Braddon followed him dumbly. He had a daughter? Everyone in London knew that his wife had annulled the marriage on grounds of impotency. And that Alex hadn’t contested it. He’d never find a wife … well, of course he would, Braddon thought. Plenty of women wanting to marry earls; he could attest to that himself. But Braddon didn’t understand, he just didn’t. If Alex was impotent, how did he have a daughter? And if he had a daughter, why was his marriage annulled? And if … Braddon’s head was reeling.

The carriage pulled up in front of Sheffield House. Black swags still hung on each window, although they were getting a bit frayed now, eight months after Alex’s father died. Braddon trotted after Alex, thinking furiously. He couldn’t work it out, and he couldn’t get it straight without asking about the impotency business, and he wouldn’t do that, not under any circumstances.

It did cross his mind that it might be a little sticky, bringing Alex around to Lady Prestlefield’s ball. She was an awfully high stickler for morals and things like that; why, she’d barred Lady Gwenth Manisse from entering her house one day, just because poor Lady Gwenth was so disastrously and famously in love with a married archbishop. But then, Alex was an earl. And what’s more, he wasn’t divorced, exactly, and how could you turn someone away from a dance because they were—disabled, so to speak? Which brought Braddon around again to wondering about the problem of the daughter. Where did that daughter come from?

He’d better just forget it, Braddon thought finally, and pretend that he knew nothing about the whole annulment business. His head was aching trying to think it out. He’d get one of his clever friends, like David, to explain the whole thing to him later. If he just remembered not to mention any women, even that luscious little singer he’d just met at the opera, there wouldn’t be any uneasiness at dinner. Well, particularly he must forget the singer, because she was Italian, or she said she was. Brad-don brightened. Horses were obviously the trick! Nothing risky in talking about horses.

Braddon always had a remarkable ability for putting things out of his head (to the great annoyance of his mama, his tutors, and every logical person who came in contact with him, especially his personal secretary, his estate manager, and his butler). And so he thoroughly enjoyed his meal, and had no idea how much he bored Alex by giving him a point-by-point description of each and every horse in his stables.