“It must be difficult for your sister.”

“Yes.” Her gaze slanted to the side. “But oddly enough, I envy her that difficulty.”

“Why?”

“Because it shows that theirs is a true marriage. This is what you’ve been failing to see all this time, Rafe. A wedding is more than staging the perfect event, or having everything that’s best. It’s two people vowing to stand by each other through everything that’s worst. It’s compromise and unconditional love.”

“That isn’t how marriage works in most Mayfair town houses. And I doubt Piers is expecting it, either. We all know that at this level of society, love is a luxury. Marriage is a contract. You agreed to your part.”

“That’s unfair.”

He knew it was unfair. She’d been far too young and raised to believe she had no other choice. Then Piers had left her dangling for years. And Rafe was hardly the one to talk about social obligation when he’d walked away from everything.

“Speaking of contracts . . . You struck a bargain with me, Rafe. And in two days, it’s done. You gave me your word, and I expect you’ll honor it.”

She turned from him and walked away, and there was nothing he could think to say.

A door creaked open, and Bruiser’s head popped into the hall, quizzing glass and all. “I say. Is there some commotion, what-what?”

“You can drop the act, Montague. Cambourne was walking in his sleep. It’s over now.”

Bruiser snapped his fingers. “Damn. I’d been hoping to show off in these.”

He stepped into the hallway, wearing a banyan of patterned silk and a nightcap with a peak that fell all the way to his knees. A gold tassel dangled from the tip.

“Got them at the same place I found my quizzing glass.” Bruiser tugged the fringed sash tight. “I’d been hoping for something to go bump in the night, so I could rush into the corridor and look high-class.”

“Then why didn’t you?

“Took me too long to put the dashed things on. I can’t sleep unless I’m naked as a newborn.”

Rafe scratched his head, as though he could scrub the image from his brain. “I didn’t need to know that.”

“That’s right, get angry. Stay angry. I can see it coming back.” Bruiser clapped him on the shoulder. “That hunger, that envy, that drive to prove yourself . . . It’s in your eyes. We’ll be champions again in no time. Just be certain to save it for the ring.”

“I’d be able to focus on my job if you were doing better with yours.” Rafe flicked the stupid tassel on the stupid nightcap. “What-what.”

“Oh, yes. About that. I didn’t have a chance to tell you earlier. You were with the doctors and the dog. But tomorrow’s the day we win her over.”

“I doubt that.”

If today’s efforts didn’t impress her, he was running out of ideas.

Clio wanted compromise and love, and someone who’d vow to stand by her always. Rafe knew she deserved all that, and more. When he’d held her in his arms, he’d wanted to promise her anything.

But he could not sign those papers. He simply couldn’t.

“Two words, Rafe. Italian silk. Belgian lace. French modistes. Seed pearls, brilliants, flounces . . .”

“I’m no mathematician, but I’m fairly certain that was more than two words.”

“The gowns.” Bruiser gave him a punch on the arm. “There’s your two words. The gowns. They’ve arrived. And they’re magnificent.”

“I don’t know that gowns will be enough. Miss Whitmore is a gentlewoman of means. She’s donned her share of pretty frocks.”

“Not like these. I’m telling you, she won’t be able to resist. Cor, I’m tempted to wear them myself.”

Rafe opened the door to his room. “In case it needs saying: Don’t.”

“I won’t. Again.” He held up his hands. “Joking, joking.”

The next day, Clio woke early. It might be more accurate to say she scarcely slept.

She knew Rafe would be awake early, too. He always was.

She didn’t know how to face him so she took the coward’s way out. She washed and dressed, took breakfast in her room, then scrawled a few lines to a friend in Herefordshire and sealed the envelope, just to have an excuse to walk into the village.

At the last moment, Phoebe joined her. “I’ll go along. I need to buy string.”

“Of course.”

Clio knew her sister had an entire trunkful of string upstairs, but she grew anxious if she went more than a few days without purchasing more. Somewhere in Yorkshire, there was a string factory that thrived on Phoebe’s custom alone.

They hadn’t reached the end of the castle drive before Phoebe asked, “So what happened last night?”

“You know already. Teddy went walking in his sleep and caused a commotion. It’s happened before, and it’s sure to happen again.”

“I do know all that. I was wondering what happened before it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw you coming out of Lord Rafe’s room.”

Drat.

Clio had feared that might be the case, and here was confirmation. She tried her best to remain calm. “Yes, so I did. We’d stayed up late with the dog to be certain he didn’t suffer any ill effects from the cake. Afterward, we were talking.”