“That is an excellent attitude.” Margaret unbent a trifle, seeing that her brother’s future wife had a bit more substance to her than she had previously thought. “I myself granted my husband his first child a mere nine months after we married, and I pride myself on the fact that seven infants have followed, in almost as many years.”

“Goodness,” Sophie said faintly.

A voice broke in, a darkly amused voice. “Lady Sophie could hardly do better than to model herself on you, Mrs. Windcastle. I feel sure that Lady Sophie will be a most, ah, fertile partner for old Braddon here.”

Braddon cast his old friend an accusing look.

“Forgive me, forgive me,” Patrick murmured, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Perhaps ‘fertile’ harks too much of the stable.”

“Not at all.” Margaret Windcastle was unwilling to drop the subject dearest to her heart. “I see no reason why the subject of children does not belong in every lady’s drawing room. Far too many gentlewomen quail at the thought of children—and what happens? Their husbands’ lines die. Their titles expire.” Her voice dropped dramatically: “Imagine if there were no more Earls of Slaslow!”

Patrick replied in a honeyed voice, “Why, Lady Sophie might be quite opposed to the idea of having children! That would be a disaster for the future Earls of Slaslow.”

Braddon tugged down his waistcoat again, glancing down at Sophie. She seemed to be trying not to giggle. “We’d better go meet m’godmother.”

Margaret smiled brightly. “Actually, Lady Sophie has just announced her intention to have eight or nine children.”

“Eight or nine?” The teasing note in Patrick’s voice compelled Sophie to meet his eyes. “My goodness, and here I was in danger of thinking that Lady Sophie was nothing but a frippery society miss.”

Despite herself, the corner of Sophie’s mouth quirked up. “Not at all,” she said, repeating Margaret’s phrase. “While I have always had the ambition to have ten children—such a nice, well-rounded number—I realize that at my advanced age I may have to settle for a smaller sum.”

“Excellent,” Patrick exclaimed. “I do love a woman who has no fear of getting old, don’t you, Braddon?”

Braddon was staring in fascinated horror at his future bride. Had she really said ten children? Had he inadvertently promised to marry a broodmare like his sister?

“I look forward to old age,” Sophie rejoined sweetly. “Male attention can be so … tiresome, don’t you think, Margaret? I may call you Margaret, mayn’t I, since we are to be sisters?”

Margaret smiled. “Of course, dearest Sophie.”

“Yes, men can be quite dreary,” Sophie continued. “The way they plead and implore.”

Patrick’s raffish eyes glinted at her. “Plead and implore, hmm?”

“Exactly,” Sophie assured him. “Plead and implore.”

Braddon gulped. “Time to meet m’godmother,” he blurted, drawing Sophie’s hand into the crook of his arm. “Excuse us, please, Margaret. Your servant, Foakes.”

Sophie couldn’t resist. She smiled at the fruitful Mrs. Windcastle, and then she flicked a glance at Patrick … a teasing, flirtatious look from under her lashes.