“No,” Lady Knowe said. “If I felt that my brother’s happiness was hanging in the balance, I would leave. They are not my children, after all.”

“Ah, but they are your children,” Ophelia said, reaching out and touching her knee. “I would as soon come between a mother and her children as—” Her mind boggled.

“Right,” Lady Knowe said, her eyes looking suspiciously bright. “Our hostess seems to have gone missing. Shall we have some champagne to celebrate my brother’s extraordinarily good luck?”

She looked toward the door, nodded, and a footman sprang into action. A few minutes later they were holding glasses of champagne.

“Normally I do not hold with a future mother imbibing of the grape,” Lady Knowe said to Maddie. “But I feel sure it would not be harmful to your child.”

“No, indeed,” Maddie said, taking her champagne. “We’ve sent Ophelia’s former nanny over there to make sure that my husband’s mistress—one of my husband’s several mistresses—doesn’t engage in unhealthy habits.”

“Excellent forethought,” Lady Knowe said, accepting without a flicker of an eyelash the truth about Maddie’s child.

“If male, that child will be Lord Penshallow’s heir,” Ophelia said, just to make sure that Lady Knowe knew the consequences of mentioning the child’s parentage to anyone. But she had the same feeling that Maddie obviously had: One could trust Lady Knowe with one’s greatest secret.

Ophelia didn’t often drink wine, other than to sip it now and then. But at the moment, more than a sip was called for. She had an exhilarating feeling that her life was changing.

Surely that called for a toast.

Chapter Sixteen

When the Duke of Lindow finally returned from escorting his former almost-betrothed to her house—having been told in no uncertain terms that the lady in question declined any further consideration of matrimony—he found the entire house party quite tipsy.

A small supper had been served, after which the ladies had retired to a sitting room and continued to imbibe champagne.

“Three bottles,” Lady Fernby said cheerfully. “One each.”

His future wife looked at Hugo with huge brown eyes and said, “Maddie went home in my carriage, but I waited for you. I’m inclined to marry you.”

“I’m very happy to hear that,” he said.

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. First, Lady Woolhastings had declared that he was to marry her, and now Ophelia was doing the same. Women seemed to be taking marital matters into their own hands these days.

“We’ve been celebrating your . . . your fourth duchess, isn’t it?” Lady Fernby asked, her words slurring into each other.

“Third, and last,” he corrected.

“My last duchess,” Ophelia said dreamily. “It sounds like a poem. I’m happy to be your last duchess, and in return, you will be my first and last duke.”