Elizabeth had stared at him, her chin lifted defiantly.

"How much will it take to make you realize that marriage to my nephew is not a wise course for you?" he had asked.

Elizabeth had not immediately understood. "I beg your pardon?" she had asked blankly.

He had answered impatiently. "I have no time for these missish airs of innocence, Miss Rossiter," he had said. 'What is your price?"

She had gaped inelegantly.

"Unlike my brother and his family, I am as rich as Croesus, as the vulgar saying goes," he had said, "and I believe in investing some of that money in the future welfare of my family."

"Are you offering me money to break my relationship with Robert?" she had asked incredulously.

"How much, Miss Rossiter?"

Elizabeth had risen to her feet, breathing hard. "I have nothing to say to you, sir," she had said. "I notice that the music has stopped. I must return to my aunt."

"I see that I shall have to deal with your father," Horace Denning had said, quite unperturbed. "I shall not find him so scrupulous, I wager."

Elizabeth had felt chilled as she hurried to rejoin her aunt in the ballroom.

Not many days afterward, Mr. Rossiter had appeared in London, claiming that business had brought him there. But Elizabeth had not been surprised when he had taken her to task for her attachment to Robert Denning.

"Did his uncle tell you about this?" she had asked him.

"It need not concern you where I heard about your goings-on, Lizzie," he had said sternly. "It is sufficient for you to know that it will not do and you must see no more of this young man."

"What possible objection can you have, Papa?" she had asked. "He is of excellent birth, as you must know. He has manners and education."

"And not a groat to his name," he had snapped.

"We had not planned to marry until he inherits the money his mother left him," Elizabeth had explained.

"Marriage?" he had said harshly. "And who gave you permission to talk of marriage, miss?"

"We have talked of it, Papa," she had said hesitantly, "though it will be a long while before we can consider even a formal betrothal."

"You can forget the whole idea," he had announced. "Do you think I have raised you and sent you to London, Lizzie, so that you might enter into a lengthy engagement to a penniless puppy? You will do your duty, my girl, and start looking around you for someone whose pockets are well lined. Never mind the handsome faces and the fancy titles. Marry a cit, if you must, but you will marry money."

Elizabeth had said nothing. She knew from experience when it was useless to argue with her father. He had been drinking, as she could tell from his bright eyes and the smell of his breath. If she had tried to reason or argue further, his mood would have become ugly.

But that afternoon had been one of the days scheduled for a visit to Lady Bothwell. Mr. Rossiter had left for his hotel. Elizabeth's Aunt Matilda had raised no objections when Robert came to call on her. So she had gone with him. She had told him during the short journey what had happened with his uncle and with her father, though she had not mentioned the fact that his uncle had offered her money. He had been looking grim by the time she finished.

"Uncle Horace has tackled me with his opinions," he had commented. "I had no idea he would harass you, my love. I am sorry. And your father, is it likely that he will finally give his consent?"

"I fear not," she had replied, "unless you suddenly inherit some grand fortune."

He had gazed at the horses' heads, unamused by her small attempt at humor. "We must go away from here," he had said abruptly.

"Together?"

"Yes, we must. They will never give us any peace if we stay. And in three years they will have driven a wedge between us. It is too long to wait, Elizabeth."

"No," she had said, troubled. "I cannot go away with you like that, Robert. I could not reconcile it with my conscience."

He had looked across at her, startled. "I mean marriage," he had said.

"Marriage?" she had echoed. "You mean Gretna Green?"

"I suppose so," he had agreed. "Oh, you deserve better, my love. Will you mind?"

She had thought as she watched his grandmother's residence approach. "I think being married to you is more important to me than anything else," she had said.

He had flashed her a grateful smile as he tossed the ribbons to a waiting groom and vaulted down from his own seat in order to help her down.

They had not mentioned anything of all this to Lady Bothwell during the visit. But during their ten minutes alone, Robert had held her and kissed her and promised that he would make all the arrangements and inform her of them soon.

"I do not know if what we are doing is best for you, my love," he had said, holding her head against his shoulder and laying his cheek next to hers. "Society will frown on us for marrying over the anvil. Both your family and mine will condemn us and probably disown us. I shall probably have to seek employment so that we may live, but even so, I shall not be able to keep you in the comfort to which you are accustomed. But I cannot think of any alternative. 1 cannot contemplate the idea of losing you."

"I shall leave the decision to you," Elizabeth had said, lifting her head from his shoulder and putting her arms up around his neck. "I am ready to go with you tomorrow if you wish. But I will not be a burden to you, Robert. If you decide that we must wait, then I shall wait."

He had clasped her to him then and covered her face and neck with hot kisses.

Two days later he had drawn her to one side at a garden party they had both attended. His grandmother had also had an irate visit from his uncle, he had reported. Horace Denning had demanded that she stop receiving Miss Rossiter. But Lady Bothwell was not the sort of person to whom one dictated terms. She had called in her grandson and had a long talk with him. The outcome was that she had offered to use her contacts with a bishop in order to help him procure a special license. She had made an agreement to give her grandson a living allowance, which he was to pay back as soon as he received his mother's inheritance. And Elizabeth was to travel to Devon in her coach in three days' time, while Robert was to accompany them as an outrider. In Devon they were to be married before informing their families of their whereabouts.

"Will you do it?" he had asked anxiously.

"Yes." Elizabeth had regarded him unwaveringly.

"I must not stay with you any longer, my love, or contact you in the next few days. I do not wish to attract the attention of either your father or my family. Can you leave your aunt's house on the morning of Thursday and come to Gram's? I must not come to fetch you."

"It will be easy," she had replied. "I often go shopping in the morning. It should be simple to get away from the maid and the coachman."

"I shall see you then, Elizabeth," he had said. "Three more days and we shall be together for always."

She had smiled brightly for the benefit of an approaching acquaintance. "Yes, sir, it is a perfect afternoon," she had said.

How young they had been. Despite the anxiety of those few days, how easy it had been to believe in a forever-after. Why did young people so readily believe that all problems ended at the altar, that happily-ever-after began right there? Elizabeth, staring through a window at Ferndale at a gradually lightening sky, smiled sadly in memory of her former self, the girl who had believed in fairy-tale endings. No one could have convinced her six years before that the day would come when she and Robert would sleep under the same roof, in separate bedrooms, not only strangers to each other, but bitter strangers.

She raised her eyes to the sky and breathed a prayer of gratitude at the changed weather. She had to get away. She could not stay this close to him and yet this far away from him for much longer. If it would not appear grossly bad-mannered to her host, in fact, she would not wait foi morning, but leave now when the sky was light enough to guide her home in safety.