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When whispers became more respectful and hushed, and people seemed to part, one knew immediately that the Duke of Westbourne had arrived. A quick glance showed that he was accompanied by his friend, Lord Adrian Vale. Both were tall, imposing figures, but Peregrine had a greater pull that Rosamund could not understand.

This time, he looked smooth and well-dressed, as was usual with him. His coat was charcoal grey, looking dapper and a danger to the women in the room, including herself. His dark hair was neatly brushed, with a few stray locks that women might want to tuck by his ear.

Because of this, he was not alone for long. A flock of the prettiest and most fashionable of the ton descended upon the Duke. Rosamund noted that not only the debutantes and young misses were there but also the widows and the married women, old and young. Her nose crinkled in annoyance.

What could she do? The Duke of Westbourne was great at being infuriating, at least to her, but charming to the rest of the ladies. He inclined his head as Lady Anastasia Eddington entered the room and gave him a demure smile as she fanned herself. She said something low that Rosamund could not hear, and the Duke responded with a rakish half-smile and his own whisper. Lady Anastasia then threw her head up and laughed. Her voice sounded musical. She touched his sleeve as she continued watching him with twinkling eyes. The man did not pull away at all.

“You look marvelous tonight, Lady Anastasia. That is God’s truth,” the Duke remarked.

The lady blushed through the roots of her hair; Rosamund was so certain that Lady Anastasia’s blond hair would turn red any time. She was surprised that the lady was still capable of blushing since she seemed so ready to flirt with the Duke.

“The Duke is quite the charmer, is he not?”

Rosamund jumped. She was startled by Alice suddenly appearing beside her.

“Oh. That? It is ridiculous. Look at him,” Rosamund muttered. “He is pretending to be some hero, charming to the ladies and benevolent to the masses. It seems quite calculated.”

“Or is it?” Alice asked, raising an eyebrow. “Meanwhile, you are here analyzing every little thing he is and has been doing.”

“I am merely observing the enemy,” Rosamund retorted.

“Mm,” Alice mused. “Does strategy require you to observe your enemy’s mouth without blinking? Do you need to watch it for a minute?”

Rosamund felt her cheeks flush crimson. The warmth quickly spread to her neck and made her a little dizzy. It did not stop her from turning to her friend to glare at her. She was not truly angry at her friend, but she chose to turn on her heel at that moment, fleeing into the crowd.

“I can assure you that if you visit the parish and peruse the ledger with great enthusiasm or even anything akin to it, the vicar will marry you to his eldest, unmarried niece,” Adrian murmured, “and he has many nieces.”

Peregrine was barely listening to his friend. His eyes scanned the crowd. There were so much color and noise. Pennants, flowers, and dishes of various garnishes were feasts for the eyes, but the sounds could be overwhelming for those who usually prefer quietude. He was there to keep up appearances, but he knew that there was something else about his presence that day.

It was the same thing that made her stop in his tracks.

Dressed in a deep green silk gown, Rosamund sat on what looked like a makeshift flower booth while guarding the remains of a collection of jars of preserves. She laughed effortlessly with the village children, while her bonnet hung loose around her neck. Her cheeks were pink from pleasure, and the sounds that came from her were so genuine that Peregrine could not help but wonder when he would hear them for himself.

His eyes lingered on Rosamund for far too long, and he was aware of it. Still, it was a struggle to tear his eyes away.

“It seems that you have acquired a problem,” Adrian observed.

Peregrine suspected what his friend meant, but replied as if he did not, “I acquired Ashbourne Hall years ago. Whatever problems I may still have are minimal.”

“Oh, you know that I was not referring to Ashbourne Hall,” Adrian murmured, a knowing smile forming on his lips. “I was referring to none other than the surviving Harcourt, Lady Rosamund.”

Peregrine glanced back at Rosamund and saw that she was in the middle of the flow of things in the fete. It would seem that the late Earl’s daughter had never left at all.

“Unfortunately, Adrian,” he admitted, “she appears to have acquired me.”

His friend looked startled at his confession, but a familiar melodic voice interrupted them.

“Your Grace! I wondered where you went. Earlier, I told you how great it is that you decided to be here for your villagers and tenants!” Lady Anastasia exclaimed.

“Ah,” Peregrine murmured at the woman he had been flirting with not too long ago, in fact, only minutes earlier. It came naturally to him, but he did not care much for the otherwise pretty Lady Anastasia. “We are fortunate here to have beauty and elegance gracing our lovely estate. I thank you for coming to see what is happening here and what we have to offer.”

“Well, we heard that you have been living mostly here, instead of London,” Lady Anastasia replied. “You are now a hermit, at least to the rest of us who are enjoying the season to the fullest. It seems that you have forgotten the rest of the ton for your simpler life.”

“Forget?” Peregrine echoed. “That would be unforgivable, I suppose, Lady Anastasia. “How can I forget London and its thrilling Season. However, I have responsibilities here.”

“A responsible man,” Anastasia murmured happily, eyeing him with something approaching ownership. Peregrine barely heard her. His eyes caught Rosamund’s movement once more - and his gaze darkened as a young man approached her, offering a warm, lingering smile that made it abundantly clear he liked what he saw.

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