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It was always sad to see the end of Christmas, though there would be something lovely too about getting back to the normal routine of life at home. Stephanie looked forward to spending a few months at Ravenswood with her family and friends and neighbors, busy with all her usual activities and awaiting the arrival of the new baby in the house, Gwyneth and Devlin’s fourth. It must happen well before Easter, she had commanded Gwyneth, for Ben and Jennifer had invited her to spend Easter at Penallen and she really wanted to go. But she also wanted to see the baby before she went. Gwyneth had promised with a laugh to do her best.

But the ending of Christmas this year was more heart-wrenching than usual as everyone, busy taking their leave of one another, gave special attention to Nicholas and Winifred, who would be first to leave tomorrow for their new life in London, where Nicholas worked at the Horse Guards. They would stop at the house here early tomorrow morning on their way, but Nicholas had made it clear that it was to be a private goodbye with the Cunninghams, who were to lose one of their own for the first time. They were all a bit emotional about that even as they put a brave face on it tonight and joined in the cheerful farewells to everyone else.

Stephanie hugged almost everyone she would not see again for a while, even Estelle, Lady Brandon, who had made that unexpected friendly overture to her after the concert. She thanked Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham for their kind and generous hospitality.

“Lady Stephanie,” Viscount Dirkson said, smiling kindly at her as he shook her hand and set his other on top of it. “All Christmas I have been trying to think of whom you remind me, and finally tonight as I watched you singing, it came to me. When I was a very young man, I traveled through Europe with my tutor for a few months, as young men did in those days before the Napoleonic wars put an end to continental travel. I loved the Alps when I visited Switzerland and Bavaria. I especially admired the young women there, buxom country lasses, pretty and wholesome with their rosy-cheeked faces and flawless complexions and happy smiles, their blond hair plaited about their heads. For a while they were my ideal of feminine beauty.”

Stephanie was amused. “I thank you for the compliment,” she said.

“That is exactly how I always see her, Uncle Charles,” Viscount Watley said.

And suddenly it was not such an amusing compliment after all.

Buxom country lasses, Viscount Dirkson had said.

Buxom. Wholesome. Rosy-cheeked faces. Country lasses.

Buxom country lasses.

That is exactly how I always see her.

Stephanie kept her smile in place while she finished saying her goodbyes and climbed gratefully into one of the carriages waiting outside, with her mother and Matthew and Owen.

Her mother was dabbing at tears, and Matthew was patting her free hand.

“You will see him again,” he was saying. “He is not going to the ends of the earth, Clarissa, only to London, where he has been for several years. Nothing has changed.”

“I know,” she said, blowing her nose and smiling at him in the light of the torches in the courtyard. “But you are wrong about nothing changing. He is married now, and nothing will be the same ever again. I am happy he is married. I adore Winifred. She is perfect for him. But…” She sighed and then laughed. “Owen and Steph, I dearly want to see you both happily married. But not just yet, please. Have some mercy on your poor mother.”

They all chuckled, and Stephanie turned her face toward the carriage window, though she could not see much in the darkness when they were out on the road leading down to Bath. She fought back tears of her own. She would not weep. Good heavens, she would not even know what exactly she was weeping about.

That is exactly how I always see her.

Buxom country lasses.

Wholesome.

And that had followed upon their waltz, which had been wonderful and distressing in equal measure. She had found herself wondering as they danced what would have happened if they had waltzed at Ravenswood.

The answer was nothing. It would just have been a dance, as this one tonight had merely been a dance. It had meant nothing.

Buxom country lasses. Rosy-cheeked faces.

That was how she appeared to him. That was all she was to him.

He liked her.

Liked!

She kept her head averted and wallowed in misery and self-pity while she pretended to have fallen asleep.

Perhaps, she thought, apropos of nothing, Mr. Courtney would be going to his cottage near Penallen for Easter.

Chapter Nine

Bertrand spent a few months at Elm Court, visiting and entertaining his neighbors rather more than he ever had before, spending long hours at a time with the vicar, his old tutor, and many more hours at home alone, reading, writing letters, playing the pianoforte. He went for long walks and rides, sometimes in company with others, more often alone so he could be fully aware of the beauties of the countryside around him, even the stark loveliness of bare trees and faded grass and nippy winds.