"Daughter of the fifth earl," Raymore replied. "They are females, Henry, of marriageable age. Doubtless they have their heads full of nothing except finding husbands. I intend to oblige them."

"Do you have anyone in mind?" There was an undertone of sarcasm in Sir Henry's voice.

"I shall have to look them over first," Raymore replied with an arctic smile. "They both have dowries large enough to add to their attractions. But the better-looking they are, the higher we can aim. Either way I shall be done with the obligation before the Season ends."

Sir Henry Martel drained his glass. "Yet if you were selling some of your cattle, my friend," he said, "you would take a year or more if necessary to ensure that you had found a suitable buyer."

The earl shrugged. "But then girls are not horses," he said.

His friend rose to his feet, shaking his head. "I must be going," he said. "Coming my way, Edward?"

"No," Raymore replied. "I shall stay here to dine. Good day to you, Henry."

The Earl of Raymore summoned a waiter and ordered another brandy. He waved carelessly to a group of acquaintances across the room, who were engaged in a lively discussion, but made no move to join them. He allowed his mind to dwell on the topic that had been depressing him for days. For how long would his home and his peace of mind be invaded by a pack of females? Cousin Hetty had arrived two days before, accompanied by three pesky little poodles. Fortunately, she was a reasonably sensible woman, though she did like to talk rather more than was necessary and in a somewhat strident voice. However, her presence was absolutely necessary while his two wards were in residence with him.

He shuddered at the thought of being saddled with two hopeful debutantes for the rest of the Season. His cousin Sylvia had been eighteen at the time of her father's death, the lawyer had told him.