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How very foolish she was.

She had caught Bertrand’s eye at the breakfast table, and his eyes had looked suspiciously bright though he had said nothing.

Could it possibly be true, what she had told Mama last night? That she both loved him with all her heart and was in love with him?

She heard the snipping of the scissors even as silence descended upon the room.

Was it possible that it was not his perfection that had always so intimidated her but the opening of her heart she had always sensed when she saw him or heard his voice or even thought of him? Was it possible she had been terrified of loving and being loved since that most dreadful of all nights? How had Mama put it? Had she held herself at one remove from love ever after for fear of having her world shattered again?

The scissors cut onward. She curled her crossed fingers into her palms.

She had always loved, her mind protested. She had always been loved. But the love she had looked for in a husband after she grew up was the safe kind that came from contentment and respect and affection. Not…

Oh, never passion.

She felt her breath quicken with threatened panic again at the very thought. And she had never been able to remember that kiss at Vauxhall except by somehow skirting about the edges of it. She had accepted the dare to give him the chance to persuade her only because she had been angry. And she had kept the promise only because she was too stubborn to renege on it.

“There, Lady Stephanie,” the maid said from behind her, draping Stephanie’s hair over her shoulders so she could see it and touch it in reality instead of just through a looking glass. “It is still very long, you see, but healthy now. And beautiful, if I may take the liberty of saying so.”

It was noticeably shorter. Five inches was rather a lot. But it was still very long. And it was soft and thick to the touch when Stephanie bunched the ends of it in her hands. Her own maid was stepping up to brush it again and then dress it in its usual style. And were those tears in Hetty’s eyes?

“Thank you, Miss Oswald,” Stephanie said to the marchioness’s maid. “You have been very kind as well as very skilled.” She handed her the ribbon-tied package she had set to one side of the dressing table earlier, and the maid thanked her and slipped it into a pocket of her apron before taking the broom she had brought with her to sweep up the cut hair.

“Stephanie,” Lady Dirkson said. “Your hair looks so much better. Even your braids have more life.”

“Your papa would say what he said all over again if he could see you now,” Lady Molenor said.

“Absolutely he would,” Abby said.

And Stephanie, fighting emotion, realized how very fortunate she was that Nicholas had married into this family with all its idiosyncrasies. It was a family that certainly did not fear warmth and love. And she seemed somehow to have been drawn into the very heart of it.

—

Maria was last to leave the room apart from Stephanie herself and the two maids. “Shall we go down together?” she said.

“In a few moments,” Stephanie said. “Believe it or not, I am a bit upset over the whole ordeal of having a few inches trimmed off my hair. I need a few moments to gather myself. Ridiculous, is it not?”

“Not at all,” Maria said. “I thought my heart would break when my father died. I feel for you. Part of you must fear you have broken a sacred promise and severed a tie that can never be reconnected. I understand. Would you rather I leave you alone?”

“No, please stay,” Stephanie said.

She had spent scarcely any time with Maria since their arrival and had been feeling a bit guilty about it. They must be close in age and ought to be fast friends by now.

They waited while the maids finished tidying up and slipped quietly from the room.

“I have been a bit intimidated by you,” Maria said. “You are so very…vibrant and draw eyes wherever you go. I suppose I have been slightly envious.”

“Maria!” Stephanie’s eyes widened. What was this?

“Oh, I have not been jealous,” Maria said. “I have not disliked you. Quite the contrary. But you always seem to be such a bright, shining star.”

“Me?” Stephanie said. “But you are so dainty and beautiful, Maria. Like an angel.”

“I am so stupidly shy,” Maria said. “After—”

Stephanie held up a hand. “Shall we sit awhile?” she said. “There is no hurry to join the others, is there?”

She got up from the bench in order to pull the two armchairs closer to the window. It was still raining outside. They sat, the chairs angled slightly toward each other and facing into the room.