“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then,” Charlotte said resignedly. “Let me show you out, please.” Charlotte went first, still holding Pippa, who laughed madly and tried to swipe all the pictures off the wall as they descended. Chloe came next and Alex followed. He was feeling rather vexed. Why was Charlotte glowering at him? Surely she didn’t think he was playing fast and loose with her when he kissed her last night? Didn’t she expect to marry him? What kind of person did she think he was, anyway, some kind of castaway who would kiss a girl—the way they kissed—and then brush her off? His first proposal two weeks ago, and her rejection of it, didn’t even enter his mind.

Charlotte saluted Chloe at the door and then turned around briskly. Without missing a step she dumped Pippa into Alex’s arms.

“She’s wet.”

“Oh,” Alex replied. He made such a funny picture, an elegant gentleman holding a child whose beautiful white dress was becoming more soggy by the moment, that Charlotte almost burst out laughing. Only a hint of darkness about his eyes stopped her. Alex turned to Campion, who was waiting patiently.

“Will you call Keating, my man, please?”

“Certainly, my lord.” Campion bowed deeply. “Would you like me to bring the child downstairs?” The entire household was riveted with interest in the Earl of Sheffield and Downes; Campion knew that Pippa would be eagerly welcomed by Mrs. Simpkin and the other upper servants. Keating was being feasted royally at this very moment, he had no doubt. There was no one in the house who didn’t know that the earl had spent forty minutes alone with the master in his study, and that they had emerged on most amiable terms. And there wasn’t a single lobcock too stupid to draw the right conclusion about what had happened in that study.

“Yes, thank you,” Alex said. He handed over Pippa, who miraculously didn’t scream but just patted Campion’s face. Alex and Charlotte watched Campion carry Pippa off as if he bore wet children around the house every day.

“She’s a bit better,” Alex said in a distracted tone. “She hasn’t had a true howl in two days.”

“Yes, well,” Charlotte said. Just like the rest of the household, she knew exactly why he was here, and she didn’t want any part of it. Not now. Not when she still had the residual headache she’d had all day. Not when she was feeling so cross and prickly that she might burst into tears. She just couldn’t—wouldn’t—cope with another marriage proposal at the moment.

So, rather than walking into the Blue Room, or one of the other salons off the entrance hall, she held out her hand graciously.

“It was very nice of you to visit, my lord,” she said loftily.