Vane grinned. "Half-Welsh. High-steppers with excellent endurance. My brother, Harry, owns a stud; he supplies all my cattle."

Gerrard glowed. "I thought they looked prime-uns."

"Edmond Montrose." The poet leaned across and shook Vane's hand. "Have you come up from town?"

"Via Cambridgeshire. I had to attend a special church service near the ducal seat." Vane glanced at Patience Debbington, mute and tight-lipped on the other side of Minnie. The information that he was permitted to enter a church did not melt her ice one jot.

"And this is Patience Debbington, my niece," Minnie put in, before Gerrard and Edmond could monopolize him further.

Vane bowed elegantly in response to Patience's abbreviated bob. "I know," he drawled, his gaze on her stubbornly averted eyes. "We've met."

"You have?" Minnie blinked at him, then looked at Patience, now staring, dagger-eyed, at Vane.

Patience glanced, somewhat evasively, at Minnie. "I was in the garden when Mr. Cynster arrived." The glance she flicked Vane was exceedingly careful. "With Myst."

"Ah." Minnie nodded and scanned the room. "Right then-now everyone's been introduced, Vane, you may lead me in."

He dutifully did so, the others filing in in their wake. As he conducted Minnie to the foot of the long table, Vane wondered why Patience did not want it known she'd been searching for something in the flower bed. As he settled Minnie in her chair, he noticed a place had been set directly opposite, at the table's head.

"Daresay you'd like to chat with your godson." Whitticombe Colby stopped beside Minnie's chair. He smiled unctuously. "I would be happy to surrender my place-"