“By all means,” Monty said, “provided we can get from here to there without being mowed down by the next six carriages in line and without mowing down the next six pedestrians in line. They always will stray from the footpath, to their imminent peril.”

He proceeded to lead the way, weaving a skillful path among carriages and horsemen until they reached the pedestrians, most of whom were strolling safely on the path designed for them.

Constantine saw her at last. But how could anyone not once he paid the proper attention to his surroundings? She was all willowy, delicate whiteness and pink-tinged complexion and lips and blue, fathomless bedroom eyes.

If the woman had chosen to be a courtesan instead of Dunbarton’s wife she would be the most celebrated one in England by now. And she would have made a veritable fortune. Of course, she had made a fortune anyway, had she not, by persuading that old fossil to marry for the first and only time in his life. And then by squeezing him dry of everything that was not nailed down by the entail.

She had a suitably respectable-looking companion with her. And she was holding court, favoring a large number of persons gathered about her-almost exclusively male-with her enigmatic half-smile and occasionally one of her white-gloved hands, on the forefinger of which winked a diamond large enough to bash out the brains of any man incautious enough to be impudent.

“Ah,” she said, turning her languid gaze from her court, most of which was forced onward by the crowd, “Lord Merton. Looking as angelically handsome as ever. I do hope Lady Paget appreciates the value of her prize.”

She was soft-spoken. Her voice was light and pleasant. Of course, she must never need to speak loudly. When she opened her mouth to speak, all about her fell silent to listen.

She favored Stephen with her hand, and he carried it to his lips and smiled at her.