‘Being a count doesn’t stop him being an old fool,’ Lucia said robustly. ‘And being his heir doesn’t stop Guido being a young fool, planning to marry an English woman-’

‘But Dulcie comes from a titled family, which is very proper,’ Marco murmured. He was teasing his mother in his dry way.

‘A titled family who’ve blown every penny on gambling. I’ve heard the most dreadful stories about Lord Maddox, and I don’t suppose his daughter’s much better. Bad blood will tell.’

‘Don’t let either of them hear you criticising their ladies,’ Marco warned her. ‘They’re both in a state of positively imbecile devotion, and will resent it.’

‘I’ve no intention of being rude. But the truth is the truth. Someone has to make a good marriage, and there’s no knowing what that bumpkin in Tuscany will do.’

Marco shrugged, recognising his cousin in this description. ‘Leo probably won’t marry at all. There’s no shortage of willing females in the area. I gather he’s very much in demand for brief physical relationships on account of-’

‘There’s no need to be coarse,’ Lucia interrupted him firmly. ‘If he won’t do his duty, all the more reason for you to do yours.’

‘Well, I’m off to England to do it. If she suits me, I’ll marry her.’

‘And if you suit her. She may not fall at your feet.’

‘Then I shall return to you and report failure.’

He didn’t sound troubled by the prospect. Marco had found few women who were unimpressed by him. Olympia, of course, had turned him down, but they’d known each other since childhood, and were too much like brother and sister.

‘I worry about you,’ Lucia said, studying his face and trying to discern what he was really thinking. ‘I want to see you with a happy home, instead of always wasting yourself on affairs that don’t mean anything. If only you and Alessandra had married, as you should have done. You could have had three children by now.’