Francis puzzled over Felix's last words on the Flemings but it was not until he met the sisters that evening, at Lady Maitland's drum, that he divined what had prompted his brother to utter them. He had spent the afternoon dropping in on certain old friends, only to be, almost immediately, bombarded with requests for introductions to the Flemings. He had come away with the definite impression that the best place to be that evening would be wherever the Misses Fleming were destined. His batman and valet, Higgins, had turned up the staggering information that Felix himself usually escorted his wards to their evening engagements. Francis has found this hard to credit, but when, keeping an unobtrusive eye in the stream of arrivals from a vantage-point beside a potted palm in Lady Maitland's ballroom, he had seen Felix arrive surrounded by Fleming sisters, he had been forced to accept the crazy notion as truth. When the observation that the fabulous creature on his brother's arm was, in fact, his eldest ward finally penetrated his brain all became clear.

Moving rapidly to secure a dance with Emma, who smiled up at him with flattering welcome, Francis was close enough to seen the expression in his brother's eyes as he bent to whisper something in Miss Fleming's ear, prior to relinquishing her to the attention of the circle forming about her. His brows flew and he pursed his lips in surprise. As his brother's words of that morning returned to him, he grinned. How much was Felix prepared to stake?

For the rest of the evening, Francis watched and plotted and planned. He used his wound as an excuse not to dance, which enabled him to spend his entire time studying Emma Fleming. It was an agreeable pastime. Her silvery dress floated about her as she danced and the candlelight glowed on her sheening brown curls. With her natural grace, she reminded him of a fairy sprite, except that he rather thought such mythical creatures lacked the fulsome charms with which the Fleming sisters were so well-endowed. Due to his experienced foresight, Emma accommodatingly returned to his side after every dance, convinced by his chatter of the morning that he was in dire need of cheering up. Lady Hillsborough, to whom he had dutifully made his bow, had snorted in disbelief at his die-away airs but had apparently been unable to dissuade Emma's soft heart from bringing him continual succour. By subtle degrees, he sounded her out on each of her hopeful suitors and was surprised at his own relief in finding she had no special leaning towards any.

He started his campaign in earnest when the musicians struck up for the dance for which he had engaged her. By careful manoeuvering, they were seated in a shelter alcove, free for the moment of her swains. Schooling his features to grave disappointment, he said, "Dear Emma. I'm so sorry to disappoint you, but..." he let his voice fade away weakly.

Emma's sweet face showed her concern. "Oh! Do you not feel the thing? Perhaps I can get Mrs. Winford's smelling salts for you?"

Francis quelled the instinctive response to react to her suggestion in too forceful a manner. Instead, he waved aside her words with one limp hand. "No! No! Don't worry about me. I'll come about shortly." He smiled forlornly at her, allowing his blue gaze to rest, with calculated effect, on her grey-brown eyes. "But maybe you'd like to get one of your other beaux to dance with you? I'm sure Mr. Caldham would be only too thrilled." He made a move as if to summon this gentleman, the most assiduous of her suitors.

"Heavens, no!" exclaimed Emma, catching his hand in hers to prevent the action. "I'll do no such thing. If you're feeling poorly then of course I'll stay with you." She continued to hold his hand and, for his part, Francis made no effort to remove it from her warm clasp.

Francis closed his eyes momentarily, as if fighting off a sudden faintness. Opening them again, he said, "Actually, I do believe it's all the heat and noise in here that's doing it. Perhaps if I went out on to the terrace for a while, it might clear my head."

"The very thing!" said Emma, jumping up.

Francis, rising more slowly, smiled down at her in a brotherly fashion. "Actually, I'd better go alone. Someone might get the wrong idea if we both left."

"Nonesense!" said Emma, slightly annoyed by his implication that such a conclusion could, of course, have no basis in fact. "Why should anyone worry? We'll only be a few minutes and anyway, I'm your brother's ward, after all."

Francis made some small show of dissuading her, which, as he intended, only increased her resolution to accompany him. Finally, he allowed himself to be bullied in to the terrace, Emma's small hand on his arm, guiding him.