A Lady's Luck. Ken Casper

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      They bounced up to him, faces eager. “The kids want to know if we can come back tomorrow and sit in class with them,” Rhea announced to their father. “They said Miss Hunter is really, really nice.”

      Only young children could make friends within a matter of minutes, Brent thought. He was willing to bet it was Rhea who had led the way. Katie wasn’t unfriendly or any less eager to join in groups, but she wasn’t as unconditionally gregarious as her sister. Rhea was impulsive, Katie more reflective. He suspected Katie would prove the stronger personality in the long run.

      “It’s not up to me, girls.” He wanted to give both of them a big hug for solving his dilemma. “Perhaps…” He glanced over at Devon.

      “We have visitors sit in from time to time,” she said, seemingly as agreeable with the idea as they were. “We must first get permission from the headmistress, of course.”

      “Yay! We’re going to school.” They clapped their hands.

      “It’s not certain yet, girls,” their father warned.

      “There are two extra seats against the back wall,” Devon told them. “You may take those for now and watch, if you like, whilst your father and I confer with Mrs. Sherwood-Griffin.”

      While Devon spoke privately with her assistant, Brent reminded the girls to remain quiet in class and to speak only if they were spoken to by the teacher. A minute later, he and Devon left the room as the lesson recommenced.

      “Funny,” he said as they walked down the corridor toward the headmistress’s office, “I can’t recall them ever being that enthusiastic about going to school back home.”

      Devon laughed. “Foreign intrigue.”

      Speaking of foreign intrigue, he was falling under the spell of that laugh and wanted to hear more of it.

      “Their mother…” she started tentatively, obviously seeking information. She was probably expecting him to say his wife had decided to stay home, maybe with other children, or that they were divorced.

      “She died a few years ago.”

      Her shock and discomfort were palpable. “I’m so, so sorry. It must be difficult for them…for you…” Her words trailed off. A moment passed. “What about sleeping arrangements?”

      Startled, he glanced over before he realized she’d intended only to change the subject. He hoped she couldn’t read the thought that had instantaneously shot through his head.

      “Hotel accommodations,” she clarified, her pretty face tinged with pink. “You’re staying in London, I presume.”

      “Oh…um…” He suddenly felt like a clumsy teenager. “I didn’t know how late we’d be finishing up here and figured this would be a good chance to see Oxford, so I booked us into the Sword and Shield for the night.”

      “Good choice,” she said with a nod. “Many parents visiting their children stay there. It’s not especially grand, but it’s convenient and I’m told quite comfortable.”

      “If you don’t already have plans, Miss Hunter,” Brent said, as they drew closer to the headmistress’s office, “we’d very much like you to join us for dinner.”

      Four

      “What do you mean, you turned him down?” Heather asked that evening. “Are you daft?”

      Devon tried to ignore the question, as she gathered up the newspapers and magazines left on their sitting room settee. For the most part she enjoyed sharing a flat with her friend, but the girl could be so slovenly at times.

      “For heaven’s sake, why?” Heather persisted.

      “He’s too old for me.”

      “He’s mature,” Heather corrected her. “He’s also handsome, well-mannered, and he’s certainly not poor. He’s also available. I heard him tell Mrs. S—”

      “That his wife is dead. Yes, I know.”

      “Well, then?” Heather raised both her brows and grinned. “And the way he speaks makes me want to curl up on a warm bed. Really, what more could you ask?”

      Devon picked up a three-day-old copy of the Times, folded it and added it to the stack of things destined for the rubbish bin.

      “And judging from the way those dreamy eyes of his follow you,” her roommate persisted, “he’s interested in more than advice on what to order from the menu selection at the Sword and Shield.”

      Devon continued to ignore her.

      “Okay, so he’s got two daughters,” Heather conceded. “Twins at that. Probably not something you were bargaining for—”

      “I’m not bargaining for anything…or anyone.”

      “But they’re well enough behaved,” Heather prattled on, ignoring the interruption. “They obviously love their dad, and he as obviously loves them. That counts for a lot.”

      Devon gave up with the paper gathering. It was busywork anyway, a diversion from listening to Heather, and wasn’t doing any good. If her friend didn’t say it, Devon was saying it to herself. What’s more, fully half of the litter was hers.

      “It’s not the girls,” she protested. “You know why…”

      “Charles.”

      Devon nodded. Just the sound of his name had her muscles tightening.

      “You can’t allow him to dictate—”

      “Stay out of it,” she snapped.

      “I won’t.” Heather seemed impervious to her friend’s flare of temper. “I care too much about you to let you ruin your life this way. Besides, he hasn’t called in weeks, months.”

      “Because I haven’t been out with anyone in months.”

      “And who’s the loser there? Keep this up and you’ll be a wizened old crone who’s never experienced living, much less loving. Like it or not, you’re going to have to stand up to him and take control of your destiny.”

      “Leave me alone, will you?” Devon implored.

      “I shan’t.”

      Devon plopped down on the sofa, her arms flung out, her head thrown back against a cushion. She sighed. “I know you’re right, but…”

      It had started two years ago when she was still at university. Her brother, Nolan, had introduced her to his friend Charles Robinett. Charles was a duke, several steps higher up in the aristocratic pecking order than a viscount, and from a family of considerable prestige. He was young, only twenty-eight to her twenty-one at the time, a large, physically imposing ex-rugby player. Despite having broken his nose twice, he was a reasonably good-looking chap, if not exactly handsome. He was also reputed to be worth millions.

      Immediately after she graduated, he proposed marriage.

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