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him to collect himself. “We are understood, Lord Kirk. You will put yourself in my hands, and you will be a willing and enthusiastic pupil. By the time Miss Balfour arrives two months from now, you will be ready to meet her, a new—and vastly improved—man. One capable of competing with the other gentlemen who will be present, men bound to notice her and her beauty.”
    There was a long silence and then he gave a sigh so deep that it seemed to come from his toes. “Damn you! I will admit I need some polish, but you are right, this is my last chance to secure Miss Dahlia’s interest.” He raked a hand through his hair, his expression bleak. “I’ll return home and make arrangements to spend two months here. But take note: I will not be turned into a fop.”
    Charlotte blinked. “We could never hope for that in two months. The best you can expect is that you’ll become a gentleman of some address and possess a much better wardrobe. Becoming a fop would take another three, perhaps four months, and we haven’t that much time.”
    Kirk started to argue, but one look at Charlotte’s wide, sweet gaze and he closed his mouth. He turned stiffly and then limped out the door.
    The door closed behind him with a loud thump and Margaret dropped into her seat, her gown fluttering about her. “Good God, that was ridiculously difficult!”
    Charlotte nodded. “He looked as if he would breathe fire upon us.”
    “He’s furious, there’s no doubt, but he asked for my help and now he will take it.” Margaret stretched her feet out and plopped them on a small footstool. Feenie rose and jumped into her lap.
    “Do you think Kirk can learn what he must in such a short time?”
    “He has to, or the fairy tale will be quite offset.”
    “I hate an offset fairy tale.”
    “Don’t we all? Fortunately, we have a secret weapon.”
    Charlotte’s eyes brightened. “We do?” She waited. When the silence merely grew, she sighed. “You’re not going to tell me what it is.”
    “In due time, Charlotte. I can’t express what I only suspect, but do not know.”
    “I suppose not. Very well. I shall be patient.” Charlotte found her book and began to search for her place. “But whatever your weapon might be, I can only hope it will tame our Beast before our Beauty arrives.”
    “So do I, Charlotte. So do I.”

Two
    From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
    It took two entire months, but Lord Alasdair Kirk has completed what Charlotte and I privately called “beast taming” but in public called “gentleman training.” I shall not sully the pages of this diary with the title bequeathed upon this time by Lord Kirk.
    Be that as it may, both Charlotte and I are pleased by his improvements, which are many and noticeable. While not perfect, his overall appearance and manner have enthused us both. My secret weapon was a most worthy valet named MacCreedy, who was once in the employ of the Duke of Wellington himself, and thus used to dealing with rough and ready men possessing an irascible manner.
    MacCreedy did his work much better than even I had hoped. Our Beast, if not tamed, is at least better mannered and far better dressed.
    Now to see if Beauty notices . . .
    *   *   *
    Coaches lined the ancient cobbled courtyard of Floors Castle as the guests arrived for the duchess’s house party. Amidst the mass confusion, Angus the footman waited for the Roxburghe coach to appear with Miss Balfour inside. After what seemed an interminable wait, during which the duchess leaned out the salon window no less than four times to ask if the coach had yet arrived, the blasted thing finally lumbered into the courtyard.
    Angus gave a sigh of relief and grabbed the heavy wooden steps he’d been sitting upon and hurried to meet the coach. The famed Roxburghe crest, a bold unicorn flanked by a muscular arm holding a scimitar in a very audacious manner, was emblazoned upon a side panel, making the coach hard to miss even in the busy