"Over ten years," Griselda said. "And I am considering the possibility of marriage."

"Do you have anyone in mind?" Imogen inquired.

"No." She huddled in the corner looking as miserable as a sparrow with a broken wing. "I shall take the matter under consideration when the season begins."

Imogen thought for a while about the delights of marriage. Of course, she'd only been married two weeks, so it could be said that her experience was insignificant. "How long were you married?" she asked.

"A year. Did I have a small dog when you first arrived from Scotland?"

Imogen thought back to the days before she married Draven, when she, Tess, Annabel, and Josie had arrived at Rafe's house with little more than the clothes on their backs. "No," she said. "You didn't have a dog. I would remember that."

Griselda had walked into Rafe's drawing room wearing one of the most exquisite gowns that Imogen had ever seen. That night, Annabel had said dreamily that there could be nothing better than to be a rich widow with all the money in the world to spend, and no husband to share it with.

And here was Imogen, a rich widow with no husband. It was odd how unpleasant desirable states could be when one was experiencing them.

"I had a dog briefly," Griselda continued. "His name was Milo. He was one of those small brown dogs. But he started eating and eating and growing and growing." She opened her eyes and stared at Imogen. "Before I knew it, he was as high as my knee. All he thought about was food. A very nice dog, in his own way, but desperate to eat at any moment of the day."

"Hmmm," Imogen said, wondering if she should get a dog. At least it would provide companionship.

"Willoughby—my husband—was precisely like that dog," Griselda said, closing her eyes again. "Both of them thought about food before anything else. Both would get a painfully eager look in their eye and a little anticipatory wiggle in their bodies when it was time for a meal."

"Oh dear," Imogen said.

"The only difference was that I did not wait to find out whether Milo killed himself overeating, the way Willoughby did. I gave Milo away."

"So we have to find you a very slim man to marry."

"One who is uninterested in food," Griselda said firmly.

"Why have you decided to marry after so long?"

"I'm tired of being alone. Playing a chaperone to your sisters has been eye-opening in that respect."

Imogen thought about how much her sister Annabel was in love with her husband. And then there was Tess, whose eyes glowed at the very sight of her spouse. "1 see what you mean," she said with a sigh. "My sisters are happy in their marriages."

"It gives one to think," Griselda said. She delicately wrapped a lacy scarf around her neck. "My marriage was not, you understand, of the same caliber."

"Nor mine," Imogen said, pushing away a tiny pulse of disloyalty.

But Griselda's eyes had no surprise in them. "Mait-land was a very beautiful man," she said tranquilly. "In many years of being in society, I have found that beauty is a great drawback in a man. It seems frequently paired with petulance and an unfortunate degree of arrogance."

Imogen opened her mouth to defend her Draven… and shut it again. He had been arrogant. He had been petulant too, whining about his mother's tight control over her money. But worse than those, he had been reckless, throwing himself on the back of any horse in the pursuit of a bet. He simply couldn't bear not to win.

"Of course, Maitland may well have grown into an easier person over the years," Griselda offered.

A little smile curled Imogen's lips. "Or not."

"I find it helpful to regard the past optimistically. The important thing to remember is that there was little you could have done, either to make your marriage a success or to keep Maitland alive."

Imogen swallowed. She was finally coming to agree with Griselda. At first, she couldn't bear the pain of her own guilt. Then she began blaming herself. And now, finally, she was beginning to accept the fact that she couldn't have stopped Draven from racing to his death. He was like an unbroken colt, and she was by no means a strong enough woman to put him to bridle.

"I am not ready to remarry," she said suddenly. "I dreamed about marriage to Draven for most of my life. Now I would like to just be Imogen for a while."

"A laudable ambition," Griselda said. "Would that I did not have to be Griselda, at least until we get out of this carriage and my stomach calms."

"This may shock you," Imogen said, biting her lip.

"I doubt it," Griselda replied. "I have some difficulty working up to such excesses of emotion when in the throes of nausea. Besides I know perfectly well what you are planning."

Imogen raised an eyebrow.

"Last year," Griselda said, "you desired a little affaire for all the wrong reasons. You were angry at your husband for dying."

"I was angry at myself for failing him," Imogen said softly.

"Now you have decided on the same course of action, but for different reasons."

"You say it so calmly! Don't you mean to lecture me on the evils of illicit relationships?"

"No. I am quite certain you are aware of the disagree-able consequences if the ton were to discover your activities. But I have found that occasionally a small peccadillo that harms no one can be conducive to a cheerful disposition."

Imogen's eyes widened. "Are you saying that you have indulged in a peccadillo, Griselda? You?"

Griselda frowned. "As I said, I haven't been measured for a coffin yet. And the fact that I have not chosen to give myself in marriage does not mean that I haven't availed myself—very occasionally and very discreetly— of the pleasures of companionship."

Imogen stared with fascination at her chaperone, who was known far and wide in the ton for being one of the most chaste and virtuous widows in London. "Does Mayne know?"

"Why on earth would I share such a detail with a brother? Believe me, child, one learns quickly that making a confidant of a man can lead to nothing but trouble, and men who are actually in one's family are the worst choice of all."

Imogen thought about that.

"On that subject," Griselda said, "I would prefer that you did not choose my brother for your further adventures… I think it is time that he married."

"Do you?" Imogen found it extremely difficult to imagine the Earl of Mayne (who was riding beside the carriage) tied to anyone's apron strings.

"What's more, these little affairs are much better conducted out of the public eye. Everyone would take particular enjoyment in watching you and Mayne, given their delight in your so-public flirtation last year."

"Nothing came of it," Imogen said hastily.

"I know that. But if you and he are still seen together in the coming season, it will be a truly fascinating on-dit, given my brother's apparent inability to continue a relationship with a woman past a few weeks."

"Mayne is not a possibility," Imogen said. Never mind the fact that he showed no interest in her. Mayne was not what she had in mind. He was too volatile, too sophisticated and altogether too uncomfortable. "I thought to have a friendship with someone unknown to the ton."