“The opera?” Lady Knowe was walking up the slope, a devilish smile on her face. “Lady Fernby’s house for dinner.”

Maddie. She’d forgotten about Maddie, and the need to make all of polite society believe that Maddie was carrying a child.

Ophelia managed to paste a smile on her face. “Of course! Until tomorrow, then.” She turned and walked the remainder of the slope even faster.

She and Viola belonged together.

The three children had each other, and, of course, there were all those boys from the duke’s first marriage as well. The bond between the second duchess’s children would weather a disengaged third duchess.

Lady Woolhastings was more than capable of launching Betsy and Joan on the market. She’d be a perfect duchess: regal, and supremely confident of her own superiority.

Whereas Ophelia climbed into her carriage, cheeks blazing, feeling inadequate in every way. Compared to Lady Woolhastings, she was short and fat. Her child was ill-behaved, and she was a bad mother for taking her into the winter weather. Her hair was scandalous and so was her nanny-free household.

Even more egregious, she was a lustful woman. She wanted the duke—Hugo—in a way that was quite improper for a lady. Her knees trembled, walking away from him. No mother was supposed to feel this way; she was certain of that.

“Mama,” Viola said, popping her thumb out of her mouth. “Cake.”

“I have rusks in the carriage and they’ll have to hold you until we are home,” Ophelia assured her.

Thankfully, Bisquet was waiting in the street. And even better, bundled on the carriage seat were all the lovely things they’d bought at the fair.

Ophelia promptly opened the bag containing a baker’s dozen of small mince pies, still holding warmth from the oven and smelling deliciously of raisins and spice.

“I want!” Viola said, learning forward eagerly.

They each ate a mince pie.

When Ophelia thought about the disdainful way that Lady Woolhastings’s eyes had rested on her hips, and the way her lip curled when she talked of food bought in an open market . . .

She ate another one.

Chapter Twelve

The Duke of Lindow’s townhouse

Mayfair

Hugo arrived home with his sister and children after a lengthy tea at Lady Woolhastings’s house—the very best tea from China, but no cake, as children shouldn’t eat sweets and Betsy was apparently already plump for her age. When Lady Woolhastings told Betsy not to eat another buttered toast because she must start to think about her figure, Betsy’s mouth fell open in surprise.

Unfortunately, the sight of her half-chewed toast disturbed their hostess. She shuddered and said, “Your governess is obviously ineffective, Lindow. Children should remain in the nursery until they can be counted upon to behave in a refined manner.”