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Oh goodness. But whatever had Maria been talking about earlier when she had described her as vibrant, drawing eyes wherever she went? She, fat, moon-faced, and childish-looking Stephanie? Not that she had owned those particular descriptors for quite a while, but…Had she changed? Had she suddenly been transformed into a beauty? The very idea was absurd, of course. But had she changed inside enough that the outside was affected too?

Buxom country lass.

She smiled at the memory of the way Viscount Dirkson had described her at Christmas, a description with which Bertrand had concurred and, in so doing, mortally offended her.

It had not been intended as an insult, Viscount Dirkson had explained at Adrian’s birthday party. Bertrand would not have considered it an insult either. The word buxom had triggered the wrong response in her. Ah, the power of words.

The point was that she was buxom. She was not slender and never would be. But she had learned to be comfortable with her own body. She was tall and had learned to carry herself proudly and to wear clothes that flattered her figure rather than hid it.

And she was in love and, yes, humming with desire. Physical desire, that was.

How terribly, fascinatingly unladylike.

“Oh, this has been lovely,” Maria said, looking about the bedchamber and then at Stephanie. “Estelle has been my dearest friend for a number of years and still is, but…Well, she is married to my brother. I always feel a bit hesitant to confide such things as this to her.”

Stephanie got to her feet to look through the window and Maria joined her there. It was still raining steadily. There was very little wind. The rain made no sound against the panes. The grass below looked emerald green.

“We always want the positive results of rain,” Stephanie said. “But we complain about rainy days. Human nature, would you say?”

“I love rainy days,” Maria said. “There is a large summerhouse not far from our home. The walls on three sides are almost all glass, from floor to ceiling, but it is cozy inside. I love to sit there with countryside all about me and dream.”

“I suppose,” Stephanie said, “we ought to go down. It must be almost time for luncheon.”

“Mr. Lamarr will think I have gone into hiding because he has challenged me to a game of billiards,” Maria said. “Do you think he and the Dowager Duchess of Netherby like each other, Stephanie?”

“You mean like as in fancy?” Stephanie said, startled.

“Yes,” Maria said. “I think they do.”

What a very novel and rather bizarre idea, Stephanie thought. The Marquess of Dorchester’s unmarried brother, whose face displayed signs of dissipation, and the very dignified, sometimes even haughty dowager duchess, member of the triumvirate of Westcott sisters?

She laughed and Maria joined in, and they went down to the drawing room together, arm in arm.

—

The men had dispersed after the ladies disappeared upstairs in a body to witness the cutting of Stephanie’s hair. Bertrand was feeling a bit guilty about that and hoped he had not said anything yesterday to talk her into it. The hair itself, he knew, was not important to her. It was dry and rather thin at the ends and badly needed trimming. What the hair represented for her was another matter, though. The foundations of her world might topple as a result of cutting it. Somehow the promise she had made as a nine-year-old to her father had taken on gigantic significance seemingly quite out of proportion to the facts as he knew them. The world had ended that same night, she had told him.

Stephanie was not usually given to melodrama. Obviously, she had meant what she said almost literally, though the world itself had not ended. Here it still was. But something fundamental about it had ended for her.

Justin and Gil had gone up to the nursery and not come back down. At least one of the children must be awake. Matthew Taylor had wandered off to the conservatory with Dirkson and Molenor to identify the plants there—Molenor claimed to be something of a horticultural specialist—and to share stories of their youthful travels to various countries. Taylor had spent some time in India and the Himalayas when he was a young man. Bertrand’s father and Uncle André had gone to the library to compose a joint answer to the long letter from their sister that had been delivered earlier, addressed to them both.

Bertrand and his three friends, unwilling to be deterred by a little rain—though they did discover that it was heavier than it looked through the window—ventured outdoors and walked into the village for a glass of ale in the taproom at the inn. Although it was not a cold day, they were glad of the log fire crackling in the large hearth. They exchanged pleasantries with the innkeeper and a few other men who had braved the weather too to seek one another’s company.

Friendships were good, Bertrand thought as he chattered with his friends on a wide range of subjects that were of interest to them all. Male friendships, that was, though he valued female friendships too. But he did not feel guilty over the preference today. Women needed those same-sex friendships just as men did, as witness the fact that all those currently living at or staying at Redcliffe were, presumably, at this very moment crammed into Stephanie’s room, having a grand time as they watched the action.

He thought of his tendency to become a hermit when he was at Elm Court. It would be easy to nurture that side of himself. He liked his own company and pursuits, and he loved the coziness and comfort of his childhood home. He supposed he would always enjoy being alone, as he had when he went out to his old haunt beside the brook among the trees behind the summerhouse a few days ago. Except that he had not been alone then, had he?

“You are going off into a dream, Bert,” Adrian said. “You are not about to fall asleep, are you?”

Bertrand smiled. “Just enjoying the fire and a drying coat and the company,” he said. “Owen is going back to London and his prestigious employment agency when he leaves here. What plans do you others have?”

“Ha,” Owen said. “Prestigious.”

Peter was going to spend a few weeks in Brighton with his brothers and Boris’s wife and her sisters.

“They are a jolly lot,” he said. “It is going to be fun.”

Adrian too had a family commitment. He was going to join one of his older sisters and her family on a weeklong hike across North Wales.