It was Emma who initiated the Fleming sisters' friendship with the two Norwood girls, also being presented that year. The Misses Norwood, Amy and Antonia, were very pretty young ladies in the manner which had been all the rage until the Flemings came to town. They were pale and fair, as ethereal as the Flemings were earthy, as fragile as the Flemings were robust, and, unfortunately for them, as penniless as the Flemings were rich. Consequently, the quest to find well-heeled husbands for the Misses Norwood has not prospered.

Strolling down yet another ballroom, Lady Thorpe's as it happened, on the arm of Francis, of course, Emma had caught the sharp words uttered by a large woman of horsey mine to a young lady, presumably her daughter, sitting passively at her side. "Why can't you two be like that? Those girls simply walk off with any man they fancy. All it needs is a bit of push. But you and Amy..." The rest of the tirade has been swallowed up by the hubbub around then. But the words returned to Emma later, when, retiring to the withdrawing-room to mend her hem which Francis very carelessly has stood upon, she found the room empty except for the same young lady, huddled in a pathetic bundle, trying to stifle her sobs.

As a kind heart went hand in hand with Emma's innocence, it was not long before she had befriended Antonia Norwood and learned of the difficulty facing both Antonia and Amy. Lacking the Fleming sisters' confidence and abilities, the two girls, thrown without any preparation into the heady world of the ton, found it impossible to converse with the elegant gentlemen, becoming tongue-tied and shy, quite unable to attach the desired suitors. To Emma, the solution was obvious.

Both Maribella and Sophia, despite having other fish to fry, were perfectly willing to act as tutors to the Norwood girls. Initially, they agreed to this more as a favour to Emma than from any more magnanimous motive, but as the week progressed they became quite absorbed with their protégées. For the Norwood girls, being taken under the collective wing of the three younger Flemings brought a cataclysmic change to their social standing. Instead of being left to decorate the wall, they now spent their time firmly embedded amid groups of chattering young people. Drawn ruthlessly into conversations by the artful Maribella or Sophia at her most prosaic, they discovered that talking to the swells of the ton was not, after all, so very different from conversing with the far less daunting lads at home. Under the steady encouragement provided by the Flemings, the Norwood sisters slowly unfurled their petals.

Margaret and His Grace of Twyford watched the growing friendship from a distance and were pleased to approve, though for very different reasons. Having ascertained that the Norwoods were perfectly acceptable acquaintances, although their mother, for all her breeding, was, as Lady Hillsborough succinctly put it, rather too pushy, Margaret was merely pleased that her sisters had found some less than scandalous distraction from their romantic difficulties. Felix, on the other hand, was quick to realize that with the three younger girls busily engaged in this latest exploit, which kept them safely in the ballrooms and salons, he stood a much better chance of successfully spending more time, in less populated surroundings, with his eldest ward.

In fact, as he days flew past, his success in his chosen endeavour became so marked that Margaret was forced openly to refuse any attempt to detach her from her circle. She had learned that their relationship had become the subject of rampant speculation and was now seriously concerned at the possible repercussions, for herself, for her sisters and for him. Felix, reading her mind with consummate ease, paid her protestations not the slightest heed. Finding herself once more in His Grace's arms and, as usual, utterly helpless, Margaret was moved to remonstrate. "What on earth do you expect to accomplish by all this? I'm your ward, for heaven's sake!"

A deep chuckle answers her. Engaged in tracing her left brow, first with one long finger, then with his lips, Felix replied, "Consider your time spent with me as an educational experience, sweet Maggie. As Aunt Amelia was so eager to point out," he continued, transferring his attention to her other brow, "who better than your guardian to demonstrate the manifold dangers to be met with among the ton?"

She was prevented from telling him what she thought of his reasoning, in fact, was prevented from thinking at all, when his lips moved to claimed her and she was swept away on a tide of sensation she was coming to appreciate all too well. Emerging, much later, pleasantly witless, she found herself the object of His Grace's heavy-lidded blue gaze. "Tell me, my dear, if you were not my ward, would you consent to be private with me?"

Mentally adrift, Margaret blinked in an effort to focus her mind. For the life of her she could not understand his question, although the answer seemed clear enough. "Of course not!" she lied, trying unsuccessfully to ease herself from his shockingly close embrace.

A slow smile spread across Felix's face. As the steel bands around her tightened, Margaret was sure he was laughing at her.

Another deep chuckle, sending shivers up and down her spine, confirmed her suspicion. Felix bent his head until his lips brushed hers. Then, drew back slightly and blue eyes locked with grey. "In that case, sweet ward, you have some lessons yet to learn."

Bewildered, Margaret would have asked for enlightenment but, reading her intent in her eyes, Felix avoided her question by the simple expedient of kissing her again. Irritated by his cat-and-mouse tactics, Margaret tried to withdraw from participation in this strange game whose roles were incomprehensible to her. But she quickly learned that His Grace of Twyford had no intention of letting her backslide. Driven, in the end, to surrender to the greater force, Margaret relaxed, melting into his arms, yielding body, mind and soul to his experienced conquest.