Tess’s heart lightened, and she smiled back, curtsying. “Thank you for your welcome,” she said. “It is wonderful to meet my husband’s family.”

“I share your sentiments,” Mrs. Felton said. “I have every hope that your marriage will be the catalyst to bring our beloved son”—she smiled at Lucius—“into our acquaintance again.”

Lucius bowed. Tess felt a germ of irritation at his unsmiling face. Why didn’t he tell his mother how glad he was that she was receiving him? Why wasn’t he helping this reunion by saying something to signal his happiness?

“Do sit down,” Mrs. Felton said. “Stilton, bring my son and his wife some tea, if you please. I shall have a glass of ratafia, and Mr. Felton shall have his normal repast.” She suddenly seemed to think of something and turned her heavy, rather swollen-looking eyes to Tess for the first time. “Unless you would prefer a glass of ratafia? I was under the impression that you must be quite young, but now I see that you are more than old enough for spirits.”

“Tea would be very welcome,” Tess said.

“Splendid.” Mrs. Felton waved the butler from the room. “Now, you must tell me about yourself, my dear. I never had a daughter, and I assure you that I am most, most delighted at the prospect. I understand that you are an orphan?”

Tess nodded. “My sisters and I are wards of the Duke of Holbrook.”

Mrs. Felton’s smile widened. “Ah, yes, my son’s dearest friend. They met years ago at Eton. Of course, Holbrook was only a second son, as I’m sure you know. No one had any expectation that he would succeed to the title. Quite fortunate, really.”

Tess thought that it depended on one’s point of view; she knew without a moment’s hesitation that Rafe would give his right arm to have his brother Peter alive. But she nodded.

“We have been quite pleased with our son’s acquaintances,” Mrs. Felton continued, as if neither her son nor husband were in the room at all. “You do realize that his circle includes the Earl of Mayne?”

“I have met the earl,” Tess said cautiously, wondering whether Mrs. Felton would ever hear the tale of her near marriage to Mayne.

“Mr. Felton and I have never had the slightest concern about our son’s intimate friendships. His godfather was kind enough to send him to Eton, and even as a boy Lucius associated himself only with the very best. I am certain that he has chosen you with equal care, my dear.” She paused and smiled at Tess. “Since you are now a member of the Felton family, I deem it appropriate that I ask you questions rather more intimate than would be countenanced amongst strangers.”

“Please, ask me any question that you wish,” Tess replied. She hadn’t really given much thought to being a member of the Felton family. Of course, one did gain a new family upon marriage.

“I ask this only because of your unfortunate circumstances,” Mrs. Felton asked. “But…did you bring a dowry to the marriage?”

“A coarse question, Mother,” Lucius said, “and unwarranted by our familial ties.”

“Despite your avid interest in things financial, son, you forget that the great families arrange marriages for more reasons than an attractive face.”

“We are not a great family,” Lucius said. “And aren’t you discussing things financial at the moment?”

“It is one thing to marry well and quite another to dirty one’s hands with lucre,” Mrs. Felton pronounced.

“I would be most happy to answer any questions that your mother asks, Lucius,” Tess said with a frown at her husband.

“In that case,” he remarked, “Tess did indeed bring a notable dowry to our marriage.”

Tess blinked, and then folded her hands together. Only Lucius would label a horse a “notable” dowry.

“Good,” Mrs. Felton said. “I trust you did not object to my question,” she said to Tess. “One who is friends with the Duke of Holbrook and the Earl of Mayne might be expected to make a great marriage indeed.” She sniffed. “It has been difficult to watch our son lower the tone of his acquaintance by proving mercantile in his daily life. One could not but worry that no worthy matron would wish to match her daughter with him.”

“It is my understanding that your son was one of the most sought-after bachelors in all London,” Tess noted.

“The daughters of shopkeepers, many of them,” Mrs. Felton said, taking a slender glass of ratafia from the tray her butler held out. One of her rings knocked sharply against the delicate crystal.

Tess felt compelled to note that Lady Griselda’s report had been quite the opposite. “I was informed that the daughter of the Duke of Surrey showed your son marked attention during the last season,” she said gently.

“One had hopes, naturally.” Mrs. Felton sighed. “But now my fears are in the past. I understand that you have some sort of a title in your background, and then there’s the dowry.” She gave Tess a measured smile.

Tess hoped to God that the truth of her equine dowry never found its way to the ears of any of Mrs. Felton’s friends.

“My father, of course, was the Earl of Devonshire,” Mrs. Felton said, rearranging the rings on her left hand so that they caught the firelight and glimmered. “I rarely use my title, Lady Margery, as I prefer Mrs. Felton.”

“Teresa’s father was Viscount Brydone,” Lucius put in.

“From the other side of the border? Then they have viscounts in those parts?” She smiled at Tess. “I always think it’s so interesting how other countries mimic English customs. I suppose it’s merely another sign of our supremacy throughout the world. I do hear that they even have some barons and some such in America.”

Mr. Felton cleared his throat. “How are your stables?” he asked.

They all jumped slightly. It was clear to Tess that Mr. Felton spoke so infrequently that his wife hardly remembered his presence.

“Fine,” Lucius said.

“Who will you run in the Ascot next year?”

Mrs. Felton laughed, and made a rueful gesture to Tess. “I’m afraid that I have a firm rule that Mr. Felton has perhaps forgotten: we do not speak of the stables in my presence. Otherwise, the conversation grows too, too tedious.”

After a moment, Tess said, “How is your health, madam? Lady Clarice intimated that—”

“Please do not call me madam,” Mrs. Felton said sweetly. “I’m afraid that I absolutely loathe the term. It has the smell of the shop, you know. The best people do not address each other in such a fashion, my dear.”

“Oh,” Tess said. “I am grateful for your advice.”

Mrs. Felton lowered her chin in an approving nod. “Those whose titles are of recent creation,” she advised Tess, “must always pay the closest attention to every nuance of the spoken language. My father’s title reached back to the age of Elizabeth, and therefore I felt no such anxiety. For example, I married whom I pleased, and although my husband’s birth is not equal to my own, I fancy my consequence has been unmarred.”

Tess was beginning to feel slightly ill although there was nothing in Mrs. Felton’s demeanor to suggest that she meant to offend. “The first Baron Brydone was given his title by King Edward I,” she said, with a very credible show of carelessness.