Sophie choked back a laugh. Unless she was mistaken, Carolyn Thorpe had been a beauty, like her sister, and undoubtedly had cast Lady Prestlefield in the shade.

The door opened and Codswallop entered. “Mr. Lucien Boch.”

Lucien entered the parlor, with a smile on his lips. Tomorrow was Tuesday, and he was planning to ask Emily to be his wife. “Lady Dewland,” he said cheerfully, “I was just passing your house and—”

He stopped. The blood rushed to his head. His wife-to-be was sitting before him. “Mrs. Ewing.” There was no disguising the expression in his eyes as he kissed Emily’s hand.

“My dear Ladies Cucklesham and Prestlefield, what a great pleasure it is to meet you so unexpectedly,” he added hastily.

Lady Prestlefield nodded perfunctorily and then turned back to Mrs. Ewing. “Of course I remember your sister,” she commented. “Who could forget your father’s distress when his eldest daughter threw herself away on a penniless explorer? And then when not a single one of his daughters found a husband—oh, dear, you must forgive me, Mrs. Ewing,” she cooed. “I quite forgot that you did find a husband, even if briefly.”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “That reminded me, Lady Prestlefield, of a story I heard last week. It was undoubtedly a pack of nonsense, I assure you. I am certain that you are not related to the Lord Prestlefield in question….”

Sophie smiled at him. “We can be quite certain that dear Lady Prestlefield is not related to anyone scandalous,” she said sweetly. “Do tell us the amusing story, however.”

“‘Twas a terrible tale,” Lucien commented. “I am not at all certain I should repeat it before ladies—but surely you have heard the tale yourselves?”

Lady Prestlefield’s lips were a thin white line. “Scurrilous gossip bears no interest for me,” she said repressively.

“Oh, but it has, of course, nothing to do with you,” Lucien replied. “No, for this tale involved a tame goat—”

Lady Prestlefield rose from her seat. “I am afraid that I must leave.”

“—and a priest,” Lucien continued. He smiled cheerfully. “I am convinced that everyone involved must have drunk a prodigious amount of alcohol. And I believe that the judge ruled accordingly,” he added.

“I myself know nothing of goats,” Lady Prestlefield said coldly. “I try not to think of such unappealing topics. And no one in my family drinks to excess, ever.”

Lady Cucklesham was thinking quickly. If Mrs. Ewing were to marry the extremely rich former marquis, the widow’s social status would change radically. She rose to stand next to her friend.

“We were just leaving,” she said, taking Lady Prestlefield firmly by the arm. “Mrs. Ewing, it has been a pleasure to meet you.”