"Aunt Frances?" Corinna's brilliant blue eyes widened. "You're thinking to match Aunt Frances with Lord Malmsey?"
Alexandra frowned toward their aunt, no doubt considering her spectacles and unstylish gray hair. "I've never seen Aunt Frances show romantic interest in a man."
"That's only because no man has ever shown an interest in her," Juliana said. "And that will all change when she receives Lord Malmsey's love letter."
"What love letter?" Alexandra and Corinna asked in unison.
Juliana shook her head. "The one I'm going to write, of course."
Her sisters had no imagination.
She spotted one of their cousins, looking lost. "Rachael!" she called with a wave, starting toward her.
Corinna grabbed her arm. "Are you plotting something else now?"
"Of course not," Juliana said, although she hoped to get her brother to dance with her cousin.
Rachael and Griffin belonged together, but Rachael had seemed a bit down lately and hadn't attended many events, which had hampered Juliana's efforts to match them.
"I just want to invite Rachael, Claire, and Elizabeth to my next sewing party," she explained with an innocent smile.
NINE
WARY OF Juliana's grin, Griffin watched her heading his way with their cousin. "Oh, there you are," she said. "Rachael would love to dance with you."
Rachael's gorgeous sky blue eyes narrowed, making Griffin suspect she found Juliana's statement as preposterous as he did. An awkward moment passed while he shifted uncomfortably. But there was nothing for it—no way to duck out of this situation gracefully.
Sometime in the years he'd spent in the military, Juliana had completely mastered the art of meddling.
"I would be honored, Lady Rachael," he said at last, "if you would join me for the next dance."
"Splendid," Juliana said as the musicians struck up a waltz. "Please excuse me." She waved them toward the dance floor. "I must speak with Alexandra."
"She was just speaking with Alexandra,” Rachael informed him as they began waltzing. “Do you always allow your sisters to run roughshod over you?"
Griffin refused to take offense at her question. For one thing, she felt entirely too good in his arms—which was completely inappropriate—and for another, the remark was made with good humor. "Only Juliana," he told her lightly.
"Like hell," she said. Rachael could curse like a sailor, but he considered that part of her charm. "Alexandra and Corinna know how to play you just as well."
Since he couldn't really argue, he twirled her and changed the subject. "You've been hiding this season."
The good humor vanished, replaced by a melancholy air. Even the chestnut tendrils around her face seemed to droop. "I haven't felt much like mingling."
She didn't have to say why. Griffin knew—although his sisters didn't—that Rachael had been dealt a blow several months earlier when she'd learned the man she'd called "Papa" since birth hadn't actually been her father.
"It doesn't signify," he said quietly.
"It signifies to me. I feel like my life has been a lie."
"Has something changed at home? Is Noah treating you differently? Or Claire or Elizabeth?"
"No. Not at all. But I feel as though they should."
"You all shared a mother. They're still your brother and sisters."
She sighed, obviously shaken. "I know." Her eyes grew suspiciously moist, making him fear that her chin—her adorable, dented chin—might begin to wobble next.
And Griffin found himself wanting to help her.
The entire affair was none of his business. Between running a marquessate and marrying off his sisters, God knew he already had enough on his plate. But Rachael was young and beautiful. She should be enjoying herself, searching for a husband, falling in love. She was his cousin—in name, if not by blood—and he wanted to see her happy.
The haunted look in her cerulean eyes caused a tightness in his chest.
"Do you want me to help you find your father?" he asked.
"No," she said unequivocally. "He's dead."
He thought about pointing out that, whether her father was dead or not, learning his identity might afford her some peace. But the music ended, and she drew back and dipped into a curtsy.
"Thank you, Lord Cainewood," she said without meeting his eyes. And then she walked away.
Given their shared childhood, her curtsy had been way too formal. But Griffin decided it was for the best. He shouldn't have offered to help her anyway—he always found himself clenching his teeth when she was around. The last thing he needed was a woman like Rachael complicating his life.
As he made his way from the dance floor, the Duke of Castleton walked up. "When are you going to sell me Velocity?"
Grateful for the distraction, Griffin laughed. "Never. When are you going to give up asking?"
"Never." Although Castleton gave a determined nod, not a hair on his carefully coiffed blond head moved. "I heard he made a good showing at Ascot."
"A pity you missed the meet," Griffin said, remembering Juliana preferred fair men. "You've a fine stable, Castleton."
"It would be finer with Velocity."
"Velocity—as I've told you at least a dozen times—isn't for sale." Considering the subject closed, Griffin gestured across the room. "I say, would you care to meet my sister Juliana?"
EVERYONE WHO was anyone was at Lady Hammersmithe's ball. Including James's mother, Cornelia—the Dowager Countess of Stafford—and her older sisters, Aurelia and Bedelia.
In the refreshment room, James handed them all glasses of champagne. "How is your throat, Aunt Bedelia?"
"Better. But my chest has been paining me." She put a narrow hand to her flat bosom—Bedelia was as skinny as a rail. "Perhaps you should stop by Monday morning and have a listen to my heart with your new stethoscope."
Doing his best to appear concerned, James sipped champagne. "Perhaps I'll do that."
"Certainly you will," his mother said, but she softened that with a smile that reached her brown eyes.
Besides sharing James's eyes, she had the
