She didn't have more time to dwell on her feelings and was thankful for it. The next hour was spent meeting friends and acquaintances of her father and her uncle. Some were titled and others were not. Caroline said as little as possible to each new arrival, worried that she would incorrectly address someone of importance and show her ignorance.

Caroline felt very much like the isolated farmgirl she was, and totally out of place as she curtsied again and again to the uppercrust of England's society.

She was introduced to Lady Tillman, an old friend of her father's, and learned from a whispered comment made by her uncle that at one time the woman had set her sights on her father.

Lady Tillman turned out to be much like the other ladies attending the ball, only an older, rounder version. She must have practiced her expressions before a mirror, Caroline decided, by the way she carefully, ever so slowly, showed delight, interest, and pleasure. Caroline thought her boring and artificial and was disappointed by her contrived charm. Disappointed because her father seemed truly enchanted with the woman.

Caroline decided that Lady Tillman bore watching. Guilt nagged her when she thought how lonely her father had been. For his sake, she did try to like the gray-haired, brown-eyed woman, but found after a short time that she couldn't, especially when the older lady dissolved into controlled giggles over a remark that wasn't remotely humorous.

Lady Tillman's daughter was a younger version of her mother, in looks and expressions. She seemed to be of a weak nature too.

Rachel Tillman was spoken for, Lady Tillman informed Caroline and Charity. She then sent the earl off to locate Rachel's future husband, and as soon as he returned and introduced Nigel Crestwall, Caroline felt a new emotion for Rachel Tillman. She felt acutely sorry for her.

Nigel Crestwall had the eyes of a sly fox. He didn't look at Caroline, he leered. She felt extremely uncomfortable in his presence and was thankful when Rachel whined him into dancing with her.

The marquis was beginning to look fatigued, and Caroline suggested that they return to the dining room for dessert. Once they were settled, Viscount Claymere begged, rather dramatically, to be allowed to join them, and then Terrence St. James requested an introduction and also sat down.

Caroline quickly tired of the competitive way both the viscount and the bold St. James fought for her attention. She happened to look up and saw Bradford standing across the room, watching her. A woman Caroline could only describe as stunning clung to his side and was looking up at him with adoration in her eyes.

Bradford held a glass of wine in his hand and tilted it as a greeting and perhaps a toast, Caroline thought. She nodded and was about to lift her glass to return the gesture when the viscount leaned forward and knocked the piece of crystal out of her hand. The linen tablecloth was saturated with champagne but Caroline ignored it as she tried to calm the viscount. He was making quite a scene with his apologies and she had to grit her teeth and listen through it.

When he was finally quieted, she looked up again and saw that the accident had provided much entertainment for the Duke of Bradford. His grin reached from one ear to the other.

Caroline found herself smiling in return and then shook her head and returned to the conversation going on around her. St. James kept grabbing hold of her hand and she had to keep pulling it away.

The night finally drew to a close. Caroline hugged her uncle and promised, for the tenth time, to visit him the day after tomorrow for tea. She and Charity then said their farewells and expressed their pleasure over the evening to the Duke of Ashford.

"What did Bradford speak to you about?" Caroline asked when her father finished listening to Charity's descriptions of her evening.

"He will call on you tomorrow," her father announced. He sounded very satisfied. "Told him that he was the fifth to ask my permission," he said with a chuckle. "He didn't like that bit of news, I can tell you."

"Bradford is pursuing Caroline," Charity remarked.

"I believe that most of London's male population is in pursuit," the earl said. "But your cousin isn't the only one to receive invitations. I've had a flood of requests for your attention, too, Charity."

"You have?" Charity didn't sound overly pleased with her uncle's news.

"Yes, and we must go over all of them tomorrow. I imagine you will both receive flowers and messages, although it has been years since I've done any actual courting and the rituals might have changed a bit, I dare say. Hard to keep abreast of the latest doings, you understand."

Charity's alarmed expression increased the more her uncle went on about the suitable men wanting her attention. Caroline caught her eye and shook her head, signaling her to keep her silence. She didn't want her father's pleasure to be diminished and would have a long talk with Charity as soon as they were alone.

Charity caught the message and nodded. Caroline tried to concentrate on her father's conversation but Bradford's face kept intruding. She suddenly pictured Clarence, her Boston suitor. And then Clarence and Bradford were standing side by side in her mind's eye and Caroline heard herself groan. The comparison between the two men was laughable. Clarence was still a boy, Bradford a man. Clarence had always reminded Caroline of one of the new foals on the farm, awkward and terribly unsure of himself whenever he was around her. Bradford, on the other hand, reminded Caroline of her favorite stallion. Bradford was strong, vital! His stance indicated confidence and strength. She wondered if, like her stallion, he possessed endurance as well. That consideration gave her a moment's pause. Would he endure in his desire to have her? It was a bizarre comparison and Caroline blamed her exhaustion for these ridiculous thoughts.

Caroline had decided that she would discuss Paul Bleachley with Charity in the morning, after her cousin had had a good night's sleep.

She went into Charity's bedroom to say good night and found her cousin propped up in bed, weeping into one of the plump goose-feather pillows she clutched to her breasts.

"You were right all along," Charity told Caroline between sobs. "He wasn't honorable at all. I'm having the most unkind thoughts, Caroline. I do wish you'd go with me to find him and shoot him for me."

Caroline smiled and sat down on the side of Charity's bed. "That is an unkind thought," she agreed. "But I was the one mistaken about Bleachley, not you, Charity. From now on, I'll listen to you whenever men are involved. Your instincts were correct."

"Are you teasing me?" She mopped her eyes on the pillow casing and sat up a little straighter. "You know something, don't you? Tell me!"

"Bleachley was injured in the explosion in Boston. Do you remember that night, Charity? When the harbor was in flames and we could see the orange glow from our bedroom window?"

"Yes, of course I remember. Oh, God, tell me what happened to him." Charity's agony made Caroline rush through the rest of her story.

"What shall I do?" Charity asked when Caroline had finished recounting the story. "Bradford told you that he won't even see his friends. My poor Paul! The pain he must be suffering." She started weeping again, and Caroline felt completely helpless.

For several minutes Charity continued to cry, until her pillow was soaked. Caroline listened until her heart couldn't take one more sob. She frantically tried to think of a plan, discarding one absurd idea after another. If only Charity wasn't so loud when she cried!

And then it all came together. She smiled at her cousin and said, "If you have finished with your tears, I believe there is a way. It means that I'll have to ask a favor of Bradford, but there's no help for it."