Perhaps the situation would still be tolerable if it were not for her terrible discovery of the day before. She could do worse than make this marriage. Lord Standen would be a good husband, she believed, even if rather strict. She would have a good home, all the luxuries she could want for the rest of her life. She would occupy an enviable position in society. The fact that she did not love him need not doom her to misery.

But the fact that she loved his brother surely would. She was not really surprised that she had not realized the truth until the day before. Nigel Broome was so different from any of the young men with whom she had fancied herself in love during the past few years. They had all been handsome, charming, fashionable. Nigel was so ordinary: only passably good-looking, only of medium height, and earnest rather than charming in manner. She had liked him from the first, had developed a close and warm friendship with him. Only the afternoon before, when they were together in the boat, had she known that he was far more than a friend to her. He was the man with whom she wished to spend her life. She did not care that with him she would not live in mansions or have several carriages or dressing rooms full of gowns. It would be enough just to be with him, to share his dreams, to look after his comforts.

But there was little use in dreaming. Even if she could summon the courage or audacity to break off her engagement to Lord Standen, she could not then marry his brother. Such behavior was unthinkable. And even if she had not accepted Standen's proposal in the first place, she doubted very much if Cousin Edward would have countenanced her marriage to Nigel Broome. His birth, of course, was as good as Lord Standen's, and he had an income of his own, she knew, though he was not a wealthy man. But the fact was that he was a younger son with no particular prospects, and she was sure that her guardian would consider him unworthy of the daughter of an earl.

There was nothing for it, it seemed, but to accept her fate. But Sylvia felt desperately lonely. At one time during the night she had considered going into the next room and waking Rosalind. But she remembered Cousin Edward telling Lady Standen in the drawing room that her cousin had retired to bed with a headache.

When she awoke the next morning, Sylvia felt an immediate sinking of the heart as memory flooded back. She dreaded telling anyone of her problems, but the need to confide in someone was overwhelming. She dressed in haste, without summoning help, and brushed impatiently at her blond curls. She would go talk to Rosalind before going down to breakfast. Rosalind always seemed to know what to do, although Sylvia did not think that anyone could offer her any real help. Rosalind's room, alas, was empty. She must be up and riding early as she often used to do at home.

She went downstairs, but shook her head at the footman who would have opened the doors of the breakfast room for her. She could hear voices inside and did not think she could cope with the need to be sociable just yet. She wandered through the front door, which stood open to the morning sunshine, and started to cross the main driveway to the formal gardens that were laid out south of the house. She stopped when she saw Raymore striding toward her from the direction of the stables. He was staring at the ground, looking pensive. He did not look his usual arrogant self at all, in fact. On impulse, Sylvia stopped and waited until he was close enough to notice her.

"Good morning. Edward," she said brightly when he looked up. "Have you been riding so early?"

"Yes," he said, "it is a beautiful morning."

"May I speak to you for a few moments?" she asked hesitantly. "Or are you very anxious to go in to breakfast?"

"I am not hungry at all," he said abruptly and, offering her his arm, led her into one of the grass walks of the garden.

"Cousin Edward," Sylvia said with a deep breath, "I am very unhappy."

Unhappy, he thought, turning to glance down at the pretty girl on his arm. What did she know of unhappiness? She had doubtless been pampered and petted all her life and had no conception of what pain and misery were. "Oh?" he prompted chillingly.

"I fear I have made a dreadful mistake," she said, staring at the ground ahead of her.

"A mistake?"

"I do not wish to marry Lord Standen," she said.

Raymore stopped walking and turned to look down at her incredulously. "Is this some kind of joke?" he asked. "Why, pray, do you not wish to marry?"

Sylvia's syes were filled with tears. "Don't be angry with me," she pleaded. "I cannot love him, Edward. I thought I did, truly, but it is not so. Oh, what am I to do?"

"What are you to do?" he thundered. "Why, you are to marry the man, of course. Love! What does that have to say to the matter? Do you believe you would be one whit the happier with a man whom you loved? You would only be inviting misery and betrayal. I want to hear no more of this nonsense. Do you understand?"

"Edward," she began, a tear spilling out of each eye.

"The connection is eminently suitable," he went on. "You are doubtless the envy of every unmarried girl in London. You will live in the style to which you are accustomed, and even more elaborately. I will not tolerate any withdrawal from this betrothal, Sylvia. Such a move would publicly embarrass Standen and sully your own reputation. What other man would be willing to look at you for the remainder of the Season?"

"I am sorry," she said. "I did not mean to anger you. Please forgive me. I shall try to feel as I ought."

Raymore relaxed slightly. He had certainly not expected trouble from this girl. But at least she was more biddable than her cousin. She just needed firm handling. She would have it from him until she was safely married, and he believed beyond a doubt that Standen would put up with no nonsense once the ceremony was over.

"Come," he said, his tone somewhat softened, "let me escort you to the house. Have you had breakfast yet? I imagine that you are suffering from prenuptial nerves. Believe me, you will live to thank me for promoting this match."

"Yes, Edward," she said, taking his arm and allowing herself to be led back to the house.

Susan Heron and Letitia Morrison, in the breakfast room, were planning yet another morning visit to the village. Sylvia declined to join them, saying that she would wait for Lady Theresa to get up and Rosalind to return from her ride. They would find something to do together.

But Sylvia did not wait for either her friend or her cousin. As soon as she was alone, she left the house again and wandered in the direction of the trees, where she could think without interruption. It was hopeless, of course. She could see that she was doomed to marry Lord Standen. And there was no possible way she could ever marry Nigel. But there was no harm in dreaming, was there? If only there were some way of making everyone see with great clarity that she and Lord Standen were not suited. If only everyone could agree that she must break her engagement to him. And if only miracles would happen and everyone would urge her to marry Nigel.

Sylvia stopped and stood with her arms stretched around the trunk of a tree. She laid a cheek against the bark. It was impossible, of course. Unless… An arrested look came over her face. She stood thus for several minutes, hugging the tree. Anyone who had observed her both enter the woods and leave them a half-hour later would have noticed that there was more spring in her step as she strode back to the house, more color to her cheeks and sparkle to her eyes.

"I was beginning to think that you were never going to rise, sleepyhead," she called gaily to Lady Theresa, who was standing in the doorway, blinking in the bright sunlight.

Chapter 12

Lady Standen had planned a grand dinner and ball for the following evening. She wished to introduce her future daughter-in-law to the foremost families of the neighborhood and to make a formal announcement of the betrothal. The whole house was in an uproar of excitement at the elaborate preparations that were being made. The chef was preparing all the food himself, the gardener was cutting flowers enough to decorate the dining room and the ballroom, and all the servants were engaged in cleaning and helping.

The guests were glad of the distraction. The weather was cold and blustery, the pleasures of the countryside beginning to pall on those who were eager to participate in the last whirl of activities that the Season had to offer in London. Sylvia and her two friends fluttered gaily about the house, helping with floral arrangements and exchanging details of the gowns they were to wear that night. The men played billiards and wisely stayed out of the way of the main activities. Lady Standen and Letitia Morrison spent most of the day in the morning room, sewing and chatting cosily. Only a few went about their lone pursuits.

Nigel spent the day visiting his brother's tenants and paying a lengthy call at the school, where he helped out an overworked teacher by listening to some of the youngest children read. He deliberately occupied himself away from the house. He could not resist his beloved's plea to stay, yet he could not be near her. It was a personal torture to see and hear her, and to know that soon she would be his brother's wife and beyond his reach forever. And it went against his sense of honor to be in her presence while harboring forbidden feelings for her. He would have to attend the ball tonight. It would be most unmannerly of him to stay away. But tomorrow he must go, a day before the rest of the party broke up. He must find an opportunity to tell her so tonight.