lord Phillip, who even
then had reason to believe that Lord Morgan might not be entirely desirable as
a husband, could do nothing, and had retired from the amatory lists.
    That encounter with
Letitia was one of the rare times when Phillip had felt his heart might
possibly become engaged, and his snubbing by her parent had left a lasting
impression. While he could hardly be said to be wearing the willow for a lost
love, Letitia’s open, pleasing ways and remarkable beauty had held a special,
though unacknowledged, place in his heart ever since. This softness had been
overlaid with so many layers of boredom, cynicism, and indifference that it
would seem to have disappeared, but the sight of Letitia produced a sense of
loss and longing that was entirely unfamiliar to him.
    He shook his head
and walked on. It was foolish to be indulging in boyish fantasies; his path had
long ago separated from Letitia Winwood’s, and he doubted a widow with small
children would hold the same allure as had the laughing creature in the
ballroom. That part of his life was over.
    The next evening
Lord Eynsford presented himself at the Strancaster House promptly at eight o’clock.
He was clad with great propriety in an evening coat and perfectly fitting knee
breeches. He handed his hat and evening cape to the footman, and allowed the
butler to show him to the elegantly appointed drawing room. Lord Exencour
awaited him, and offered his guest a sherry.
    “I am afraid we
must wait some minutes for the ladies to complete their toilettes,” he said
with a smile. “I am sure it will be well worth it.”
    In the company of
his old friend, Eynsford’s air of weary hauteur left him, and the two gentlemen
were laughing when the door opened and Isobel entered. She paused a moment in
the doorway, taken slightly aback by the sheer masculine beauty present in her
drawing room. Her husband, by any measure, was a very handsome man, but he was
cast quite in the shade by the marquess. Isobel blinked and smiled, then
greeted her guest.
    “Lord Eynsford, how
pleasant to see you again. You are so seldom in England that I feel honored to
have you in my home.”
    The marquess kissed
her hand gracefully and smiled down at her. She was very beautiful, her auburn
hair and sparkling green eyes set off by her dress of white satin and silver
net, trimmed with green velvet ribands. He felt a slight pang of envy at the
obvious pride and love in Exencour’s eyes.
    “I am honored to be
here, Lady Exencour,” he responded. “I have been complimenting my friend on his
marriage. I was unaware that he had such excellent taste.”
    “Flatterer,” said
Isobel. “But pray, continue. I have been married more than a year now, and my
husband does not compliment me as he was used to.”
    “You wound me,”
said Lord Francis, putting his arm about her waist. “If that is true, it is
merely to prevent you from becoming swollen-headed. You know you are the most
delightful creature in England.”
    Eynsford surveyed
them with a smile. “I see that you have brought my bold companion to heel,
ma’am,” he said. “In our wild days in Spain, Francis did not stay with one woman
long.”
    Isobel seated
herself on the settee and patted the place next to her. “Come, my lord, sit by
me and tell me of my husband’s time in Spain. I fear he will not furnish me
with any but the most innocuous descriptions of his stay in that land.”
    This brought more
laughter from the men. “I do not dare, my lady,” said the marquess. “Francis
would surely