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foolish one is our naughty Lady Elspeth. She has a rash tongue when she is upset, I fear.” Lady Pelham’s soft, cultured voice subtly conveyed her disapproval.
    “I do not know her well, but she is very lovely,” Davida murmured.
    “True. And blondes are all the rage now. At first I feared Monty was attracted merely by her beauty. Her features are quite classical. And it was something of a triumph to catch the acknowledged toast of the season, wasn’t it, my dear?” She shot a shrewd glance at her son, who frowned uncomfortably at his parent. “She has many other fine qualities, however. If she can learn to moderate her behavior she will make my son a good wife. He tells me you are related to the Duke of Harwood.”
    Startled by the change in topic, Davida stammered, “Yes, because in a manner of speaking, my father and he each provided the other with brides.”
    “Oh, good. I sense a romantic tale!” Lady Pelham settled back against the cushions, smiling encouragingly at Davida. “Do go on, dear.”
    “My father should be the one to tell it, I suppose. He delights in recounting how His Grace used to run tame in our home as a young man. You see, though Sarah and I are of an age, my father is twenty years older than His Grace. The old duke was a rather cold, forbidding man, Papa says, with little time for his sons.”
    “Ah, yes, but as I recall, Lord Stephen had plenty of time for gaming!” Lady Pelham grimly summed up the previous duke.
    “Yes, I believe so. At any rate, after father came back from America . . .”
    “He served in the colonies, then?”
    “Oh, yes!” Davida’s pride was evident in her voice and radiant expression. “As I explained to Lord Pelham yesterday, my father was knighted there. But when his older brother died, he had to sell out and come home, as my grandmama was all alone, with no one to run the estate. So Papa began to learn all about agricultural improvements. He had never planned to be a farmer, but he’s a very proud man, and whatever he does, he wishes to do well at it.”
    “An admirable trait,” Lord Pelham interjected. He gave Davida an encouraging smile.
    “His Grace—I mean Viscount Barton, as he then was—admired it, I suppose, for from the time when he was about seventeen, as I heard the tale, he and his younger brother practically lived with my father. He wanted to learn all there was to know about farming, for he intended to improve his land instead of wasting his life on gaming as his father was doing.”
    A restless movement on Lady Pelham’s part warned Davida she had better get on with her tale. “My father was somewhat famous in our county when he returned from the war, so one day the old duke invited him to the abbey to meet his guests. Among them was his cousin, the Earl of Westbury, and his granddaughter, my mother.”
    A quirked eyebrow told Davida that Pelham had not realized she was so well connected. Satisfied with the effect, she continued. “My mother was quite impressed with my father. Even today, she loves to reminisce about how handsome he was in his military regalia. But she was very shy. She couldn’t bring herself to speak to him. So His Grace—I mean Viscount Barton—took matters in his own hands. He told my father he should make a push to get to know the tall, shy girl in the corner, because she had a fancy for him, and a fine dowry, too, with no restrictions on it.”
    Pelham’s laugh rang out. “An irresistible combination for your father, I gather.”
    Davida frowned. She had not meant to depict her father as a fortune hunter. “My father loves my mother very much. And he used her dowry wisely, to the benefit of herself and her children. He has become the second landowner in the county, after the duke.”
    “I’m sure Monty meant no criticism, Miss Gresham.” Lady Pelham leaned forward to pat Davida’s hands while smiling indulgently at her son. “ ’Tis very much the way of the world. But I admire your loyalty to