If Dunford heard her, he pretended not to. Henry's eyes followed him as he walked into what appeared to be his study. He bent over a desk and quickly shuffled through some papers. Curious, she followed him in, perching impishly on the side of the desk. "What are you looking at?"

"Nosy brat."

She shrugged.

"Just some correspondence that accumulated while I was gone. And some invitations. I want to be careful about what you attend at first."

"Afraid I might embarrass you?"

He looked up sharply, relief evident on his face when he saw she was only teasing. "Some of the ton events are mind-numbingly dull. I wouldn't want to make a bad impression on you the first week out. This, for example." He held up a snowy white invitation. "A musicale."

"But I think I would enjoy a musicale," Henry said. Not to mention the fact that she probably would not have to make conversation for the bulk of the evening.

"Not," he said emphatically, "when it's being given by my Smythe-Smith cousins. I went to two of them last year, and only because I love my mother. I believe it was said that after hearing dear Philippa, Mary, Charlotte, and Eleanor play Mozart, one would know exactly how it would sound if performed by a herd of sheep." Shuddering with distaste, he crumpled up the invitation and dropped it carelessly on the desk.

Henry, spying a small basket that she guessed was used for discarded paper, picked up the crumpled invitation and lobbed it in. When it hit its mark, she let out a soft whoop of triumph, clasping her hands together and raising her arms in the air in a victory salute.

Dunford just closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Well, goodness," she said pertly. "You can't expect me to abandon all of my hoydenish habits, can you?"

"No, I suppose not." And, he thought with a tinge of pride, he didn't really want her to.

An hour later Dunford was seated in Belle Blackwood's parlor, telling her about his unexpected ward.

"And you had no idea you were her guardian until Carlyle's will arrived a week and a half later?" Belle asked disbelievingly.

"Not even an inkling."

"I can't help but chuckle, Dunford, to think of you as a young lady's guardian. You, as a defender of maidenly virtue? It's a most improbable scenario."

"I'm not such a profligate that I cannot steer a young lady through society," he said, stiffening his spine. "And that brings me to two other points. First, as pertains to the phrase 'young lady.' Well, I have to say that Henry is a trifle unusual. And second, I will need your help, and not only a show of support. I need to find someplace for her to live. She can't stay at my bachelor's lodgings."

"Fine, fine," Belle said, waving her hand dismissively. "Of course I'll help her, but I want to know why she's so unusual. And did you just call her Henry?"

"It's short for Henrietta, but I don't think anyone's called her by her full name since she learned how to speak."

"It has some style," Belle mused. "If she can carry it off."

"I have no doubt she can, but she'll need a bit of guidance. She's never been to London before. And her female guardian died when she was only fourteen. No one has taught Henry how to be a lady. She is completely ignorant of most of the customs of polite society."

"Well, if she's bright, it shouldn't be too much of a challenge. And if you like her so much, I'm sure I won't mind her company."

"No, I'm sure you'll get on famously. Perhaps too famously," he said with a sinking feeling. He had a sudden vision of Belle and Henry and God knows what other females aligning themselves into a coalition. There was no telling what they could accomplish—or destroy—if they worked together. No man would be safe.

"Oh, do not try to wound me with your beleaguered male expression," Belle said. "Tell me a little about this Henry."

"What do you want to know?"

"I don't know. What does she look like?"

Dunford pondered this, wondering why it was so difficult to describe her. "Well, her hair is brown," he began. "Mostly brown,that is. There are streaks of gold in it. Well, not really streaks, but when the sun hits it just so, it looks quite blond. Not like yours, but... I don't know, not quite brown anymore."

Belle fought the urge to jump on the table and dance with glee, but ever the strategist, she schooled her features into a polite but interested mask and asked, "And her eyes?"

"Her eyes? They're gray. Well, actually more silvery than gray. I suppose most people would just call them gray, however." He paused. "Silver. They're silver."

"Are you certain?"

Dunford opened his mouth, about to say that they must be silvery-gray, when he noted the teasing tone in Belle's voice and clamped his mouth shut.

Belle's lips twitched as she suppressed a smile. "I'd be happy to have her stay here. Or better yet, we'll install her at my parents' house. No one would dare cut her if my mother gave her support."

Dunford stood. "Good. When may I bring her?"

"The sooner the better, I think. We don't want her over at your lodgings for a minute longer than is necessary. I'll call on my mother immediately and meet you there."

"Excellent," he said curtly, giving her a slight bow.

Belle watched him as he strode from the room, then finally allowed her jaw to drop in shock over the way he had described Henry. The thousand pounds were hers. She could practically feel the money in her hand.

Chapter 12

Belle's mother, as expected, took Henry firmly under her wing. She couldn't quite manage to call her by her nickname, however, preferring to use the more formal "Henrietta."