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Roxanne stared at Corrie. “How do you know?”

“My mama-in-law told me it is an unbroken law of nature that it always rains when an alfresco luncheon is planned. She told me once she announced a date for an alfresco party, then changed it at the last minute. She said it hadn’t mattered—English nature wasn’t fooled—it poured buckets.”

“I think we should be optimistic,” Sophie said. “If my optimism is misplaced, we will simply postpone the staking until a bright, sunny day. What do you think?”

“I think we are mad,” Corrie said happily, rubbed her hands together, and laughed until she suddenly paled and ran into the corner and threw up.

“I’m coming, my lady,” they heard Willicombe call from outside the drawing-room door.

“I wonder,” Roxanne said later, as their carriage bounced along the cobblestones, “if we should remove Devlin’s coat and shirt.”

Sophie said, “I wonder if he is as finely made as his uncle Julian.”

“Or Lord Hammersmith,” said Roxanne, and shuddered delicately.

11

Marksbury Manor On the Thames

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

It is such a lovely warm day,” Sophie said. “Look yon, my lord, the sun is emerging from behind those lovely fluffy white clouds. I swear I do not smell any coming rain. What do you think?”

Devlin Monroe looked from the drawing-room window to the sprawl of well-manicured gardens that gently sloped down to the water, where pleasure boats were tethered to a long narrow dock, awaiting young ladies and eager young gentlemen. White tents dotted the landscape because there was always the expectation of rain. Devlin looked at Miss Sophie Wilkie’s lovely dusky complexion. He raised his finger to stroke down her smooth cheek. She started, stared at him for a moment, then took a step back.

“My apologies. Your beautiful face was there, and my finger wouldn’t be denied. Yes, look, the sun is now coming out. Amazing. Are you certain you wish me to row you on the Thames? Perhaps I should prefer if you rowed me.”

“Since I have practically lived in boats all my life, I should be delighted to row you, my lord. You can wear a hat and carry an umbrella. A black one, so you would not be mistaken for a lady with very short hair and a parasol, in mourning black.”

A brow shot up. “As an insult, that was fairly comprehensive, Miss Wilkie. Now I must row you, my manhood demands it.”

She gave him a sweet smile, but there was something in that smile, he thought, something he didn’t particularly trust, something wicked. He studied her. “Would you like to tell me what mischief you are brewing, Miss Wilkie?”

“Oh, look, my lord, there is Corrie Sherbrooke. All alone, standing in full sun. Shall we say hello to her? Or would you wish I call her to come inside?”

“Only if James isn’t in the vicinity.”

“Why ever not?”

“He does not appreciate me, I fear, ever since I asked Corrie’s uncle for his permission to wed her.”

“Goodness, I wouldn’t appreciate you, either. Corrie told me you found her amusing, nothing more.”

“Ah, last fall was an interesting time. A pity you couldn’t have been here to witness all the drama. Corrie is an original. And now she is expecting a child. James did not waste any time.”

“That strikes me as being a rather indelicate disclosure for my innocent ears, my lord.”

“If you were really listening, you would have heard the whiff of sarcasm in my voice. In short, Corrie was forced to marry him. It was a pity, but she appears resigned to her fate.”

“Do you really think so? Let me see. James looks like a god, his form is close to divine, he is ever so smart, and I’ve watched him laugh and jest with her. Do you really think she has resigned herself to this appalling fate?”

“Your own use of sarcasm is wasted on me. It is only ladies who are prone to flights of fancy, Miss Wilkie. Beautiful? A man would think James Sherbrooke and his twin, Jason, to be good sorts, nothing more than that until they cheated at cards,

for example.”

“He has a twin?”

“Yes. They are identical. However, Jason has moved to America. Baltimore, I believe, is the name of the provincial city where he now resides. Unlike his brother, Jason is horse mad.”


Tags: Catherine Coulter Sherbrooke Brides Historical