"You will enjoy yourself, at least, Ros," she said, hugging her cousin happily on one occasion. "You will be able to ride to your heart's content again. I know you have been missing Flossie, although you have not complained at all."

"Yes, it will be splendid," Rosalind agreed with a rare burst of enthusiasm. "But tell me, Sylvie, do you never talk to his lordship? Everything you know of him and his house you seem to have learned from his brother."

"Oh, Lord Standen is a very reticent man," Sylvia explained airly. "Nigel says that he has always been quiet. I was rather awed by his silences at first, for I wondered if he was disapproving of me. But Nigel says no, it is just his way."

"Oh," was all Rosalind could think of to say. She did not know whether to be amused or uneasy by the constant references to "Nigel says."

On the whole Rosalind was happy about the approaching holiday in the country. It would be delightful to be away from the glare of the public eye. Even though there were to be several house guests at Broome Hall, she felt that there she would have greater freedom to do as she wished. She could avoid the more public entertainments and spend more time alone or- blissfully-out riding. It would be heavenly to be away from the Earl of Raymore for a few days. Her hatred of him had become almost an obsession. She had only to anticipate his arrival in a room, had only to hear his voice, to feel her whole body tense and to lose her ability to concentrate on whatever activity she was involved in. When he was in a room with her, she felt every muscle tighten. She found it difficult to behave or talk naturally to anyone else. It was almost impossible to look at him and almost impossible not to look at him. She would find that in the end she could not resist darting a glance at him with an almost jerky movement of her head, and almost invariably she would choose a moment when he too was looking at her, often with the ice-blue eyes she was accustomed to, sometimes with a still, brooding look that made her breathless and uncomfortable for minutes afterward. It would be good to be free of him for at least a few days. Rosalind hoped that perhaps he would not join the party, after all.

Most of all she welcomed the prospect of a week in the country with Sir Bernard Crawleigh. She felt uneasy about their betrothal. She was not quite certain of her own feelings. She knew that she liked him. She found his kisses pleasant. Certainly marriage to Bernard was like a fulfillment of her wildest dreams. No, not her wildest. Her greatest dream had been to marry Alistair, and no living man could take his place. But had she known a few months before that she would be betrothed to a handsome, charming man of rank and wealth, she would have been ecstatic. For so many years Rosalind had convinced herself that no man would ever want to make her his wife. But now that the impossible had happened, her spirits were curiously flat. Something was not quite right.

She persuaded herself that her unease was due to the fact that she could not be sure of Bernard's feelings. During that morning visit in the library, he had convinced her that he really did wish for the match, that he had intended to offer for her even before Raymore had caught them together. And since then he had been flatteringly attentive, sending her flowers each day, taking her driving in the park, organizing a small party to attend the opera, pressing for an early wedding in the autumn. But she could not help but wonder. Apart from the fact that he had kissed her twice, he had never given a hint of any special attachment before the night of Letitia's ball. His manner had been easy and friendly, frequently teasing, as it still was.

Although Cousin Hetty and Sylvia frequently complimented Rosalind on her appearance, and although Bernard had several times assured her that she was lovely, Rosalind could not free her mind of the habit of thinking herself ugly. It was hard for her to believe that Bernard was not repelled by her appearance, particularly by her limp. How could he love her? And, in fact, she realized, he had never claimed to do so.

These days his friendly, teasing manner was like the surface of a shield. She was not sure if Bernard really meant all that he said, or if his sense of honor was forcing him into an elaborate charade. She looked forward, then, to the stay in the country. Surely if they were together for a week in a more tranquil setting, she would be able to understand her own feelings and she would learn where his wishes really lay.

Only five days were to elapse between the day of her betrothal and the day of the departure for Broome Hall. Rosalind used one of those afternoons to pay a call on Lady Elise Martel, who had finally delivered a son one week before. She was reclining in her private sitting room when Rosalind was announced.

"Do come and sit down, Rosalind," she said eagerly. "How very kind of you to come and visit me when you must have so many more exciting things to do. Henry has told me of your engagement to Sir Bernard Crawleigh. I am so happy for you. I can remember the time when I wished he would pay attention to me."

"Then I must be very thankful to Sir Henry that he put a stop to the possibility," Rosalind said with a smile.

The conversation switched immediately and inevitably to the new baby, who had to be brought from his crib by a nurse to be held and admired by the guest. Holding the sleeping child and examining the perfection of his tiny, curled fingers, Rosalind felt a surge of fierce gladness that she was to be married soon. For the first time in her life she was able to hope and dream of a child of her own.

"Henry wants Edward to be godfather," Lady Elise was saying, "though I could wish that he had a wife so that little Andrew could have a pair of godparents."

"The Earl of Raymore!" Rosalind snorted inelegantly. "I very much doubt that he would come within a mile of the baby. How could he be godfather? By proxy?"

Elise chuckled. "He is a rather formidable man, is he not? I can remember being terrified of him at one time when my mama was trying desperately to match us up. Those piercing blue eyes! But I forgave him all when he introduced me to Henry, though I believe he did so only so that he would not have to partner me himself in that particular quadrille."

"I would not doubt it," Rosalind said dryly.

"But you are quite wrong about the baby," Elise continued. "He came here yesterday with Henry and brought a most extravagant gift. I did not offer to show him Andrew, because I felt as you do. But Henry brought him to the drawing room-he is bursting with the most absurd paternal pride, you know. And Edward actually took the child in his own hands. I just about died of horror. But he put his hand beneath the baby's head and bounced him gently just as if he had a whole nurseryful of his own to practice on, and Andrew did not even cry."

"Amazing!" Rosalind commented.

"Yes, is it not? I told Henry afterward that there is quite a domestic man hidden beneath the rather cold exterior. Poor Edward! If he could just get over his hatred of women."

"Does he hate all women?" Rosalind asked. "Not just me?"

"Indeed he does," Lady Elise replied. "Henry says that he once had a rather unfortunate experience with a broken engagement."

"But it is rather absurd to hate the whole sex because one of us proved to be a jilt," Rosalind said.

Lady Elise smiled and handed the baby back to the waiting nurse. "I quite agree," she said. "But perhaps we do not know the whole story. I would hate to judge Edward too harshly. I must confess to a soft spot for the man."

"Hm," said Rosalind.

"But tell me about your betrothal," her hostess said. "I was never more pleased in my life."

Rosalind found herself confiding the whole to this woman whom she considered a friend, though they had known each other for such a short time.