A short time later Robert, wrapped in his blue silk dressing gown, sat at a fall-front secretaire and penned a note to Augusta and her parents explaining his absence and sending his regrets that he could not escort Augusta to those dinners and routs to which they had been expected. This would not please Lady Windhurst, he knew. He tried to smooth over this obstacle by mentioning the dowager's intention of holding an engagement ball. This bit of news should send Lady Windhurst into high alt. The dowager countess was well known and respected in the beau monde and had many friends of high rank who could be expected to attend her ball.

After sealing and franking the letter to Augusta, Robert sat absently trimming the quill as he pondered the engagement ball. He suspected his grandmother had hidden motives, and the ball was merely a ruse to get to London and meddle in his affairs. No, that was not fair. Lady Bradleigh had never actually interfered in his life. In fact, he was often grateful that his grandmother was not one of those managing females who made it her business to find him a wife, despite his increasing age and his obligation to the succession. He had seen several friends over the years succumb to the machinations of mothers, aunts, sisters, or grandmothers who continually threw eligible young misses in their paths. It was almost like a game with these women, and he was happy that the two most significant women in his life, his grandmother and his sister, were content to leave him to his own devices. It seemed they were satisfied to have his respectable cousin Simon continue as the heir apparent. Robert was fond of Simon and knew he would be a worthy successor to the earldom. But as he grew older he was forced to admit that he would much prefer a son of his own to inherit the title. Hence his recent betrothal.

Robert had no trouble picturing the beautiful and coolly elegant Miss Windhurst in the role of his countess. He dismissed the egregious Lady Windhurst as an insignificant burden, since he had no intention of allowing her to live in his pocket. He would remove Augusta to his seat in Derbyshire away from the persistent prattling of her mother, which he secretly suspected Augusta would appreciate. He did not fool himself that he was in love with Augusta. Nor she with him. But he was sure that they would rub along well enough together, and that she would provide him with beautiful children. What sort of a mother would she make? he wondered. Would their children be able to warm her cool and distant nature? Would he?

Robert forced himself to cease his woolgathering and dress for dinner. His grandmother had a marvelous French chef who could always be counted on to provide extraordinary culinary delights. He was certain that the dowager would insist on bringing Anatole to Bradleigh House, and he began to ponder the inevitable battles in the kitchen with his own cook.

Later that evening Robert made his way downstairs to the drawing room, after having been fussed over by the fastidious Luckett. He wasn't totally indifferent to his appearance, but he was not obsessive about it, as was his valet. For Luckett it was a matter of honor that his master be turned out in distinction. Fortunately for Robert, Luckett was an advocate of the Brummel school of simplicity and elegance. He would not have been nearly so indulgent of a valet who attempted to turn him out in dandified extravagance. As it was, Robert simply trusted Luckett to see to it that he was appropriately attired, and paid little more attention to the matter. He could not even boast of tying his own cravat, as did many fashionable gentlemen of the ton. On this particular evening, Luckett had selected black pantaloons, a black superfine jacket, a subtly striped dark gray waistcoat, and snowy white linen shirt and cravat.

As he entered the drawing room, Robert found Miss Townsend as its only occupant. The dowager was uncharacteristically late.

"Good evening. Miss Townsend," he said. "Ah, I see Barnes has provided us with sherry. May I pour you a glass?"

"Thank you, my lord. I would enjoy a glass of sherry," Emily replied. She watched as the earl moved with languid catlike grace toward the ormolu-mounted console table. Catlike was an appropriate description, she thought, as the earl looked every inch the sleek panther in his stark black evening clothes. Even his dark hair was sleek, as it was now combed straight back from the forehead. As it was thick and slightly long, Emily suspected that by an evening's end it would inevitably fall over his brow in the deep wave of earlier this afternoon.

Emily shuddered as she suddenly realized that all the tales she'd ever heard about the Earl of Bradleigh must indeed be true. It was a good thing that she was no green girl susceptible to the charms of a notorious rake.

She was mesmerized by his long elegant fingers, which seemed to caress the sherry decanter.

Robert felt Miss Townsend's eyes on him as he poured the sherry. His every action was the slow and deliberately seductive movement of one used to the appreciative gazes of women. He handed the glass to Miss Townsend, allowing his fingers to brush hers for an instant, then poured one for himself. He leaned against the fireplace mantel and watched her as she took a dainty sip. She was wearing a plain dark gray silk dress with a prim, high neck trimmed in vandyked lace. Only slightly more attractive than the dark kerseymere round gown of the afternoon, it was no less severe. He nevertheless was convinced of a spirited nature beneath the prim exterior, certain he had glimpsed a flash of wicked amusement in her eyes after his grandmother had boxed his ears earlier that afternoon. That, along with her surreptitious scrutiny of his person as well as the rumors reported by Luckett, so intrigued him that he was determined to draw her out After all, he must find some diversion while in Bath.

"How long have you been Grandmother's companion, Miss Townsend?" he asked, breaching what he realized had become an awkward silence. "I do not recall meeting you when I last visited Bath a little over a year ago."

"No, my lord," Emily replied, instinctively retreating into her normal scrupulous composure, somewhat embarrassed that she had allowed it to slip in front of the earl. She hoped he had not noticed her staring at him while he poured the sherry, or felt the slight tremor of her fingers at the touch of his own. She really must compose herself. It was ridiculous to allow the earl to have such an effect on her simply because he was so attractive. She had certainly been in the presence of attractive men before. It must be the idea of his slightly dangerous reputation that caused her to feel so ill at ease. Well, she was not a schoolgirl, and he was probably not dangerous at all. He was only trying to make polite conversation. Her good breeding and manners rose to the surface.

"I was not yet employed by Lady Bradleigh at that time," she continued. "She graciously offered me a position after the death of my last employer, Lady Fitzhugh. That would have been almost twelve months ago."

"I remember Lady Fitzhugh," he said, frowning slighdy. "She had been a friend of Grandmother's since they were girls, I believe. I am sorry to hear of her death."

A few more silent moments passed while neither spoke. Finally the earl moved away from the mantel and approached Emily. "Do you like it here in Bath?" he asked.

"Very much so, my lord," she replied. "I have been used to the quiet life of the country, and so Bath seems a grand city to me. And, of course, Lady Bradleigh has been more than kind to me. Why, she hardly treats me as an employee at all. She has a wide circle of friends here in Bath, and she is always considerate enough to include me in all their various gatherings. Thanks to Lady Bradleigh I have met many interesting and amusing people." Emily bit back a smile as she recalled some of the more eccentric visitors to the Laura Place town house.

"I imagine you have indeed!" Robert said, flashing a crooked grin. "Captain Driscoll, for example?"

"Oh, yes. And his parrot Danny Boy. They have frequently entertained us with rather colorful seafaring ditties," Emily said, unable any longer to suppress a smile.

The earl threw back his head and laughed, the abrupt movement slightly loosening his hair from its severe style. "Colorful! Miss Townsend, you have a gift for understatement. As I recall, Driscoll and Danny Boy can be downright obscene! I sincerely hope my grandmother's cronies have not completely assaulted your sense of decency."

"Oh, no, my lord, I am not so missish as that," Emily said, smiling broadly as she became caught up in his mirth. "I find your grandmother's friends thoroughly entertaining. I particularly like Sir Percy Whittaker, who will be joining us tonight for dinner."

"Sir Percy? Is he still hanging around Bath? I suspect you must know of his alter ego?"

"Penelope Manning? Oh, yes. In fact, I must admit to having read a few of Miss Manning's novels in the past. I was quite shocked to discover that the romantic Miss Manning was in truth the rather gruff Sir Percy."

"I must say, you don't strike me as the gothic romance type, Miss Townsend," he said. "All those dungeons and abductions and the like. You appear to be quite a sensible young woman, with feet planted firmly on the ground," the earl said with a slight raising of his brows.

"Oh, I am indeed quite sensible, my lord," Emily said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "But we all have our moments of weakness." Their eyes locked for a brief moment, and then both laughed aloud.

The dowager entered the drawing room at that moment, resplendent in lavender and silver, with Charlemagne trailing close behind. At the sound of laughter, Charlemagne felt obliged to join in with raucous barking.

"Cela suffit! Tais-toi, chien," the dowager scolded. The pug immediately ceased barking and returned obediently to her side. "Well," she said, smiling, "I am glad to see you two young people enjoying yourselves. Is not Emily a dear, Robert? I don't know how I ever got on without her."

Robert smiled and raised his glass to Emily in salute.

* * *

They were soon joined by Major and Mrs. Chenowith, an elderly couple who were each every bit as gregarious as the dowager. Like the dowager, the Chenowiths were year-long residents of Bath and therefore frequent visitors to Laura Place.

Mrs. Chenowith and Lady Bradleigh immediately put their turbaned heads together in discussion of some local on-dit, while the major lost no time in engaging Robert in close conversation. He was particularly anxious for news from London regarding last week's assassination of the Prime Minister. As Robert took his responsibilities in the House of Lords quite seriously, despite his rather roguish reputation, he was able to enlighten the major regarding the latest concerns as to what the Regent might do about appointing a new Prime Minister. As a dedicated Tory, the major was encouraged to learn that the Regent appeared to be turning his back on his Whig cronies and leaning toward maintaining a proper Tory government.

Although the major expressed no particular surprise, Robert was quite astonished to hear Miss Townsend join in the conversation with some obvious knowledge of the political situation. Most young women he knew read no further than the social pages of the newspapers. In fact, many were not allowed to read any further, as a protection against feminine sensibilities. Yet here was a young woman who obviously read the political news of the day with some regularity. Of course, a woman of Miss Townsend's station in life would not be faced with the normal distractions of fashion and Town gossip. Robert responded politely to her questions regarding the assassin's trial at the Old Bailey, which had been in progress when he had left Town. She also asked his opinion of Lord Liverpool and the implications of his possible appointment by the Regent. Robert was further confounded by this intriguing woman to recognize subtle Whig tendencies in her comments. The mystery of Miss Townsend deepened.

Robert was unable to probe this mystery any further as Sir Percy Whittaker and Lord Hargreaves were announced. Both gentlemen were longtime acquaintances of the dowager and loyal members of her Bath coterie. Each made a beeline to her side to pay his compliments. Lord Hargreaves was first on the spot, offering the dowager a brief salute on each cheek. She spoke a few fond words to the handsome silver-haired viscount before she turned to greet her other guest.

Sir Percy, a short, stocky gentleman with longish gray hair and gold-rimmed spectacles, reached for the dowager's outstretched hand, which he brought to his lips. "Frances, my dear," he said, "it is, as always, a pleasure. You look quite smart this evening." The dowager nodded in acknowledgment of his compliment. Turning to Miss Townsend, he grasped that lady's hand as well, also bringing it to his lips. "Emily, my girl. I look forward to another delightful evening of your scintillating conversation."

Miss Townsend smiled at the older man, who, Robert couldn't help but notice, held her hand a little longer than was absolutely proper. He then turned to Robert, bowing crisply. "Lord Bradleigh. What a pleasant surprise to find you in Bath once again. It has been some time since we last met."

More pleasantries were exchanged while sherry was passed around. When dinner was announced, Robert offered his arm to his grandmother, Lord Hargreaves escorted Mrs. Chenowith, and Sir Percy escorted Emily. This left Major Chenowith unpartnered, and although he seemed unconcerned, the dowager was obviously uncomfortable, as she found uneven numbers extremely vulgar.

Anatole's delicacies were enhanced by the lively conversation and witty repartee of all diners, made easier by the unusual round table. Dining in this intimate setting precluded adherence to the standard dining room proprieties. It was almost impossible to limit conversation to the person at one's side. Indeed, there was much general conversation across table. Robert noted that Miss Townsend, though soft-spoken and polite, was actively included in most conversations. He particularly noted that Sir Percy, whom he had known for years as one of his grandmother's ubiquitous swains, appeared on this evening to have more interest in Miss Townsend. The normally inscrutable baronet was positively oozing warmth as he conversed with her. Had this aging roué developed a tendre for his grandmother's companion? Poor Miss Townsend, he thought. He kept an eye open for hints that Miss Townsend had also set her cap for the older man, but he saw nothing more than friendly civility and restrained amusement.

Sir Percy shot Robert a look at one point that made it clear he was aware of Robert's scrutiny.

After dinner the gentlemen immediately joined the ladies in the drawing room, foregoing their usual port at the insistence of the dowager. She deplored the standard practice of postprandial segregation and refused to sanction it in her own home. She felt that the ladies should not have to be deprived of the gentlemen's company, just so the gentlemen might drink port, smoke cigars, and tell bawdy stories. She saw no reason why they could not share these activities with the ladies.

Robert lagged behind a bit and waited to see how the other six would arrange themselves about the room. He accepted a glass of port from Barnes and casually roamed the room, surveying the others. The dowager claimed her favorite fauteuil near the fireplace, while Charlemagne claimed her lap. Lord Hargreaves took an adjacent chair while the Chenowiths sat together on a small needlepoint settee. Sir Percy led Emily to the other side of the room, where he took a chair opposite her.

Finally, in response to his curiosity and amusement at Sir Percy's possessive attentions toward his grandmother's companion, Robert boldly intruded on what appeared to be a private conversation by deliberately parking himself on the delicate painted sofa, next to Miss Townsend. He pretended not to notice Sir Percy's eyes narrow momentarily as he insinuated himself into their conversation. As their discussion turned to the impending removal to London, Sir Percy became visibly agitated. He was apparently most upset that the Laura Place ladies, and in particular Miss Townsend, were to leave Bath. Sir Percy caught Robert's puzzled frown and chuckled.

"My lord," Sir Percy said with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, "I sense your curiosity. So that you may not get the wrong impression, I now will let you in on a secret that you must swear never to reveal, as it would be most lowering to my reputation."

Robert's brows rose in question. "I am all agog with suspense, Sir Percy. Pray, put me out of my misery."

"Well, you see," Sir Percy continued in a conspiratorial voice, "Miss Townsend has been assisting me with my latest literary endeavor. After so many years of penning the usual gothic drivel, I found myself quite dried up. The old upper works completely bereft of new ideas. Then one day while having tea in Laura Place with a few dozen of your grandmother's closest friends, Miss Townsend took pity on me and rescued me from a numbing conversation with a certain turbaned dragon who claimed to be Penelope Manning's greatest fan. Normally I go to great lengths to divorce myself from my literary alter ego, but somehow this harpy had unmasked my identity. Miss Townsend recognized my distress and deftly swept the dragon away. When Miss Townsend then took over the dragon's seat, it marked the beginning of a delightful friendship." He gazed fondly at Emily. "I happily discovered that we are somewhat kindred spirits, that Emily is something of a bluestocking."

Robert turned to look at Miss Townsend with questioning brows. She smiled shyly at him and shrugged with resignation.

"Ah, my dear Emily," Sir Percy said, obviously sensing Miss Townsend's discomfort, "you must not reject the label of bluestocking. How much more intriguing is the educated woman with wit and intelligence as compared to the usual insipid misses one meets in Society, with no conversation and little sense. Is that not so, my lord?" Sir Percy asked.

"Without question," Robert said, grinning at Miss Townsend. This woman continued to intrigue him.

"English society is quite backward in this particular area," Sir Percy said. "In France they appreciate a clever woman, as your grandmother knows well, Lord Bradleigh. In Paris, before the days of this upstart Corsican, Frances and Emily would no doubt have set up a grand salon and held court to the intelligentsia. Instead they are stuck here in Bath with a bunch of old eccentrics like me." He sighed.

"And yet," he continued more cheerfully, "it is my great fortune that they are here." He gazed fondly across the room at the dowager, who was in animated conversation with Lord Hargreaves and the Chenowiths. "My dear Frances has often acted as my inspiration and my muse as she regales me with stories of her youth. Such a life she has led!" He smiled over at the dowager, who looked up and smiled flirtatiously in return. "I can only write of such adventures, having lived a rather quiet life myself. And now I have the muse of Emily as well."

"Don't tell me that you are a notorious adventuress, Miss Townsend?" Robert asked, eyes wide with feigned astonishment.

"Hardly, my lord," she said, laughing. "I, too, as you must know, have led a very quiet life."

"A quiet life cannot contain an active, agile brain," Sir Percy said. "Emily has been invaluable to me in suggesting story lines, plot twists, characters, dialogue, and such. Her ideas have quite revitalized my writing. My publisher has been most pleased with the early chapters." He nodded his thanks to Miss Townsend, who nodded in return. "Do you think, my dear, that I might impose so much as to send you the drafts of the later chapters while you are in London? I would so appreciate your continued advice."

"Of course, Sir Percy," Miss Townsend said. "I would be happy to read them. But I doubt that you really need my advice."

"I welcome it, nonetheless," Sir Percy said as he rose to leave. He went to the dowager's side, offering her a chaste kiss on the cheek. He then turned back to Emily, took her hand, and brought it to his lips. "I trust we can have a few more visits together before your departure, my dear?" he asked.

"Of course, Sir Percy."

"I shall look forward to it," he crooned.

As the baronet departed, Robert turned to Miss Townsend and said in an undertone, "I see my grandmother is not the only one with doting admirers."

Emily scowled at him in mock distress.