“I suppose that even if I could imagine myriad choices,” she said, “they would still have to be within the realm of the realistic.”

Good Lord!

“And marriage would not fit within such a realm?” he asked, surprised.

He did not realize until he found himself gazing at the tender flesh at the arch of her neck that she had dipped her head so far downward that she must have been able to see nothing more than her own feet. He had embarrassed her, dash it all. He was not usually so insensitive.

“No,” she said. “It would not.”

And of course he might have known it if he had stopped to consider. How often did one hear of a governess marrying? Yet a schoolteacher must have even fewer opportunities to meet eligible men. He wondered suddenly how the countess had met Edgecombe. He had not even known before today that she had been a schoolteacher at the time. There must be an interesting story behind that courtship.

In his world women had nothing to hope for or think about but marriage. His sisters had not considered their lives complete until they had all followed one another to the altar with eligible mates in order from the eldest to the youngest, at gratifyingly young ages-gratifying to them and even more so to his mother.

“Well,” he said, “one never knows what the future holds, does one? But you must tell me sometime what it is about teaching that you enjoy so much. Not today, though-I see we are approaching Barclay Court. We will talk more when we meet again during the next two weeks.”

She stole another quick glance at him and he laughed.

“I can see the wheels of your mind turning upon the hope that such a fate can be avoided,” he said. “I assure you it cannot. Neighbors in the country invariably live in one another’s pockets. How else are they to avoid expiring of boredom? And I am to be at Hareford House for the next two weeks just as you are to be at Barclay Court. I am glad now that I decided not to return to my own home tomorrow as I had originally planned.”

He spoke the truth and was surprised by it. Why on earth would he wish to extend an acquaintance with a woman from an alien world who disliked and disapproved of him? Just because she was dazzlingly beautiful? Or because he could not resist the unusual challenge of coaxing a smile and a kind word from her? Or because with her there might be a chance of actually conversing sensibly-about her life as a teacher? His conversation-and his life-had been far too trivial for far too long.

“I daresay,” she said, “you will be busy with Miss Raycroft and the Misses Calvert.”

“But of course.” He chuckled. “They are delightful young ladies, and who can resist cultivating delight?”

“I do not believe,” she said, “you expect me to answer that.”

“Indeed not,” he agreed. “It was a rhetorical question. But I will not be busy with them all the time, Miss Osbourne. Someone might misconstrue my interest in them if I were. Besides, with them I have felt no moment of magic.”

He smiled down at her bonnet.

“I would ask you,” she said as their feet crunched over the gravel of the terrace before the house, her voice as cold as the Arctic ice, “not to speak to me with such levity, my lord. I do not know how to respond. And moreover I do not wish to respond. I do not wish to have you single me out on any future occasion. I wish you would not.”

Dash it all. Had he offended her more than he realized?

“Am I to look your way whenever we are in company together during the coming weeks, then, and pretend that I see only empty air?” he asked her. “I fear Edgecombe and his lady would consider me unpardonably ill-mannered. I shall bow to you each time instead and remark upon the fineness or inclemency of the weather-without drawing any comparisons with your person. Shall I? Will you tolerate that much attention from me?”

She hesitated.

“Yes,” she said, ending their conversation as monosyllabically as she had begun it.

Edgecombe must have observed their approach and was coming out through the front doors and down the horseshoe steps to greet them, a smile of welcome on his face.

“You did persuade him to come, then, Frances,” he said, setting one hand at the small of the countess’s back and smiling briefly and warmly down at her. “Raycroft-good to see you again. And Whitleaf is staying with you? This is a pleasure. Do come inside. Did you enjoy the walk, Susanna? And did you find Mrs. and Miss Raycroft at home?”

He smiled kindly at the schoolteacher and offered her his arm, which she took without hesitation.

“We met Miss Raycroft at the fork in the road,” she said. “She was out walking with her brother and the Calvert sisters. We walked back to the village together and then on to Hareford House, where we took tea with Mrs. Raycroft. It was indeed a pleasant outing. There can be nowhere lovelier than the Somerset countryside.”

Her voice was light and happy. Peter smiled ruefully to himself as he followed them up the steps and into the house, the countess between him and Raycroft.

By the time he stepped over the threshold, Miss Osbourne was already moving off in the direction of the staircase without a backward glance.

“You will wish to entertain Mr. Raycroft and Lord Whitleaf in the library, Lucius,” the countess said. “We will not disturb you.”

“Thank you,” he said, setting a hand at her back again. “The vicar called. I daresay by now you know all about the village assembly the week after next?”

“Of course,” she said.

“I said we would attend,” he told her, “on condition that there be at least one waltz. The vicar has promised to see to it.”

He grinned at her and she smiled back, her face alight with amusement, before turning to follow Miss Osbourne up the stairs.

“Right.” Edgecombe turned his attention back to his visitors, rubbing his hands together as he did so. “Shall we step into the library? We will have some refreshments, and you can both tell me everything I missed in London during the Season. I have heard that you are finally betrothed to Miss Hickmore, Raycroft. My felicitations. A fine choice, if you were to ask me.”


3


“I disliked him intensely,” Susanna replied bluntly when Frances asked her what she thought of Viscount Whitleaf.

“Did you?” Frances looked surprised. “But he is rather good-looking, is he not? And very charming, I have always thought.”

Susanna did not comment on his looks, though it seemed to her that he was considerably more than just “rather good-looking.”

“ Calculatedly charming,” she said as she removed her bonnet and fluffed up her curls with the visual aid of the mirror in her bedchamber while Frances stood in the doorway, twirling her own bonnet by its ribbons. “He does not utter a sincere word. I doubt he has a sincere thought.”

“Oh, dear.” Frances laughed. “He did make a poor impression on you. I suppose he tried to flirt with you?”

“You heard what he said when we first met,” Susanna said, turning from the mirror and gesturing to the chair beside the dressing table.

Frances stepped into the room though she did not sit down.

“I thought his words rather amusing,” she admitted. “He did not mean to offend, you know. I daresay most ladies enjoy such flatteries from him.”

“He is shallow and vain,” Susanna said.

Frances set her head to one side and regarded her friend more closely.

“It might be a mistake to jump too hastily to that conclusion,” she said. “I have never heard of any vice in him. I have never heard him called a rake or a gambler or a ne’er-do-well or any other of the unsavory things one half expects to hear of a young, unattached gentleman about town. Lucius likes him. And so do I, I must confess, though I have never been an object of his gallantry, it is true.”

“I do not understand,” Susanna said, “how those girls can be so taken in by him.”

“Miss Raycroft and the Calverts?” Frances said. “Oh, but they are not really, you know. He is Viscount Whitleaf, high-born, enormously wealthy, and quite out of their orbit. They understand that very well. But they enjoy his attentions-and who can blame them? Life in the country can be exceedingly dull, especially when one rarely travels farther from home than five miles in any direction. And he is very skilled at flirting without ever favoring one particular lady above all others and therefore inspiring hope in her that can only lead to disappointment. Women understand him very well, I daresay, and look for husbands elsewhere. Society often works in such ways.”

“I am very glad, then,” Susanna said tartly, “that I do not belong to society. It all sounds very artificial to me.”

But as she caught her friend’s eye, she first smiled and then dissolved into unexpected laughter.

“And just listen to me,” she said when she caught her breath, “sounding like a dried-up prune of a spinster schoolteacher.”

“And looking like anything but,” Frances said, joining in the laughter. “I suppose he flirted on the way back to Barclay Court too, the rogue, and you responded with a sober face and a severe tongue? The poor man! He must have been utterly confounded. I wish I could have listened.”

They laughed together again. Perhaps she had overreacted, Susanna thought. Perhaps she would not have judged him quite so severely if he had been introduced to her as Viscount Jones or Viscount Smith or anything but Viscount Whitleaf.

“Anyway,” she said, “I have always said that I will hold out for a duke or nobody. I believe a mere viscount must count as nobody.”