The dance was about to begin.

"You are not considering marriage on your own account, Bruce?" she asked him, smiling back.

"I am not," he said.

"I am very glad," she told him. "Very glad, that is, for the lady who might have been your wife."

"I will see my lawyer tomorrow morning," he said. "I will take him to see /your/ lawyer. You may wish to meet us there at noon, Cassandra. You will get everything to which you are entitled provided you are prepared to swear /in writing/ that you will make no further claim on my estate.

Ever."

He smiled. She smiled back.

"I will be there with Wesley," she said. "My lawyer will advise me on what I ought to agree to, in writing or otherwise."

They danced in silence, smiling at the air to the side of each other's face. And they were watched, Cassandra guessed, by guests curious to interpret what Lord Paget's appearance here tonight meant. But it could surely mean only one thing to them. Would he have come if he truly believed she had murdered his father? Would he have come if he did not wish her well, if he did not wish to convey the blessing of his family on this second marriage of hers?

Cassandra could almost hear what was being thought, even said – and what would be said in the coming days.

Perhaps they had all been wrong about her, they would surely say. The rumors had been rather extreme, after all. What woman was capable of hefting an axe high enough and firmly enough to cleave a man's skull in two? Not that they had really /believed/ those stories, of course, but even so… And she had denied nothing, had she? And one could believe a woman with hair /that/ color capable of anything. They /must/ have been wrong about her, though. Not only was Lord Paget here, he was also dancing with her, conversing with her, smiling with her. They were clearly on the best of terms with each other.

Paget had behaved well, Stephen thought as the evening neared its end and he could, at last, claim Cassandra again for one more set.

He could not say he was happy Paget had come or happy that he had felt obliged to invite the man to the ball instead of pounding him to a bloody pulp, which would have been far more satisfying.

But, all things considered, matters had perhaps worked out for the best.

Although there would always be people who would think the worst of Cassandra – that was human nature, after all – nevertheless most people would now conclude that they must have been duped by gossip. And most would convince themselves that they never listened seriously to gossip anyway and had not believed this particular item for a moment.

Cassandra's reputation would be restored.

And after coming here and smiling his way through the evening and even dancing with Cassandra, Paget could hardly now claim that she had no right to her personal property or to the monetary provisions made for her in her husband's will and the marriage contract.

Stephen did not know how wealthy she would be, but he guessed that she would at worst be very comfortably well off. She would be independent.

She would be able to do with her life whatever she chose to do.

It was not a realization that depressed him. Quite the contrary. She would have fought him to the bitter end, he knew, if it had seemed that she /needed/ to marry him. And he would have hated to feel obliged to persuade her into matrimony only because she had no real alternative. He would have spent the rest of his life wondering whether she had really /wanted/ to marry him. And wondering if pity had somehow warped his judgment.

Now he could fight for her without any qualms at all. She /would/ say yes. But she would say it because she /wanted/ to, because she had the freedom to decide whichever way she wanted. And he would fight because he wanted her. There would be no other reason.

He smiled at her as he took her in his arms. He had been smiling all evening, of course, but this time he saw only her, and he felt only the love that almost overwhelmed him. He could still scarcely believe it had happened to him – long before he had started to look for it, and in a totally different direction than he would have turned if he had been deliberately looking.

"I suppose," he said, "you are still determined to break off our engagement once the summer comes?"

"Of course," she said. "And only I can honorably do it. I will not fail you, Stephen, or trap you. This is all very temporary."

Did she feel anything for him? It was impossible to know. He was as certain as he could be that she felt a fondness for him. He knew she was physically attracted to him. But did she feel anything approximating to love? To romantic love? And to that deeper love that would endure through a lifetime?

She was free now to love.

Or not to.

But she was not free to tell him that she loved him, was she? She had promised to break off their engagement when the Season was over. /I will not fail you, Stephen, or trap you/.

This was going to be a difficult courtship. They were trapped in an engagement that she was honor-bound to break and he was honor-bound to convert into marriage.

Love seemed a minor consideration.

Except that it was everything.

They waltzed in silence. And they waltzed in a space that seemed to contain only the two of them. He could smell the flowers she had helped choose, and the scent of her hair and of /her/. He could feel her body heat and hear her breath. And he could see the proud arch of her neck, the beauty of her face, the bright glory of her hair, the sunshine of her gown.

And it seemed to him that the darkness that had been in her had gone, to be replaced by light. Had he had some small hand in that? If he had, and if she was lost to him at the end of the Season, then perhaps there would be some consolation in the lonely years he would face before he could begin to forget her.

Not that he /would/ lose her.

And not that there would be any consolation.

Most things in life had come easily to him. Even when he was a boy he had known that Meg had carefully saved enough of the portion their mother had brought to her marriage so that he might go to Oxford and receive enough of an education that he could find steady, gainful employment for the rest of his life. Since he had inherited his title and all that went with it, life had been very easy indeed for him. And very happy too. He had never had to fight hard for what he wanted.

He would fight now.

He wanted Cass.

"You look almost fierce," she said.

"Fiercely determined," he said.

"To do what?" she asked him. "Stay off my toes for the last few minutes of the waltz?"

"That too," he said. "But not just that. Determined to enjoy what remains of the Season. Determined to see to it that you enjoy it too."

"How could I /not/ enjoy a little piece of eternity in company with an angel?" she said.

But she laughed as she said it, her eyes dancing with merriment, and he did not know if it was a flippant, essentially meaningless answer or something that came so deeply from the heart that it had come out sounding unbearably sentimental.

The waltz was at an end, and so was the evening.

Within twenty minutes everyone had left except for a few stragglers, mostly family, and Wesley Young's hired carriage had pulled up outside Merton House and Young was waiting to hand his sister in. Miss Haytor and Golding were already inside the carriage.

Stephen stood on the pavement at the bottom of the steps, both Cassandra's hands in his own. He raised them one at a time to his lips.

"Good night, Stephen," she said.

"Good night, my love."

And she was. His love, that was.

How could he convince her of that without burdening her with the truth?

Courtship was not an easy business at all.

Perhaps it was as well. There was that saying about anything worth having being worth fighting for.

Old sayings had a tendency to be filled with truth and wisdom. She raised a hand from inside the carriage a few moments later, and then she was gone.

The next month went by for Cassandra too slowly and far too quickly.

She wanted it over with so that she could begin the rest of her life.

Everything had been settled with great ease between her and Bruce with the aid of their lawyers and Wesley. Not only was she to be granted what she was owed by the marriage contract, but also she was to be paid the pension to which she was entitled by Nigel's will, including all the back payments. Her jewelry had already been sent from Carmel.

She was a comparatively wealthy woman. She could live more than comfortably for the rest of her life, especially when she intended to live that life somewhere in the country with only the expenses of a small cottage and a few servants to consider.

Mary was going with William, of course. He was already in the process of purchasing land in Dorsetshire and the small manor that stood upon it.

They hoped to move there in the autumn. In the meanwhile they stayed with Cassandra, and Mary insisted upon continuing as housekeeper, maid, and cook.

Belinda was excited at the prospect of moving to a big house far away with her mama and papa.

Alice was going to marry Mr. Golding, and she was going to do it within the month. Cassandra had shamelessly promised that she was going to marry Stephen, and Alice had believed her and decided to follow her heart. She was bubbling over with happiness, and Cassandra felt not the smallest pang of guilt for her lie. She was just going to have to convince Alice when the time came that she had had a sudden change of heart and could not marry Stephen after all.