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would much have preferred to be at home playing the piano. She did play the pianoforte for us after dinner, but her mother always made her stop after an hour, and it was so apparent that an hour was not enough for her that my heart ached for her pain and frustration.
    It was becoming more and more obvious to me that Catherine needed to marry a man who loved music, who would be proud of her talent and who would let her practice for as long as she chose.
    There had to be such a man somewhere in this vast city, I thought. We would just have to find him.
    I saw little of Lord Winterdale during the two weeks before the ball, except for an occasional glimpse as he went into the library or left the house completely. He dined at his club most nights, leaving his three female guests to their own company. I thought this was excessively rude of him, but then I had come to expect rudeness from Lord Winterdale and I tried not to let it irritate me. After all, I told myself firmly, if it was not for him I would not be making my come out at all.
    I also reminded myself that he did get someone in to tune the pianoforte for Catherine, which led me to hope that perhaps he was not as utterly insensitive as he appeared.
    I had been thinking and worrying about the story he had concocted about my being named his ward, and on the day before the ball I managed to catch him in the library before he disappeared for the day so that I could discuss my concern with him.
    I opened the door to find him sitting at his desk, going through an extensive pile of what looked like bills. I felt the faintest twinge of guilt as I thought that they were probably the bills for our many shopping expeditions.
    “Yes, Miss Newbury?” he asked, looking up as I said his name.
    “Might I speak to you for a moment, my lord?” I asked politely.
    “Come in,” he said, folding his hands on top of the pile of papers and preparing to bestow upon me the honor of his attention.
    The Mansfield House library was not as grand as the rooms in the rest of the house. The bookshelves that lined the room were made of chestnut wood and the walls above them were painted a dark gold. The ceiling and the moldings were painted white and the Turkish rug on the floor was green and gold and red. The fireplace was the most impressive thing about the room. It was dark green marble and above it hung a picture of a thoroughbred on Newmarket Heath that looked as if it had been painted by Stubbs.
    I advanced now into the room and this time I did not wait to be invited to sit before I took the green-velvet-covered armchair that was placed on the far side of Lord Winterdale’s desk.
    He looked at me, his thin, hard face expressionless, his startling blue eyes steady. “What do you wish to see me about, Miss Newbury?” he asked.
    “I don’t think this story you have concocted about my father naming you as my guardian is going to fly, my lord,” I said bluntly. “Lady Winterdale has mentioned her skepticism to me several times, and I have a suspicion that I am going to hear similar comments all Season long. I fear that it might very well affect my chances of catching a husband.”
    “I see,” he said. His hands moved slightly, drawing my attention to the thin-boned, strong, ringless fingers resting on the huge pile of bills. He asked courteously, “And do you have any other suggestions as to how we might account for the fact that I requested my aunt to bring you out?”
    As a matter of fact, I did have another suggestion. “I thought that perhaps we might say that my father had named your uncle to be my guardian, my lord,” I said. “Your uncle appears to have been a perfectly respectable man, and my being named his ward would cause no great surprise. Then, we could say that after your uncle died you felt it incumbent upon yourself to take over your uncle’s responsibility to me.” I looked at him, proud of my invention. “How do you think that sounds?”
    A flash of amusement showed