"The matchmaking mama's delight." An undercurrent of cynicism had crept into the deep voice. "And who are you coaching around Somersham?"

The question returned Honoria to reality with a thump. "Melissa Claypole."

Her rescuer frowned. "Is she the dark one or the fair one?"

"The fair one." Propping her chin in her hand, Honoria gazed into the flames. "An insipid miss with no conversation-God knows how I'm supposed to render her attractive. I was booked to go to Lady Oxley but her six-year old caught chicken pox, and then old Lady Oxley died. I'd declined all my other offers by then, but the Claypoles' letter arrived late, and I hadn't yet replied. So I accepted without doing my usual checks."

"Checks?"

"I don't work for just anyone." Stifling a yawn, Honoria settled more comfortably. "I make sure the family is good ton, well connected enough to get the right invitations and sufficiently beforehand not to make a fuss over the milliner's bills."

"Not to mention those from the modistes."

"Precisely. Well"-she gestured briefly-"no girl is going to snare a duke if she dresses like a dowd."

"Indubitably. Am I to understand the Claypoles fail to meet your stringent requirements?"

Honoria frowned. "I've only been with them since Sunday, but I've a nasty suspicion…" She let her words trail away, then shrugged. "Luckily, it appears Melissa is all but spoken for-by a duke, no less." A pause followed, then her rescuer prompted: "A duke?"

"So it seems. If you live about here you must know of him-sober, reserved, rather reclusive, I think. Already tangled in Lady Claypole's web, if her ladyship speaks true." Recollecting her burning question, Honoria twisted around. "Do you know him?"