Layla interrupted her husband. “Where is Winifred?” She looked up and caught the eye of a footman.

“Who is Winifred?” the earl asked with a frown.

Layla was busy explaining to the footman that she’d like four glasses of champagne, of which two were for her, so Edie undertook to answer. “Your mistress, Father.”

“How dare you say such an impertinent thing to me? Who has been telling your stepmother lies? I don’t even know a Winifred!”

“Oh?” Layla said, snapping back into the conversation. “Thin, very thin, with a corset stuffed with vegetables, too lightweight to sink: you know the type. You could throw her in the Serpentine and she would just bob to the surface, muttering about how much she envies women who are able to put on weight.”

The earl was clearly lost.

“Don’t try,” Edie advised him. The footman arrived with the champagne, and she safeguarded hers before Layla could snatch it.

“Winifred,” Layla said, a bit sadly, “is the woman who stole you away from me, Jonas. I used to please you, you know. We weren’t exactly like rabbits, but c’est la vie.” She shrugged and, with one gulp, drank half a glass of champagne.

“How long has she been like this?” The look on Edie’s father’s face was edging from half to three-quarters barbarian.

“Oh, about two years,” Edie said, considering. “In the stages of marital harmony, I’d say the two of you are at about stage eight of ten—ten being the slough of utter despond.”

“You have no right to speak to me this way, daughter!” he snapped.

Edie looked away from the mix of anger and anguish in her father’s eyes . . . to see Gowan standing behind the earl.

Fifteen

The Duke of Kinross was magnificently dressed in a coat of darkest blue velvet with silver buttons. He fell back a step, moving into a bow that would have graced a prince. “Lady Edith.” He straightened. “Lady and Lord Gilchrist.” He bowed again.

Edie rose, well aware that she was smiling like a loon. “Your Grace, I gather you concluded your business in Brighton sooner than you thought possible.”

He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I whipped the bankers into a lather. They were glad to see the back of me.”

“I am glad to see the front of you.”

His smile was response enough.

“Good evening,” Layla cried, her voice sounding more musical now that it had a faint slur. “You’ve returned just in time, Your Grace. I do believe that Lord Gilchrist is thinking of nullifying your betrothal. He’s rather fickle these days.”

It was astonishing to see how Gowan suddenly radiated pure menace, without even shifting a muscle. “I trust Lady Gilchrist is mistaken,” he said, turning to the earl.

Edie’s father had risen. “My wife exaggerates. As I explained to you, Your Grace, I have doubts about your marital happiness, but such worries are no grounds for breaking a contract.”

“Taking a more optimistic view of our future, I have brought with me a special license,” Gowan said, taking Edie’s hand and drawing it into his arm. “My lord the Archbishop of Canterbury was very amiable about the matter.”

“Marry in haste?” the earl said, scowling. “Cast a shadow on my daughter’s reputation?”

Gowan looked down at Edie. “Being a Scot, I don’t understand the intricacies of English polite society. Would it be so terrible?”

“Yes, it would,” Edie replied. “We’d be pariahs for a time, though not as much as if we fled to Scotland and married in Gretna Green.”

The smile in his eyes told her all she needed to know.

So she answered his unspoken question: “I am not afraid of scandal.”

Layla came to her feet with a slight wobble. “It will be no more than a seven-day wonder. Dukes will be dukes. What a charming notion!” She swiveled. “Betsy, ma chère, where have you gone? My darling stepdaughter is to be married tomorrow morning. The tide of true love is sweeping her into the arms of a duke!”

Lady Runcible jumped up from a nearby table, looking as curious as is possible for a woman whose face paint would crack under the influence of a truly powerful emotion. “How charming,” she cried. “I saw the announcement in the Morning Post, but I had no idea that the event itself would be so speedily effected.”

“True love cannot be denied,” Layla said. “You know that yourself, Betsy, given your sad experiences. Life is fleeting and one should gather rosebuds—or is it rainbows? At any rate, one should get on the stick before it’s too late.”

“His Grace has many important affairs to attend to in Scotland,” the earl said with chilly precision. “Therefore, he has requested an immediate wedding date.”

“Exactly,” Gowan said, smiling at Lady Runcible. “I cannot wait to bring my beautiful bride to my castle at Craigievar.” He drew Edie a little closer to him.

“I am sure that I speak for all when I wish the two of you a most happy life together,” Lady Runcible pronounced.

“Love sweeps away all barriers,” Layla put in, sounding a bit ragged. She sat down again.

Lady Runcible gave them a toothy smile and trotted off, undoubtedly to inform everyone of the scandalous haste with which the Duke of Kinross was to marry the daughter of the Earl of Gilchrist.

“If I am to marry on the morrow,” Edie said, astonished at how calmly she said the words, “I believe I would like to go home now.”

“You are not marrying on the morrow,” her father said grimly. “Even if I acquiesce to this notion of a special license, the ceremony will take place in a measured and prudent fashion.”

Gowan bowed, looking quite pleased with himself. “I will be delighted to pay you a visit tomorrow afternoon to discuss these arrangements, my lord.”

“In that case, I would prefer to stay here,” Layla said, adjusting the pearl-embroidered band in her hair. “I haven’t even danced, and naturellement . . .” The intended point of that thought seemed to elude her, so she merely added, “I refuse to return home at such an unfashionably early hour.”

The last thing Edie wanted to do was remain in her father and stepmother’s company. She threw Gowan a pleading look.

“I would be happy to escort my fiancée to your house,” Gowan told the earl. “You can be assured that I have only the most honorable of intentions.”

Edie’s father’s jaw was clenched, but he managed to speak. “I would be most grateful if you would escort my daughter, Your Grace. My wife and I shall return in due course.”

“Not if Winifred is in the carriage as well,” Layla said with great dignity. “I have standards.”

Edie’s father sat down at the table, an expression of confounded rage on his face. “Will you please do me the courtesy of enlightening me as to the identity of this Winifred?”

“Not until we discuss rabbits,” Layla said, her jaw set as firmly as her husband’s. She pushed away the empty glass and delicately took hold of the stem of her second.

“Rabbits?”

“Good evening, Layla, Father,” Edie called, dragging Gowan away without waiting for a response. “I apologize for that scene,” she said, when they were a safe distance away. “I believe their marriage has reached a boiling point.”