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gentlemen, I must confess he does seem a bit of an infant,” she said, one corner of her mouth lifting. “But he is all that is kind and good, it must be said.”
    “How did your evening with Hargood go? Did Mrs. Pennett care for him?” he inquired.
    “Mrs. Pennett? Do you and she discuss me behind my back?”
    “Not a bit of it. We discuss you to your face, but that face is often so far gone into the clouds, you take no notice of us.”
    “That is not true,” she sniffed, but a look in her eyes made him think she knew it sometimes was. “Yes, I am enjoying myself, but is that wrongheaded of me?”
    He shook his head once, quickly, and placed his free hand upon his chest dramatically. “You ask this of one who is dedicated to enjoying himself? More the fool, you. But you did not answer my question. What of this Lt. Hargood?”
    But Mary had turned introspective. “Should I know yet?”
    Her sudden question surprised him. “Pardon me?”
    “Should I know yet whom it is I should be drawn to? Or is that the best way to go on? Do I target one fellow over another, or wait around to see who comes up to scratch?” A note of bitterness had crept into her voice.
    “A little of both, I should think. If there is one fellow you care for over another, then of course we must plan a line of attack directly upon him. But as it stands now, I think it might be best to allow yourself to go on being seen as available and popular.”
    “Popular?” she rolled the word around in her mouth. “Am I? Popular?”
    “Oh yes, I would say so. You see, my dear, those fellows who have not fallen immediately into parson’s trap realize real value a little better than do the callow youths. We…they are less likely to think a pretty face always makes a pretty companion. So, now that you have become a visual commodity, yes, I should have to say you are a popular one. Oh, not with the widows and the spinsters who have no notion of how to compete, but certainly with the gentlemen.”
    A glow came to life in Mary’s eyes. “How extraordinary!” she cried. “Oh, John, you cannot know how many times I have thanked heaven that we two have met.”
    At that he, too, smiled, but the smile faded after a short while, and he was almost happy to see they had arrived at her home.
    And worst and strangest of all, he was not at all sure why he felt that way.
     

Chapter 5
     
    Mary was tired. She had been to almost every ball, rout, musicale, concert, card party, and festivity that her household had received an invitation to in the past two weeks. Tonight she was supposed to venture out to Lady Salride’s affair--it had something to do with an evening of invocations, dances, and other worldly celebrations that supposedly had to do with stopping the fall of rain--but she had finally pled exhaustion and opted to stay home.
    She had just settled before the fire, curled up with house slippers on her feet, a shawl across her shoulders, and a thick tome in her hands when a visitor was announced.
    “His lordship, the Marquess of Rothayne,” Pendleton heralded, stepping aside to allow the gentleman to enter after he saw his mistress’s eager nod of approval.
    “My lord,” Mary said warmly, starting to rise.
    “Pray do not bother,” he motioned her to retain her seat.
    “I thought you were at Salride’s tonight,” she said, setting her book aside and waving him to a chair.
    “No, I had planned to be, but then when you declined my company, that so put me in the mopes that I actually went home and discovered I had some correspondence awaiting my perusal,” he said, settling in the chair opposite hers. He stretched out his long legs and shifted until he was comfortable. She watched him, as always, enjoying the poetry of his motion.
    “Is it this self-same correspondence that brings you here tonight?”
    “Exactly so. I came to tell you I have been summoned to the home estate. It seems this blasted rain has all but destroyed our crops this year. My