"And you need not worry about coming face to face with me in town over the coming months," he said. "I will not be there. I shall retire to my own estate until the spring and then I am going to go abroad. Probably for a few years. It is unlikely that you will have to see me after tonight, Jess. Perhaps ever. You will be free of me."

She blinked twice and her eyes looked somewhat brighter than before. "Yes," her lips said, though he heard no sound.

He forced himself to smile. "I am sorry," he said. "I tried to order your life instead of asking what you wanted, did I not? You see the measure of my arrogance? It never really occurred to me until this morning that perhaps your own wishes just did not include me. I understand now. And I respect your choice. Will you forgive me? Can we at least part a little less than bitter enemies?"

She continued to stare at him with huge eyes before nodding her head briefly and looking sharply downward again. He took her through the motions of the waltz while every part of him ached to draw her closer, to move his arm right around her waist, to bring her head against his shoulder, and to sway to the rhythm of the waltz with her.

Jess. His hands touched her lightly, desperately trying to record the memory of her. His nostrils were deliberately conscious of the fragrance of her. Would he ever see her again? In years' time, when she was married with a few children, when he too maybe had taken a wife, would he see her again and feel nothing perhaps except the faintest pang of nostalgia?

Perhaps. But the prospect did nothing to ease the raw pain of today. Today she had told him that there was nothing about him that she could like, she had rejected his marriage offer. Today he had decided to go away from her rather than try again to persuade her to marry him. And today, now, he touched her, knowing that soon, at any minute, he must let her go and never touch her again. Today he had long months of emptiness and pain to look ahead to.

The music stopped before he was ready for it to do so. She looked up at him, a bewildered expression on her face.

"Good-bye, Jess," he said, raising her hand to his lips. He smiled down at her. "Be happy, my dear. I shall always wish for your happiness."

She did not immediately reply. He did not wait to see if she would have done so. He let go of her hand and hurried from the room.

15

Jessica was standing in her room at Berkeley Square, looking down at the small trunk and the valise at her feet. She thought she had everything. It had been easy packing her things when she was leaving the Barries. It had been merely a matter of taking with her all the scant belongings in the room. This time it was a little more difficult. There was so much to leave behind: everything, in fact, that the dowager duchess had bought for her. Only what she had brought with her would she take away again.

She looked down rather ruefully at the plain gray woolen dress she wore. She had thought when a maid had hung it with the others at the back of her wardrobe that perhaps she would never wear it again. Indeed, the dowager had urged her to give them all away. But she was very glad now that she had kept them. It would not do for a young lady to board the stagecoach and go in search of employment dressed up in expensive finery.

There seemed to be nothing left to do but pull on her gray cloak and bonnet and her black gloves and leave. Indeed, she must not delay for much longer. There was quite a distance to cover to the stagecoach terminal, and she must not miss the coach.

Jessica felt far more pain in looking around her this time than she had when leaving the Barries' home. She had been happy here. She had been treated well. She had felt loved. Once outside this building and she would be completely on her own again, all her dreams and hopes of the previous weeks finally dead. She would be a governess for the rest of her life, if she were fortunate.

She had said other good-byes much earlier that morning. The faithful Dowager Duchess of Middleburgh had not been content with merely summoning the carriage to bring Jessica from Hendon Park. She had got up to see her on her way. And it had been difficult to say good-bye. Jessica had hugged her very hard, feeling as desolate as if the old lady were her own grandmother. She had been grateful for one thing, at least. The dowager had made no attempt to persuade her to change her mind. Jessica had been somewhat surprised, but very relieved. She had been almost glad to be on her way.

She had said mental good-byes to those still sleeping at Hendon Park: to the duke and duchess who had accepted her as their guest with no apparent fuss, to Lord and Lady Bradley, who had always shown her quiet friendship, to Lady Hope, to Sir Godfrey. And to her grandfather. She had stood outside his bedchamber for a few silent moments before pushing under his door the note she had written the night before and running quietly downstairs to the waiting carriage. She wished things could have been different between them. She had been so very happy to see him just a few days before. And now she was leaving him almost without a word, never to see him again. If only he could have accepted her need to make her own decisions!

And she had said her mental good-byes to the Earl of Rutherford. All night long, in fact, while she tossed and turned on her bed, quite unable to snatch even a wink of sleep. She wished they had not been forced into company together the evening before. Without that encounter perhaps the bitterness of their morning interview might have sustained her for a few days, until she was far away and would find it easier to forget.

It had been agony to have to sit next to him in the drawing room at Lady Hope's request, to feel him close to her, to hear his voice. She had wondered how she would retain her composure long enough to waltz with him. His hand at her waist had seemed to burn a hole in her sash. She did not know quite how her hands had obeyed her will to touch his shoulder and clasp his hand. She had fixed her eyes somewhere on a level with his waistcoat, desperately resisting the urge to look up into his eyes or to lean forward to rest her forehead against his chest.

And she had cursed herself. She could have been celebrating her betrothal to him, as Lady Hope and Sir Godfrey were celebrating theirs. She could have been as glowing and happy as Lady Hope. Why had she said no? He had tried to talk to her, had tried to get her to explain why she would not marry him, and she had said nothing beyond agreeing with him when he had asked if there were nothing in him of which she could approve. That was not true. There was a great deal about him that she liked and admired. She could not love him else.

Why had she not explained? Perhaps if she had shown a willingness to talk, he would have spoken too. Perhaps she would have found that his reasons for wanting to marry her were not quite as shallow as they seemed, after all. He had spent three whole weeks- and during the winter, too-traveling the country trying to find out more about her and had brought her grandfather to London to be with her. Were those the actions of a man who merely had a lust for a woman? Or who merely felt duty-bound to offer for her?

But no, she had said nothing when he had given her the chance. She had stubbornly waited for him to speak first. She had wanted to hear him tell her how he had come to value her acquaintance, how he had come to respect her person. She had hoped somewhere in the unconscious part of herself that he would tell her that he loved her. She had not been willing to meet him halfway. She had wanted him to do all the bending.

So she had danced with him, aware of the fact that her misery was probably of her own making, wanting another chance, just one more, to work things out with him. But she had ruined all her chances. He must hate her now. She had released him from the obligation of duty. Her words and behavior must have killed any more tender feelings that might have been growing in him.

And then he had spoken and made her feel ten times worse. He had spoken with kindness. And he had spoken of going away so that she could be free of him. Why had it hurt almost more than she could bear to know that he was going away, that he would not be in London for the next few months, or even in England for the next few years? She was going away herself. His words just made the whole situation that much more final.

By the time the dance had come to an end Jessica had scarcely known how to place one foot in front of the other. It was fortunate, she had felt, that he made quite clear the fact that he was about to leave the room himself, else they might well have collided in the doorway. As it was, she had waited a few minutes before making her own escape.

He had said good-bye to her. He had told her to be happy. He wanted her to be happy, he had said.

Jessica came out of her reverie and picked up her valise in some haste. If she did not hurry, she would miss the stagecoach. The dowager duchess would be very upset with her for traveling by the public coach when she had arranged for her own traveling carriage to make the journey. But Jessica could not accept. The break must come now. And she must travel in a mode consistent with her station in life. She would accept a ride to the coach terminal simply because she had a trunk and she did not have time to sally forth in search of a hackney carriage. But that was all.

Jessica left her room and ran down the stairs to the hallway. She did not look back.

The Dowager Duchess of Middleburgh allowed her maid to arrange her pillows behind her back and sank back comfortably against them. She laid her hands neatly on the silk cover of the bed and signaled the girl that Lord Rutherford might be admitted. She schooled her features into a polite smile.