Marcel broke the silence. “They’re betting on her in Brooks’s,” he said heavily. “There are two whole pages devoted to bets on whether she’ll take him or not.”

He didn’t mention the fact that there was another page devoted to whether a) the marriage would be annulled, b) Charlotte would take a lover within one year, or c) she would become discreetly pregnant, thereby giving Alex an heir, but not one that necessarily resembled him.

“It’s an ugly situation, Addie. I cannot like it. Why don’t you encourage her to take Slaslow? He’s an earl as well, and while he may not be the brightest, I knew his father quite well. He was sound.” To be sound was Marcel’s highest praise.

“This Alexander is a loose screw, and it only makes it worse that he’s flaunting a child. He was in scrapes all the time as a young ’un. Not that they were bad ones, I have to say. Just the usual jackanapes flummery that youngsters get up to. Champagne breakfasts with high-flyers, that sort of thing. He wasn’t a libertine, but …” Marcel’s voice trailed off as he contemplated the odd fact that the Earl of Sheffield and Downes was best known in his youth for amorous escapades.

“Perhaps he was in a riding accident,” Marcel muttered, half under his breath. “But if this marriage goes through,” he said with renewed vigor, “we’ll end up with a miserable child, one whose name gets dragged through the mud. There’s no Pope in England, you know, to smooth over something like this. The scandal would ruin her. And it wouldn’t be pretty for Horace either, when he came into the title.”

“Oh, Marcel,” Adelaide said with some irritation. “I do think you’re blowing this out of proportion! There’s no need to cut up our peace about it. For goodness sake, all Charlotte has done is dance a few times with the man!”

“Not true,” said her spouse with asperity. “She’s been on a picnic with him, and the talk is that she spent some time alone with him at that picnic. Of course, it’s just servants’ talk, most likely, but that’s the news on the street. She will be ruined, if this goes on, and without even marrying him at all!”

Adelaide absorbed the news of the picnic, about which she knew nothing, in silence.

“I don’t see why,” she said stubbornly. “If he is incapable, why should anyone fault her for spending some time with him? I can’t see anything wrong with diverting herself for a time with a … a floppy poppy!”

Marcel glared at her between jutting brows. “Don’t repeat that phrase, madam! It makes you sound like a loose fish. Whenever have you found gossips to be logical?”