Byrne nursed a glass of aged port, repressing a grimace as he took a perfunctory sip. He'd chosen it specifically because he'd never cared for the rich, thick flavor, so there was no danger of him overindulging as he had the night before. Then again, he didn't like whiskey and Tony had poured far too much of that for him last night. He supposed he should be pleased that Tony was across the drawing room and far too occupied to pour him anything tonight, but he wasn't pleased.

Tony was occupied with Miss Crewe.

He didn't find it threatening, however, not now. He might have before, as much as he hated to admit it. The fact that she had been considering Tony's proposal had thrown him off... until their kiss, which she initiated, he reminded himself.

But after he'd taken it too far, he'd thought he'd lost ground again. He'd come into supper late and nervous — two things which he almost never was — wondering if she might detest the sight of him now.

Yet she still made her silly jokes, still blushed when she glanced his way, still glanced his way far more than any other.

No, he wasn't nervous now. But he was rather annoyed for several reasons.

Tony had obviously had a few more drinks before supper than usual. His voice was a bit too loud and his jokes were a bit too frequent, but that wasn't what truly annoyed Byrne. It was the fact that he still had to watch this play out.

Miss Crewe's laugh was still no more than polite. There was a distance with Tony that was not present with Byrne. Her eyes wandered the room as Tony talked, as if uncomfortable with the marked attention. Why was she still considering Tony offer? Why prolong his suffering?

Miss Crewe met his eyes then, but quickly looked away... blushing again.

"...and, of course, there is the pianoforte, which I have only just started to learn. Yet my teacher insists my mastery is almost equal to those who've spent a year at it." Here, Miss Hartley glanced down, as if she were blushing, though no redness appeared on her cheeks. "I'm certain he's only saying so to encourage me, yet others have also noted my skill..."

Yes, that was another reason Byrne was annoyed. He had no patience for this one, but she had glued herself to his side as soon as supper ended. Even if she hadn't made her earlier distaste clear — before learning about his fortune, that is — Miss Hartley's tendency to compliment herself while pretending to be humble was one of the more irritating things about the girl. Between that and her little game of crossing her arms while fanning her chest...

As bosoms went, hers was certainly impressive and her gowns were cut low enough that the extra effort was not necessary, nor was it tempting to him.

"...one's talent encompasses not only proficiency, but musicality," she was saying now, leaning closer now, as if sharing some great secret, "a great passion for the craft, you see, which so many young ladies are lacking."

"Indeed," Byrne said, cutting her monologue short. "Perhaps you would like to display your talents now." It would be a damn sight better than hearing about them.

"Why, Mr. Byrne!" Miss Hartley swatted his arm with her fan. "Are you ordering me to play for you? I shouldn't like anyone to go to all the trouble to bring my harp down here."

"Weren't you just speaking of your skills on the pianoforte? There is one right there."

"I... I'm not certain it's in tune."

"I'm certain it is." Byrne paid for the tuner himself. Byrne led her to the instrument before turning to the others. "Everyone! Miss Hartley has expressed a desire to play for us." What she'd truly expressed was reluctance, but if it got rid of her for a moment...

"I would much rather display my talents on the harp," she said. "I could have it brought—"

"Play?" Tony called out. "You know, I was just thinking it was a bit too quiet in here. What an excellent idea. Here, here, Miss Hartley!"

"If you all insist..." Miss Hartley actually blushed as she took the bench. "I shall need a moment to select a piece."

"I can help you, Mary." Miss Marbury jumped up at that. "I brought some folk tunes that are lovely."

Byrne left them to it, glancing over at Tony and Miss Crewe. Now if only he could break up that little tête-à-tête.

He'd need at least five minutes to speak to her, ideally ten. This afternoon's misstep hadn't set him back as much as he'd thought, but he'd need to gain ground tonight.

He could barely even think of his approach when the room fell into polite silence as Miss Hartley started to play, then stopped. Then started... and stopped again. Her whispers berating Miss Marbury were a bit loud.

"...not familiar with this one. Are you deliberately choosing these? Surely something less... fussy would suit me."

"It's not difficult. See, you simply—"

"I never said it was difficult. I simply do not care for it."

Poor Miss Marbury finally selected another piece and everyone let out a sigh of relief when Miss Hartley played without stopping — but not because she was good at it. She was plodding her way through it, and while she was hitting more good notes than bad, there were enough bad notes that Byrne could see Miss Marbury wincing as she turned the pages.

He wasn't sure if he was grateful or not when she stopped again, fearing she might choose yet another tune. He was definitely grateful when she stood.

"I simply cannot continue on this instrument," Miss Hartley declared. "It is far inferior to mine at home. I'm convinced the keys are sticking."

There were polite murmurs of sympathy from the other girls as Miss Marbury took her seat again, though he did note that Lady Adele let out a slight giggle before Miss Poole nudged her. And Miss Crewe seemed to be hiding a smile.

"I should much rather play my harp." Miss Hartley moved to Tony. "Sir Anthony, might one of your footmen fetch it?"

"Certainly." He shrugged and waved at one, grinning a little. "God forbid anyone contend with sticky keys. Though it will be awfully quiet until then." Tony turned to Miss Crewe. "Can we possibly persuade you?"

"Oh, no," Miss Crewe said quickly, laughing slightly. "I cannot play at all."

"Singing, then?" Tony tried.

"She can't do that either," Mary Hartley put in, looking quite pleased to say so. "The Crewe girls are quite famous for their lack of musical talent. Miss Crewe's talent lies in... domestic tasks, I believe."

"Aye, that's very true," Miss Crewe said quickly, her lips tight before turning sharply toward the three girls on the sofa. "Miss Poole, would you like to—"

"Not at all," Miss Poole said with supreme nonchalance. "I can sing the odd ditty, but nothing I'd care to display and I never had any patience for learning an instrument." She turned to her friend. "Adèle? Aimeriez-vous chanter ou jouer?"

Miss Hartley growled under her breath, "Surely we can wait until my harp—"

Lady Adele laughed. "Moi? Je ne peux pas chanter une seule note!"

"Then it is down to you, Cecilia," Miss Poole sighed, pulling her other companion up.

"Me?" Miss Marbury paled as they both marched her to the pianoforte.

"I hear you play and sing unreasonably well," Miss Poole said, "but we shall try not to hold it against you."

"Yes!" Miss Crewe joined the chorus now. "Didn't Mrs. Baddeley say you were the most accomplished girl she'd ever heard?" Byrne caught the satisfied look she tossed toward Miss Hartley as she said it.

Miss Hartley looked like she wanted to protest, but she smiled tightly and clapped as Miss Marbury took the bench with Miss Poole turning the pages.

It didn't take her long to choose a piece. Even Byrne was quite surprised when she began, her fingers and her voice teasing out some Italian melody with skill and even gusto. The entire room seemed to relax, though Miss Hartley did not look too pleased. She slipped out the door after a moment, probably to hasten her harp's arrival.

At least he was shod of her. Now if only Tony would...

He smiled as he turned to find Miss Crewe alone in her little corner. Tony was drawing nearer and nearer to the piano, as if in some sort of trance.

Byrne approached her before anything else could interrupt. "How very interesting," he began, hoping she would take the bait.

She did, turning to him slightly, then back to Miss Marbury. "Yes, she plays as well as Miss Baddeley says."

"Not that, though I do agree. I'm talking of your obvious pleasure at Miss Hartley's displeasure."

Her lips thinned. "You seemed very keen to hear her play."

"Only because it stopped her talking about it."

She let out a small smile. "She does love to tout her accomplishments, but they rarely measure up to the tales."

"Tell me again how she's a dear friend from home," Byrne prodded. "And you weren't hiding from her last night."

She huffed and rolled her eyes slightly. "Very well. She's a viper and a bully. She always manages to say something that makes one feel like the lowliest creature to ever crawl the earth. Wouldn't you want to avoid a person who makes you feel that way?"

He chuckled and leaned closer. "You're worth ten of her."

Her smile faded. "Believe me, I'm not."

"Believe me, you are. I'm beginning to understand you, Miss Crewe."

***************************

Emilia swallowed hard, wondering if Mary's little barb about domestic tasks had Mr. Byrne thinking. "And what precisely do you think you understand?"

"I've noted your hands before." He stared at the one holding her glass of ratafia. "You have a dowry, but that doesn't help things at home, does it? What if it could? Unlike my friend, I have no need of it. It can be put back into your family along with whatever else is needed."

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Things are not so hard at Crewe House as you may think. They've taken a good turn in the last few years." That much was true. Lord Crewe's investments had been surprisingly fruitful.

"Then riches don't tempt you at all? Your family doesn't keep a house in London, I see."

"The Duchess of Dartmore has a very fine house and she is always willing to host and sponsor every season. I am in London whenever I'm needed." That was also true. Prudence was in London often more than she wished, with Emilia in tow.

"I could easily purchase an estate in Yorkshire if you wish. For now, I've only the estate in Scotland, but it's a pretty little place. Meadowlark, in Cumnock."

Emilia slid a gaze his way. "Is that anywhere near Balvenie?"

"Only thirty miles north." He turned more fully to her. "Do I detect a note of interest?"

Dash it all. It would interest her to be so near Charity... If only he wanted to marry Emilia Finch and not Prudence Crewe. "I wonder that you are still interested. I thought you made it clear before that a countrified bluestocking did not suit your needs."

"That was badly done of me. I was in a bit of a temper, having just found out you are still considering Tony's offer. But that's no excuse. I'm usually much more level-headed, but I fear you've done something to me."

"Me?" She laughed nervously. "If I've done anything, I never meant... I mean, the... the thing that happened," she didn't even want to whisper the word kiss, lest Miss Marbury suddenly stopped playing, "I didn't mean for it to happen."

"Doesn't mean I'm not afflicted. And there's only one cure. My grandfather had the same affliction, I'm told. My grandmother said he was an absolute beast in the days before he finally proposed. The man was at the end of his wits until he had her acceptance."

"You seem to have your wits about you," she said. Far more than she did.

"Perhaps I'm just putting on a good show of it. As my Grandmother would put it, 'Dommy' she'd say—"

"Dommy?" She turned to him then.

"That's what she called me."

"But I'd been calling ye Daniel."

"Oh, had you?" He grinned. "I haven't heard you say that, even once."

"I mean that... I thought your name was... was Daniel," she stammered, feeling heat creeping up her cheeks. "Not that I called you that. I don't call you nothing but... anything but Mr. Byrne, Mr. Byrne."

"That's just a little adjustment I made to my true name. Daniel sounds a sight better than Domhnall to the English."

"Domhnall," she repeated, chancing a glance his way. His gaze was warm, discomfitingly so. "I suppose it does not sound very English, but it... suits you."

"Glad to hear it," he said softly. He stared at her a moment longer before looking away.

Miss Marbury had finished playing and there was some hubbub at the pianoforte as Sir Anthony seemed to be insisting she play another. He seemed to have won when Miss Poole and Lady Adele also asked for more.

Emilia was glad when she started again, a soft, soothing little air that brought her back to herself. What use was it for her to know his true name, to know he had a house so near Charity? All it did was remind her of what she could not have. Yet she couldn't help asking, "What is it your grandmother used to say?"

"Níl leigheas ar an ngrá ach pósadh."

She shook her head. "I have no idea what you just said."

"It means, roughly, 'there is no cure for love but marriage.'"

She drew in a shaky breath, meeting his warm gaze. "You've surely not known me long enough say such things."

"Perhaps you're right. Perhaps love is too strong a word. But it's the closest I can come to the way your eyes haunt me, day and night, the way I wish to look at no other when you're in the room, the way that," here he lowered his voice, "when our lips have met, the rest of the world might as well cease to exist."

She gulped down the remainder of her ratafia. "I am quite parched. I shall—"

"Allow me." He took her glass, his bare fingers brushing her wrist as he did. "Perhaps I've said enough for tonight. Tomorrow, after you've made your refusal clear," he nodded slightly toward Sir Anthony. "We can discuss this further."

She leaned heavily against a table, thinking she should delay her refusal even further, that or stop this charade entirely.

She was actually relieved when Mary entered the room again, two footmen struggling with her harp. "Here we are. One always plays best with one's own instrument."

Miss Marbury abruptly ended her playing, despite Sir Anthony's protests.

Mary soon commenced hers, whether anyone liked it or not.

******************

"Did Mary at least play well?" Prudence asked much later, as they sat, cross-legged on the bed.

"Not as well as she believes she does," Emilia supplied. "But enough about Mary. Are we not stopping this now? I should think Sir Anthony's proposal was a sign that things have gone too far."

"Only if I wanted to accept it." Prudence toyed with sleeve of her dress... or Emilia's dress. "I won't say it's not just a little tempting. But I don't even know him."

"And whose fault is that? You'd know him well if you hadn't forced this switch on me. He's not so bad. Yes, he's a flirt and a flatterer, but he's amusing. He's always making jokes and the like."

"Wonderful," Prudence droned. "That would be like being married to Ernie."

Lord, that did sound about right. "Still, it seems like the kind of marriage you'd favor. He'd leave you to your own devices."

Prudence shook her head. "I know I'm not romantic, but that doesn't mean I want some practical arrangement just for the sake of being married. Once you marry, everything you have is legally his, no matter what the man says."

"So you truly want to end a spinster? I'd thought, with you considering Lord Sanderson, if another such offer—"

"I considered him only in theory. That didn't mean I would have accepted, had he asked. Spinsters have more rights than married women. Some people might try to convince us it's a fate worse than death but, I assure you, those people are largely male." Prudence smiled. "Besides, I'm quite put out with Sir Anthony. All of that investigation into our little mystery just for him to blurt it out to you. So I shall not marry him just for that. I haven't the slightest idea why he wants to marry me, of all people."

"I just told you all he—"

"I blame you." Prudence pointed a finger at her. "You must be much more charming than I am in company. Very bad impersonation of me."

Charming? Her? If anyone was charming, it was that silver-tongued devil... who she was determined not to think about. "Perhaps Sir Anthony simply likes my puns," Emilia said with a sly look.

Prudence tossed a pillow at Emilia's head. "Perish the thought! Now, I cannot possibly marry him!"

"As if you were ever going to." Emilia retaliated, but Prudence caught it. "I just wish everyone would stop proposing to me!"

"Have you received others?" Prudence laughed. "Should I urge you to refuse Lord Swinton as well?"

"No! I... I was exaggeratin' a bit."

"Still, I don't understand why Sir Anthony was so set upon me in the first place, or even my dowry. Why not someone richer, prettier, more fashionable?"

"First off, you are pretty, if only you would surrender to being more fashionable," Emilia chided her, "and as for richer... you seem to have this endless supply of funds, so perhaps he knows more than I do."

Prudence suddenly stood. "Don't we have laundry to do? Everyone must be abed by now."

Emilia stood as well, deciding Prudence could keep her secrets, since Emilia certainly wasn't sharing her own. Even with her telling herself nothing Mr. Byrne did signified, there was a small part of her that wanted it all to herself... and maybe for just a little longer. Perhaps she wouldn't press Prudence any further about revealing their charade tonight.

"Oh, no!" Prudence exclaimed.

Emilia joined Prudence at the open window seat — the very empty open window seat. "Where did it all go?"

"I haven't the slightest clue!" Prudence shook her head. "Do you think Mary did something?"

"I wouldn't put it past her, but she didn't know all this was here. The only one who did was..."

"Evie!" Prudence took a candle and started for the door.

Emilia followed, hissing. "It would be just like her. As if she doesn't have enough to do—"

"I should have known. She was saying something earlier about a surprise," Prudence huffed as she took the stairs, and the main stairs again, but Emilia didn't have the energy to scold her with no one about. Besides, it was dark enough with only one candle, she didn't think they could navigate the narrow servants' stairs.

"She said something like that to me as well." It was very sweet of her, but Emilia didn't like the idea of others taking on her work. She likely wouldn't let Miss Prudence do it once they got downstairs.

They stilled halfway down the kitchen steps, hearing low voices. They were quite ready to go back the way they came when Evie herself appeared, Mopsy on his lead beside her. "Why, Miss Finch... and Miss Crewe. I was just coming up to— Oh!" Mopsy quite suddenly dragged her halfway up the stairs, letting out a whine.

Emilia bent to pet him, also to shush him, whispering, "We were just coming down. You see, my laundry has gone missing."

Evie grinned. "No, it hasn't. I'd told you I had a surprise."

"Really, Evie," Prudence scolded. "It's very kind of you, but there's no need for you to add to your work."

"Oh, but I didn't. We've got a laundress now. She's quite good. She got all the mud out of your things. Even showed me a thing or two."

Emilia felt the need to protest. "Someone else has been washing—"

Prudence pinched her side. "How very nice of... this laundress?"

"It's been ever so nice for me. I'm like a lady of leisure, me. I practiced embroidery and even read some of that Bell Assemble thing. I could make a lot more of it out than before. I learned a new word. 'coyf-yeree.' Doesn't that sound grand?"

"I think you mean coiffure," Emilia corrected, rather dazed. "It means hairstyle."

"So that's what Lady Adele's been saying." Evie glanced back at a laugh from downstairs. "You know, perhaps you two had best get back up—"

Emilia stilled. "I'd rather be certain my dresses are truly—"

"Oh, but they are. And Mr. Byrne insisted she's the best laundress in the village," Evie said.

"Mr. Byrne?" Emilia gasped a little.

Evie drew back a step. "Er... He went to hire her... on Sir Anthony's orders, o' course."

Prudence nudged Emilia with a slight chuckle.

Emilia felt like sinking to the steps. She'd somehow survived his flirting earlier, but this... "How lovely of him," she breathed. It had to have been because of what she said about Evie's workload. She felt oddly touched.

"Evie? Who are you talking to?" Someone called from below. "Have we been found out?"

Evie turned. "Well, not by Mrs. Stern," she said in tone of resignation as Miss Poole appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

Miss Poole was just as startled to see them as they were to see her. "Oh! Well, the more, the merrier. Care to join the party?"

****************

Could there be a girls' night brewing? Hmmm.