Until death,as they said.
I sighed. My carefully thought-out plan—a series of five tests that each marital prospect needed to pass—had thus far been a dismal failure. It wasn’t even that difficult.
Scholarly aptitude and ability to engage in intellectual discourse—multiple questions in mathematics, physics, and philosophy
Progressive stance on women’s status and rights in the aristocracy
Emotional breadth and depth—must be compassionate and kind
Political views in favor of changing antiquated laws
Physical compatibility
Honestly, on the last test, were butterflies too much to hope for?
Every gentleman I’d met faced the same inquisition. If they failed, which many did, I quickly moved on. If they passed, other subsequent stages would weed out any prospects who might allow me only a modicum of educational and personal liberty. But season after season, not a single gentleman had ever met my full expectations.
It was entirely disheartening.
In fact, the only person who had come close to my impossible dream had been my best friend, Lord Blake Castleton…a flirt through and through, with an incisive brain he preferred not to use. He’d nailed my academic questions without blinking, and I’d been buoyed by his views on women—that they shouldn’t be pigeonholed into archaic roles. He was compassionateandstood for change. My hopes had exploded, and the next step had been to see if we had physical compatibility.
Alas, there was none. Not a butterfly in sight.
Honestly, if falling in love was to be determined by kisses, I was positively doomed. My overly methodical brain had dissected our experimental kiss until it had become a clinical study—of touch, texture, and taste—observations that led to the conclusion that it was nothing to swoon about. That said, I’d been willing to accept Blake, even with the mediocre kisses, until I realized to my dismay that he was emphatically not inclined or ready to settle down with anyone.
Thereafter, I was forced to face the facts that I might be too picky, and my standards were unreachable. Was something wrong with me? Was my desire to find my perfect person so impossibly daunting? Certainly, I’d deterred the fortune huntersand the suitors who didn’t seem to have any interest in me as a person. But surely there was someone I might have some common ground with on a cerebral level or even some infinitesimal semblance of a spark?
With the way things were looking, it seemed being unapologetically myself meant being alone. A fact that was fine by me, but not with my parents. Or theton,for that matter.
Finally, the everlasting dance ended. Ansel’s gaze narrowed on my flushed face. “You’re looking a bit peaked, Roz. Shall we get a drink?”
I nodded. That sounded like a capital idea. Perhaps afterward I could slip away unnoticed. As he escorted me toward the refreshments room, I peered at him, a wave of envy washing through me. “Are you excited for your trip?”
“Beyond,” he replied. “It will be magnificent, and I shall return a sophisticated, mature, and cultivated man.”
“So you say,” I muttered. “I envy you, you know.”
“Why?”
