"You dosed him?" Imogen asked, bewildered.

"With one of Papa's horse medicines. Actually it's one I developed myself to treat colic caused by green apples. But I know that it doesn't agree very well with humans, because Peterkin gave it to one of the stablemen when he had a stomachache, and the poor man was sick for a week."

"Oh, Josie!" Imogen said, laughing again. "That's so cruel."

"I wouldn't have done it," Josie said, "but I told him to go away, and he wouldn't. So finally I said that I knew perfectly well that he thought I was a hog-faced sow."

"What did he do?"

"He just stared at me for a moment, and then he said that I wasn't going to have any other chance at marriage, and it was best that we were clear amongst ourselves. And then he said that he could make me happy, and I would never do as well. He couldn't see anyone wanting to marry me, especially in England."

"What an ass," Annabel said dispassionately.

"He said they have standards in England." Josie looked a little teary again, but she took a deep breath. "I still wouldn't have done something as mean as dose him, except that he said he'd watched me eat and he could tell that I liked my food better than any man. And then— and then I made up my mind."

"Good. He deserved it."

"But it didn't stop what he said from being true. I do love Scottish food. I ate and ate while I was there, and Miss Flecknoe kept talking about how I should go on a vinegar diet, and I kept not doing it, because Ewan's chef would make fresh bannocks in the morning. Every night I decided to start with vinegar and cucumbers in the morning. And then every morning, there would be bannocks and kippers and ham in the breakfast room, and before I knew it, I would have eaten."

"You can't eat vinegar and cucumbers!" Imogen said. "Where did she get such a ridiculous idea?"

"She says that the Duchess of Surrey's daughter lost three stone doing that. And she says that I am lacking in determination, and unless I stop eating, I'll never be able to marry."

Imogen rubbed her sister's back some more and decided to talk to Rafe about Miss Flecknoe. "If you drank nothing more than vinegar during the day, darling, you would probably die. Waste away."

Josie looked unconvinced. "I have a long way to go before I waste away. I could just stop somewhere between here and the grave."

"It's not safe. Besides, you'll get spots."

That was a better argument, she could see at once. Josie had been through a rather spotty spell last year, but these days her skin was as flawless and smooth as Irish cream.

"All over your face," she added. "The red, sticking-out kind."

"Perhaps I should just stop eating altogether," Josie said, sniffling a bit. "I can't have a season when people are calling me a Scottish piglet behind my back. I just can't. I'd rather be a spinster, like Miss Flecknoe."

Imogen laughed at that. "Miss Flecknoe is like a long drink of the vinegar she's trying to get you to take. No one would want to be with her."

"Nor yet with me."

"That is not true. You are a beautiful young woman. You are curvaceous and beautiful, as well as being funny and loving."

"I wish that was true," Josie said heavily. "But the truth is that I curve out and out. And after being in Scotland, those curves just got bigger. I had to leave. And I simply couldn't bear to tell Annabel why I was leaving. I don't know why I have no will power, and everyone else in the world seems to have it. Even the disgusting Cro-gan brother isn't as round as I am."

"We'll write Annabel and say something. She's obviously worried."

"I doubt it. She lies around and sleeps all the time, when she's not eating. But she's carrying a child. I have no excuses."

"Annabel has never been as slim as those women pictured in La Belle Assemblee. And yet she has never failed to make a man desire her."

"Well, I'm plumper than she is. Her curves are in different places. And I haven't the faintest idea how to make anyone desire me!" Josie wailed.

"Have you had breakfast this morning?"

"I'm never eating again. I quit last night."

Imogen sighed and put her feet over the edge of the bed.

"Euw," Josie said. "You really do smell like wine."

"That happens if you fall into a wine barrel. I bathed last night, but I didn't want to go to bed with wet hair. Let me have a quick scrub and then we'll both have breakfast. The world is always tragic if you haven't eaten. I swear all those Greek dramatists must have been writing in the midst of a hundred-year famine."

"Sophocles was at war for years," Josie said, looking marginally more cheerful. "He probably had to eat soldiers' rations."

Imogen shuddered. "Mrs. Redfern may not make bannocks as well as Ewan's chef, but we can do better than soldiers' rations."

"So what is Mr. Spenser like?" Josie asked. "Annabel and I are utterly fascinated by the subject and talked about it endlessly after we got your letter about the play. We must write her today and describe every detail."

"He's quite gentlemanly."

"Does he have any sign of his birth? Say, a hunchback?"

"Josie! How can you be so unkind, especially after the story you just told me?"

"I suppose you're right," Josie said, after a moment. "That was unjust. I just find it interesting, that's all. I've never known anyone to be illegitimate except for Auld Michael in the village. Do you remember him?"

"The old man who used to sit on the well and charge ha'pence to draw up the water? And if you refused, he'd spit tobacco juice down the well?"

Josie nodded. "I have only that charming example to go on."

"Well, expecting every man born out of wedlock to be like Auld Michael is like expecting every woman to be as slim as Lady Jersey herself." Imogen pulled on her dressing gown and headed for her bathroom.

Josie's voice stopped her. "Could it be that you've taken a true liking to Rafe's brother, Imogen?"

She stopped, hand on the door, and didn't turn around. "He's a very likeable person."

Josie said: "Oh, but—" and then stopped.

Imogen went into the bathroom and closed the door.

Chapter 22

In Which a Seducer is Brought Up-to-Date on His Private Activities

Rafe had to suppose that there would be many a gentleman among his acquaintances who might feel awkward after almost seducing his ward. Alternatively, there were other gentlemen who might feel a certain amount of self-reproach at the idea that they had almost seduced a young widow. Even the most hardened reprobate would presumably feel awkward about encountering the said ward at the breakfast table.

Which only went to show that people should wear false mustaches far more often. True, he had barely restrained himself from dragging Imogen into his bedroom the previous night and stripping her down to the dregs of wine. But, mustache-free, he could eat an egg opposite her with total impunity. And likely Gabe could as well, since he enjoyed a blameless sleep in his own chamber.

"Your Grace," Trevick said. "May I ask you to stand still? I am having some trouble with your cuffs."