Toby Sinclair looked at his uncle and frowned. He was twenty and newly in town, on the brink of his first Season since leaving Oxford. Harry Pendleton had just promised to put him up for several clubs, excluding the one he most wanted to belong to, however, which was the Four-in-Hand driving club. The elite group consisted of a select band of Corinthians who believed themselves to be masters of style and sport, allowing only a favoured few to their ranks. Having met his uncle by chance at a society affair, he seized his opportunity.

      ‘Dash it all, Harry! You know I’ve got good hands. You taught me to handle a team yourself. Why can’t you put my name forward?’

      ‘Because, my young friend, they would blackball me immediately,’ Harry replied with a teasing grin. He was very fond of his sister’s boy and he had taken him in hand from an early age, teaching him the things his father would have had he been able. Sir James Sinclair had married late in life and was now a semi-invalid, confined to his estate and quite often to his rooms with bouts of ill health. ‘For one thing, those clothes you are wearing won’t pass muster, not precise enough—and you’ve a way to go in your handling of a team before they would consider you up to scratch. Coleridge and Ravenshead are pretty strict about who they allow to join. If you keep your nose clean and show that you’re up to snuff this Season, I’ll put you forward next year.’

      ‘Next year,’ Toby said and pulled a disgusted face. ‘I know they are your particular friends, but I’d back myself in a race against either of them with your blacks, Harry.’

      ‘Always supposing I would allow you to handle my blacks,’ Harry replied and flicked a speck of non-existent fluff from his immaculate coat of superfine. ‘Don’t look now, but Northaven has just come in. Remember what I told you, Toby. The marquis is received everywhere and you cannot avoid him and his cronies, but be careful of them. The last thing you want is to be caught in their net. Your father asked me to look out for you. He would expect me to warn you of men like Northaven.’

      ‘Didn’t you say that you won a hundred guineas from him a couple of weeks ago?’

      ‘Yes. I found it impossible not to oblige him when he invited me to play, but I suspect he may not be completely honest at the tables.’

      ‘You mean, he cheats?’ Toby’s face showed his disdain as he glanced at the man they were discussing. The Marquis of Northaven was a tall, well-formed gentleman with black hair and very blue eyes. He was generally held to be handsome and the ladies liked him. His progress through the room was causing something of a stir amongst the fair sex, though most looked at him slyly when they thought he was not aware. All the matchmaking mamas were sure to have warned their daughters that he was a rake and not to be trusted, though in some cases that probably only made him more attractive to very young ladies.

      ‘Well, I dare say he may think I am a flat, but, thanks to you, I am up to most tricks,’ Toby said, his gaze drawn to some newcomers. ‘I say…she’s a beauty, wouldn’t you agree? I believe she is new. I haven’t seen her before.’

      Harry followed his nephew’s gaze. A vision in white had just entered the room, accompanied by two attractive older ladies wearing grey and lilac respectively. His eyes narrowed, for the girl was certainly very lovely. Her hair was a dark honey blonde, and she stood out by virtue of the simplicity of her attire. Most of the younger ladies had frills and flounces on their gowns, but she had chosen something more elegant, plain even. Her hair was dressed simply in a loop of the back of her neck, yet it suited her perfectly. He thought perhaps she had taken her cue from the younger of her companions.

      Harry frowned as he recognised the lady in grey silk. He had not seen her for some years and she had changed a great deal, but she was still beautiful, extremely elegant. Miss Amelia Royston! If he remembered correctly, his friend, Gerard Ravenshead, had once been interested in the lady, but something had gone wrong. Harry did not know all the details, but Gerard had certainly been cut up about it at the time. It was about the same time that a livid scar appeared at his left temple. Gerard had never spoken of the scar or the reason for the loss of his hopes.

      ‘Yes, she is rather lovely,’ he said, bringing his gaze back to the vision in white. ‘I have no idea who she is, but I know one of her companions.’

      ‘You couldn’t introduce me, could you?’ Toby asked and arched his right eyebrow.

      ‘Fancy your chances, do you?’ Harry asked and chuckled as he saw the younger man colour. ‘I do not think your mama would be happy to see you ensnared too soon, Toby.’

      ‘Oh, lord, no,’ Toby said and made a grimace of horror. ‘I shall not marry until I am at least as old as you and ready to set up a nursery. Far too boring to be married before you’ve been on the town a few years.’

      ‘You young cub!’ Harry said and made a face at him. ‘What makes you think I am ready to set up my nursery?’

      ‘Mama said it was time you did,’ Toby replied innocently but with a wicked air. ‘She says if you leave it much longer, it may be too late.’

      ‘Good grief. I am three and thirty,’ Harry said and grimaced. ‘I do not think the case desperate yet. Lady Sinclair would have had me married ten years ago if she could, but I had no mind for it. I believe she is more desperate to see me wed than Mama!’

      He smiled oddly, for he knew his sister Anne had his best interests at heart. They had always been close and she understood him, perhaps even better than he did himself. Besides, of late he had begun to feel it was time he settled down. Indeed, these days he was as happy with his dogs and horses at home in the country as cutting a dash in town. However, he had not met a lady he wished to marry. Most of the young ladies brought to London by their eager mothers were too naïve and often too timid for his taste. He knew that he would be bored by their company within months and that would be unfair to his wife. If he were to marry, it would be to a lady of spirit, someone who could retain his interest. He was not sure that romantic love existed, but it was certainly possible to admire and care for another. His mother had undoubtedly loved his father, and would never consider marrying again, though she might if she had wished. Harry felt that if he were to marry he would like to be loved in that way, though he knew that most of his friends had married for reasons other than love. Had he been satisfied with a marriage of convenience he might had wed a long time ago, but he was looking for something more.

      His eyes narrowed as he noticed that a steady queue of gentlemen were making their way to the side of the beautiful young lady in white. He watched her for a while. Something about her seemed familiar, but he could not think what. He was certain he had never met her before—and yet there was something. She had pretty manners and a nice smile, he observed, before turning away to join some friends in the card room. It was very unlikely that the newcomer would be any different to the other young ladies in the room.

      Harry rather thought that when he married, he would probably choose an older lady, perhaps a widow. An intelligent lady, who would fill his house with good company and give him an heir. It was all very well to hope for something more, but in the end he might be forced to marry for the sake of the family.

      ‘No, no, please, gentlemen, you must not fight over me!’ Susannah begged, her eyes bright with laughter as the two young bucks argued fiercely over the last dance on her card. ‘If you cannot agree which of you should have the dance, I shall promise it to neither of you.’

      ‘But it should be mine,’ Tom Roberts asserted.