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good family, besides being known to be well dowered. She would have enough admirers of adroit address that must surely throw his own poor talents into sharp relief.
    He had never been one to ‘dabble in the petticoat line,’ as some of his acquaintances referred to the art of flirtation and conquest. The thought of a casual relationship had always been repugnant to him. His upbringing had imbued him with a reverence and respect for the feminine sex that had become an ingrained part of his character. He could no more have brought himself to basely seduce a woman than he could have committed an act of immolation upon himself.
    There had been opportunities, of course, and he had not always refrained. Even now, the memory of a certain lady had the power to bring the burn of shame to him. He had met the lady in Italy while on the grand tour. She was older and more worldly-wise, and he had been dazzled as much by her beauty as by her sharp wit.
    At the time he had no notion how he had come to share her bed, but now in retrospect he recognized that she had been the seducer and he the seduced. However, to his mind that neither expiated him nor excused his gross misconduct. He at least had the satisfaction of knowing that he had not been entirely lost to his own ideals. He had made an honorable offer for her. It had been received with sheer amazement, and then was gently rejected. The lady had regretfully pronounced their idyll at an end, and he had never spent another moment in her company.
    The experience of his grand tour had tempered his naiveté and had made him more comfortable in society, as well. When he returned to England, he took apartments in London so that he could mix with those friends he had made at Oxford and afterward.
    Yet still, he never forgot the roof that had sheltered him, nor the redoubtable lady who had so clearly seen her duty toward him, and so he spent much of his time in Bath.
    For Peter Hawkins, his real home was at Lady Pomerancy’s place in Bath. Even though she had made over the town house and estate to him upon his majority, so that in reality it was his own roof, he still thought of it as first and foremost to be her home, and so he phrased his courteous inquiry whether she would mind having company that was more of his liking than hers.
    Recalled to thoughts of his cousin, a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Mr. Hawkins went into his study to dash off a note assuring Viscount Waithe of his welcome.
     

Chapter Four
     
    Evelyn did not anticipate that Mr. Hawkins would come to call again very soon after the freezing manner with which she had treated him. Nor did she believe, after reviewing their interview over and over in her mind, that, however much her heart had led her to soften the blow, any gentleman could actually take her rejection in other than final terms.
    The thought was not altogether a satisfying one. Despite the wound to her pride and her indignation over the origin of the offer for her hand, she discovered to her dismay that Mr. Hawkins was still set firmly enough in her affections that she almost wished that he was too dense to have taken affront at her rebuff.
    However, she had intended to offend him so greatly that he would refuse to accede to his grandmother’s wishes, and she could not imagine how her purpose could possibly have been overlooked by any gentleman that had the least amount of wit.
    Evelyn sighed, frowning a little as she went downstairs to join her mother at tea. She had thought of little else over the intervening day since the occasion of Mr. Hawkins’s visit. She still felt anger, but it was now tinged with regret for what might have been.
    As she approached the drawing room, she gave a small shrug. It would certainly not do to brood overmuch about the matter, for it was done with and over. She was not likely to see Mr. Hawkins again except perhaps in passing at chapel or at a social function, she thought.
    Evelyn was not well enough acquainted with Mr.