“Three years of marriage to John, and no children. Not even a miscarriage. And it’s always said that women are to blame in these matters.”

“That’s a belief I don’t happen to share. Women are not always at fault for infertility—that’s been proven. And John was ill for most of your marriage. There’s every reason to hope that you’ll be able to have children with another man.”

Audrey smiled wryly. “We’ll see what fate has in store for me. But I don’t aspire to marry again. I’m weary to the bone. I feel like a woman of five-and-ninety, instead of five-and-twenty.”

“You need more time,” Christopher murmured. “You’ll feel differently someday, Audrey.”

“Perhaps,” she said, sounding unconvinced.

Their attention was caught by the increasingly animated conversation between Beatrix and Annandale. “. . . I can climb a tree as well as any of the Ramsay estate woodsmen,” Beatrix was telling him.

“I don’t believe you,” the earl declared, tremendously entertained.

“Oh, yes. Off with the skirts, off with the corset, I put on a pair of breeches, and—”

“Beatrix,” Audrey interrupted, before this scandalous discussion of intimate apparel progressed any further. “I just caught a glimpse of Poppy in the next room. It’s been ages since I’ve seen her. And I’ve never been introduced to her husband.”

“Oh.” Reluctantly Beatrix turned her attention away from Annandale. “Shall I take you to them?”

“Yes.” Audrey seized her arm.

Annandale looked disgruntled, his black brows lowering as Audrey propelled Beatrix away.

Christopher bit back a grin. “What do you think of her?” he asked.

Annandale replied without hesitation. “I would marry her myself, were I five years younger.”

“Five?” Christopher repeated skeptically.

“Ten, damn you.” But a slight smile had appeared on the earl’s time-weathered face. “I commend you on your choice. She’s a spirited girl. Fearless. Lovely in her own way, and with her charm she has no need of true beauty. You’ll need to keep a firm hand on the reins, but the trouble will be worth it.” He paused, looking wistful. “Once you’ve had a woman like that, you can never be content with the ordinary kind.”

Christopher had been about to argue over the question of Beatrix’s beauty, which in his opinion was unequaled. But that last sentence caught his attention. “You’re referring to Grandmother?” he asked.

“No. Your grandmother was the kind of woman I thought I should marry. I was in love with someone else—a far less suitable girl. And I let her go, to my everlasting regret.” He sighed, pondering some distant memory. “A lifetime without her . . .”

Fascinated, Christopher wanted to ask more . . . but this was hardly the time or place for such a conversation. However, it gave him an unexpected insight into his grandfather. What would it do to a man, to marry a Prudence when one might have had a Beatrix? It would be enough to turn anyone bitter.

Later in the evening, trays of champagne were brought out, and the assembled guests waited expectantly for the betrothal announcement to be made.

Unfortunately, the man designated to do it was temporarily missing.

After a brief search, Leo was found and urged into the drawing room, where he launched into a charming toast and listed any number of amusing reasons for marriage. Although most of the guests listened with close attention and chuckled throughout, Christopher heard a pair of women gossiping nearby, whispering in disapproving undertones.

“. . . Ramsay was found flirting in the corner with a woman. They had to drag him away from her.”

“Who was it?”

“His own wife.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Yes. How unseemly for a married couple to carry on so.”

“I suppose the Hathaways know no better.”

Christopher suppressed a grin and fought the temptation to turn and inform the two old hens that the Hathaways actually did know better. They just didn’t give a damn. He glanced down at Beatrix, wondering if she had heard, but she was oblivious to the gossip, her attention fixed on her brother.

Leo concluded the toast with heartfelt wishes for the betrothed couple’s future happiness and prosperity. The guests raised their glasses and cheered in agreement.

Taking Beatrix’s gloved hand in his, Christopher lifted it and pressed a kiss to the back of her wrist. He wanted to carry her away from the crowded drawing room and have her all to himself.

“Soon,” Beatrix whispered, as if she had read his thoughts, and he let his gaze caress her. “And don’t look at me like that,” she added. “It makes my knees wobbly.”

“Then I won’t tell you what I’d like to do with you right now. Because you’d topple over like a ninepin.”

The private, pleasurable moment ended all too soon.

Lord Annandale, who was standing near Leo, pushed his way to the fore, holding up his champagne glass. “My friends,” he said, “I hope to contribute to the happiness of this occasion by sharing some news from London.”

The crowd quieted respectfully.

A cold feeling slithered down Christopher’s spine. He glanced at Leo, who looked bemused and shrugged.

“What is it?” Beatrix whispered.

Christopher shook his head, staring at his grandfather. “God help me, I don’t know.”