“The fact Maitland’s mother exists does not alter the fact that his fiancée exists as well,” Josie noted.

“I can tell that Draven’s heart is not engaged in the match,” Imogen said with an edge to her voice. “Just consider, he’s been betrothed for over two years without progressing to the altar.”

“I hate to be dour,” Annabel said, “but there’s likely a great deal of money involved in a breach-of-promise suit. Maitland has never been one to consider money as other than fodder for his stables. Do you really think he would choose you over his stables?”

Imogen opened her mouth, and then lapsed into silence.

“Enough,” Tess said, sitting up and pushing back the counterpane. “We must dress for supper.”

“I’m merely going to the drawing room briefly to meet our chaperone,” Josie said. “Then Mrs. Beeswick is going to serve me a comfortable meal in the schoolroom. I’ve been there while you were sleeping, and it’s all books. Lovely books!”

Tess gave her a hug. “That’s splendid, darling. And the duke told me that he’d find you a governess directly, so perhaps you could even start lessons in the near future. It would be nice if one of us were learned. Imogen, you mustn’t let Lady Clarice have even a hint of your tendresse for her son.”

“I’m not stupid!” Imogen clambered off the bed. She’d left her hair down, and it swept behind her in a great swirling gleam of black silk. “Just don’t ask me to marry anyone except for Draven. Not the duke nor the earl. I’m quite certain that—”

“Oh, no,” Josie moaned. “Can’t you just accept the fact that Maitland is unavailable, Imogen?”

“I don’t agree,” Imogen said stubbornly. “Don’t you remember the time that I managed to fall out of the apple tree at Draven’s feet, and he picked me up?” She shivered. “It was lovely. He’s so strong.”

“Yes, but—” Josie said, but Imogen overran her.

“I thought I might not see Draven until we traveled to London, but here he is living down the road, and his mother is to be our chaperone.” Imogen’s eyes were glowing with fervor. “Obviously, it’s fate! We belong together.”

“I think we’ve neglected the possibility that she injured her head in that fall,” Josie said to Annabel and Tess.

Tess sighed. It was obvious to everyone that Draven Maitland didn’t really give a pin for Imogen, and it was equally obvious that Imogen wouldn’t countenance marrying anyone other than Maitland. Either she or Annabel would have to give Imogen a home until their little sister finally gave up her fruitless adoration.

“Our marriage was fated in the stars!” Imogen announced, looking dramatic as any heroine in a melodrama.

Annabel was standing before the glass, pulling her honey hair in a great mass over her shoulder. “Darling,” she said, giving Imogen an amused glance, “you keep your idea of how marriages are made, and I shall keep mine. From everything I’ve seen, the best marriages are those between practical persons, entered into for practical reasons, and with a reasonable degree of confidence in compatibility.”

“You sound like a solicitor,” Imogen said.

“An accountant,” Annabel responded. “Papa made me into an accountant, which means that I can’t help looking at life as a series of negotiations, of which marriage is the most important.”

She smiled at herself in the glass and twisted her hair into a great shining pile on her head. “Do I not look like a duchess?” She struck a pose. “Make way for Her Grace!”

“Make way for a goose!” Josie said, and then shrieked and ran for the door as Annabel made a swipe at her bottom with the brush.

Chapter 4

I mogen’s hands weren’t shaking. She was quite proud of that. Any other girl would be trembling like a leaf under the circumstances: she was about to meet her future mother-in-law for the first time, and perhaps see Draven too…

She brushed her hair until it crackled, and pinched her cheeks until she looked feverish, and then practiced demure smiles in the mirror. There was no reason to be nervous, given that fate had obviously brought them together. She practiced her smile again. She must use just the right smile when meeting Draven’s mother: a smile that was not grasping, socially aggressive, or any of those undesirable qualities. She had decided to aim at adorably shy and very young.It took a while (adorably shy not being one of Imogen’s natural characteristics), but finally she was fairly certain of success. If she merely curled up the very edges of her mouth and let the smile tremble on her lips, she looked positively Juliet-like. Thirteen at the most.

Josie stuck her head in the door just as Imogen was practicing a deep, yet bashful, curtsy before the mirror. “One can be certain,” Josie said in her customary acerbic tone, “that your darling Maitland will be out at the racetrack. So you might as well save your adoring glances.”

Imogen didn’t bother telling Josie that she had already figured that out herself. If a race were being held within fifty miles, Draven wouldn’t be at home. He wasn’t the sort of man to hang around his mother’s apron strings, not an out-and-outer like himself.

“I truly don’t see what appeals to you about Maitland,” Josie continued disagreeably.

Imogen turned back to her mirror and dropped another curtsy. It was no concern of hers that her sisters were unable to see Draven’s manifest virtues. Why, he had so many that it was hard to catalog them; they were jumbled in her mind. Of course, he was handsome, with a rakish air of danger. He drove his horses to an inch, and he always looked as if he should have a whip in his hand, even when he was in church. Just thinking of him made her feel giddy with pleasure.

“It will do you no good to snip at me,” she told her little sister, sweeping past her out the door. “Someday you’ll understand love, and until then, we need not discuss the subject.”

It felt as if they had been sitting in the drawing room for hours before the door finally swung open, and Brinkley announced, “The Lady Clarice Maitland.”

In the doorway was a lady dressed in the very first stare of elegance, her head cocked to the side and her hands making all sorts of elegant circles before she even said a word. Her nose had a narrow, chiseled look that was echoed by her high cheekbones. She looked coiffed, sharp-tongued, and inexpressibly expensive.

“Holbrook, darling!” she trilled, sweeping in the door before the butler. “You needn’t announce my son, Brinkley, we’re positively members of the family.”

The man who stood at Brinkley’s shoulder made Imogen’s heart stop in her chest for a full second before it started beating again.

He was singularly beautiful, with his wide square jaw, that little cleft in his chin, his almond eyes…She stood up, but her knees felt weak.

“Remember, the man is betrothed!” Tess whispered, as they moved forward to curtsy before Lady Clarice.

Of course, a distant acknowledgment was all that Draven deserved. He was promised to another, no matter how many four-leaf clovers and stars she’d wished upon in the past two years, since she first caught sight of him. She could feel her mouth spreading into a smile that hadn’t even a shadow of demureness about it.