Felix crossed to where she sat and drew her to her feet and into his arms. His lips found hers in a reassuring kiss. Then, he held her, her head on his shoulder, and laughed wearily. "Sweetheart, if I thought your sisters would be in my hands for much longer, I'd have Bailey around here this morning to instruct him to break that guardianship clause."

"I'm sorry," mumbled Margaret, her hands engrossed in smoothing the folds of his cravat. "I did come as soon as I found out."

"I know you did," acknowledged Felix. "And I'm very thankful you did, what's more! Can you imagine how Henry and I would looked if we had succeeded in overtaking Finley's carriage and demanded he return the lady to us? God!" He shuddered. "It doesn't bear thinking about." He hugged her, then released her. "Now you should go home and rest. And I'm going to get some sleep."

"One moment," she said, staying within his slackened hold, her eyes still on his cravat. "Remember I said I'd tell you whether there were any gentlemen who we'd like to consider seriously, should they apply to you for permission to address us?"

Felix nodded. "Yes, I remember." Surely she was not going to mention Chistlebury? What had gone on last night, after he had left? He suddenly felt cold.

But she was speaking again. "Well, it Lord Daniel should happen to ask, then you know about that, don't you?"

Felix nodded. "Yes. Daniel would make Sophia a fine husband. One who would keep her sufficiently occupied so she wouldn't have time for scheming." He grinned at Margaret's blush. "And you're right. I'm expecting him to ask at any time. So that's Sophia dealt with."

"And I'd rather thought Lord Byron for Maribella, though I didn't know then about Anna Kripinski."

"Oh, I wouldn't deal Henry short. Anna Kripinski might be a bit hard to bear but I'm sure he'll come about. And, as I'm sure Aunt Amelia has told you, he's perfectly acceptable as long as he can be brought to pop the question."

"And," said Margaret, keeping her eyes down, "I'm not perfectly sure, but..."

"You think Francis might ask for Emma," supplied Felix, conscious of his own tiredness. It was sapping his will. All sorts of fantasies were surfacing in his brain and the devil of it was they were all perfectly achievable. But he had already made other plans, better plans. "I foresee no problems there. Francis's got more money than is good for him. I'm sure Emma will keep him on his toes, hauling her out of the scrapes her innocence will doubtless land her in. And I'd much rather it was him than me." He tried to look into Margaret's face but she kept her eyes—were they greyish-green or greenish-grey? He had never decided—firmly on us cravat.

"I'm thrilled that you approve of my cravat, sweetheart, but is there anything more? I'm dead on my feet," he acknowledged with a rueful grin, praying that she did not have anything more to tell him.

Margaret's eyes flew to his, an expression he could not read in their depths. "Oh, of course you are! No. There's nothing more."

Felix caught the odd wistfulness in her tone and correctly divined its cause. His grin widened. As he walked her to the door, he said, "Once I'm myself again, and have recovered from your sisters' exploits, I'll call on you—say at three this afternoon? I'll take you for a drive. There are some matters I wish to discuss with you." He guided her through the library door and into the hall. In answer to her questioning look, he added. "About your ball."

"Oh. I'd virtually forgotten about it," Margaret said as Felix took her cloak from Rickshaw and placed it about her shoulders. They had organized to hold a ball in Flemings' honour at Twyford House the following week.

"We'll discuss it at three this afternoon," said Felix as he kissed her hand and led her down the steps to the carriage.