My grandfather was an unpleasant old man. After he died, I frequently heard my grandmother say she missed him like a wooden leg. Though she'd grown used to his bark over the years, she didn't miss a single splinter and limped along just fine without him.

Mrs. Welterby to the Countess of Firth,
while waiting for the Prince to make an appearance
in the drawing room of Carlton House

Devon St. John paced before the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, his brow furrowed. His abrupt footfalls, silenced by the thick rug that stretched the length of the huge chamber, were overshadowed by the crackle of burning logs.

Suddenly, he halted before a large wing-back chair turned toward the warming flames. "I know. You can tell him."

"Me?" His brother, Brandon, shook his head, the firelight casting blue shadows through his black hair. "The last time I delivered bad news to Marcus, he sent me to oversee the holdings in northern Scotland for a month. I nearly froze to death."

Chase glanced up from where he slouched on the settee opposite. "I was once sent to the wilds of Yorkshire in the middle of the season for an equally inane reason. And that was back during the time when our brother was tolerable."

"Which has not been of late," Brandon said.

Chase nodded morosely. "Lately, he has been nothing but a seething mass of ill temper. God knows where he'd order us now if he had a true reason to be upset."

Devon sighed heavily. "I must apologize to all of you; this is my fault."

The last and quietest member of the gathering finally stirred to life. Devon's half brother, Anthony Elliot, the Earl of Greyley, stretched his legs toward the fire from the depths of a huge red velvet chair. He surveyed Devon with a sleepy air. "Nonsense. The ring was lost by accident and nothing more."

"I should have made more of an effort to find it. But somehow, I thought it would be humorous to send Marcus chasing about for the blasted thing."

"It was amusing," Brandon said, "until Marcus could not find it. You sent Marcus the guest list for the ball where the ring disappeared, and we were all certain that ring would be in the hands of one of those guests."

Chase nodded. "Indeed, had the guests not brought guests of their own -- that is where we caught cold. And now Marcus's humor wears more thin as the days pass and the ring is not found. He's like a great bear denied his food."

Anthony shrugged. "So let him growl. He is but a man."

"You know what Marcus is," Devon said. "Our brother is a gale wind in a world of gentle breezes."

Brandon sighed and slouched back in his chair. "He defi- nitely has some very odd notions about marriage. I'm in poor case with him this very moment because Verena's father got into some trouble with the Italian authorities and I had to pay the scoundrel's way out of it. Marcus disapproved mightily."

Chase's brows lowered. "What else could you do? It's Verena's father."

"Marcus does not seem to understand that when you marry a woman, to some extent, you also marry her family."

"There's a lot about marriage Marcus doesn't understand," Anthony murmured, reclaiming his glass of port and taking another sip. "He seems to understand the concept of having a mistress far better."

"That he does. But a wife is a different matter altogether." Chase rose from the settee and stretched his arms over his head before crossing to the desk to pour himself a drink from a crystal decanter. "Lately he's been snappish. In fact, Harriet wanted to invite him to our new...