Even Raymore, who had judged the progress of Sylvia's connection with Lord Standen quite satisfactory, was somewhat surprised at the speed with which he came to the point. Less than a month after Sir Rowland Axby had paid his morning call to ask for the one ward's hand, Standen was repeating the performance for the other ward.

Raymore had no misgivings. The connection was quite unexceptionable. Standen had rank, wealth, looks, and sense to recommend him. His serious nature would complement Sylvia's exuberance. The two men quickly came to an amicable agreement.

As he had done on the previous occasion, with Rosalind, Raymore summoned Sylvia to the library before luncheon. He awaited her arrival with a feeling of relief. She at least could be counted upon to behave predictably. He was very thankful that it was not Rosalind again. He could not be sure that she would accept any suitor, even if Crawleigh were to offer for her.

Half an hour later Sylvia rushed with undignified haste into Cousin Hetty's sitting room, where that lady and Rosalind were examining purchases made during a morning shopping expedition. "Ros, Cousin Hetty," she began, breathless from her run up the stairs, "Lord Standen has called on Edward and has offered for me."

Rosalind looked up sharply and searched her cousin's face.

"Well, how splendid, my dear," Hetty said, moving across the room to hug the girl and startling a poodle that had been stretched beneath the hem of her dress. "I knew when I saw you that you would make a brilliant match. And Lord Standen is very grand. I do believe you will be most happy. I wonder when the wedding is like to be. Oh, how exciting. We must get to work immediately on your trousseau." She clasped her hands and gazed in rapture at the prospective bride.

"Are you planning to accept his lordship's proposal, Sylvie?" Rosalind asked more soberly.

Her cousin looked at her incredulously. "But of course," she said. "You know that I love him, Ros."

"Are you sure?" Rosalind asked dampeningly. "You have not known him long, Sylvie, and you know that you fall in and out of love very frequently. Would it not be better to wait longer and be quite sure?"

"Ros," Sylvia pleaded, "I thought you would be happy for me. Lord Standen is far different from all the others, you know. They were mere boys. He is a man. Nigel says that he spends much of his time in the country and insists on running his estate himself. He is very kind to his tenants. I think he is worthy of my love."

"I am sure you are right," Rosalind said, "but we do not always love people just because they are worthy. There has to be a real friendship and attraction too, Sylvie."

"He is always very kind to me," Sylvia replied, "and I know that he thinks me quite the most attractive girl he has ever met. Nigel told me so."

"Well," Rosalind said, smiling cheerfully and rising to her feet, "I am sure the man has a great deal of sense. And for your sake, Sylvie, I hope that this time you do remain in love. I am sure he will make a quite admirable husband."

But she could not help wishing that Nigel Broome would let her cousin do her own thinking. Rosalind was not at all convinced that this attachment would prove any more lasting than any of the others.

Lord Standen had decided to celebrate his betrothal to Lady Sylvia Marsh with a week-long house party on his estate in Sussex. Even so, his sister, Mrs. Letitia Morrison, felt that such an event called for a larger gathering in London. One week after the announcement appeared in the Gazette, she held a dazzling ball in honor of her brother and his fiancee.

Rosalind was becoming almost resigned to such occasions. She had learned to live her own life as far as was possible during the daytime and to accept the boredom of the evenings when she must sit and look cheerful and converse with whoever chose to sit with her. The event at hand gave her some interest in this particular ball. She watched her cousin and Lord Standen with interest when they were together. They danced twice before supper and stood together between dances speaking to their guests and receiving their congratulations. It was very hard to judge if there was a real attachment between them. They did not appear to talk much to each other, but then the occasion did not give them a great deal of opportunity to do so. They looked happy enough. Sylvia's eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed; she smiled constantly. Standen was gracious and had a word for each of his well-wishers. Rosalind liked him. He seemed to be a man of good sense and stability of character. She hoped that Sylvia had made the right choice.

The Earl of Raymore was also present at the ball. He looked with satisfaction on the newly betrothed pair. Half of his responsibility at least seemed to have been safely disposed of. Unfortunately, it was the easier half. He frowned in the direction of Rosalind, who was seated at one side of the ballroom talking to Nigel Broome. Axby had not pressed his suit since her rejection of him and it was unlikely that she would look more kindly on him a second time even if he did. He had been neglecting his responsibilities, Raymore decided. The Season was half over already. If he wished to be rid of her before the summer set in, he would have to work very hard. She looked different from her usual self tonight, he concluded, his eyes assessing her from head to toe. The sky-blue lace gown made her look younger, but also made her appear more foreign. He had never been an admirer of Italian women, but to those who were, she was not unhandsome.

Broome might not be an impossible match for her. He was a younger son, but had a comfortable fortune of his own, inherited from his grandmother. He was an unassuming, rather dull young man, bookish, it was rumored. But they might suit. He might see if he could throw them together a bit during Standen's house party, to which both he and Rosalind had been invited. In the meantime, he strolled around the dance floor, talking to acquaintances, considering the possibility of introducing some of his friends to his ward.

Soon after the supper break Rosalind could stand the boredom no longer. She was fortunate enough to be seated close to a doorway that led onto the terrace. She slipped through into the relative darkness of the lantern-lit outdoors while a set was forming for a country dance and no one's attention was on her. There was only one couple on the terrace and they were quite a distance from her, deep in conversation. The air was too chilly to entice many guests out of doors. Rosalind limped in the opposite direction, one hand on the stone balustrade, until she could descend the few stone steps down onto the lawn. She walked on the grass, taking deep breaths of fresh air, glad to be free of prying eyes for just a few minutes. She shivered.

"It is a full-time task keeping trace of your whereabouts," a cheerful voice said from the bottom of the steps. "One blinks and you are gone, escaped into darkness."

Rosalind smiled. "If I had known you cared, Bernard," she said, "I should have had the orchestra play a fanfare to announce my departure."

"Ah, but then I could not have sneaked out here after you for a clandestine meeting," he said, coming across the lawn toward her, his grin noticeable in the moonlight.

"Mm, foolish of me," she replied, and shivered again.

"You are cold," he said. "I had better escort you back inside."

"No," she protested more seriously, "I plan to walk awhile. You cannot imagine how tedious it is to sit all evening and not be free to move."

He smiled with quiet sympathy, took her hand, and tucked it through his arm, They strolled in silence for a while, watching broken clouds scudding in the moonlight above treetops that waved in a strong breeze.