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own way. I’ll be anxious to hear her verdict on the bride I bring her.” He lifted her hand, kissed the back, turned it over, examined it. The gleam of his eyes reveled in his victory, and he released her. “Come and see the house.”
     
    Set among towering trees that seasoned it, Boudasea Manor sparkled with marble and soared with columns. The butler pointed out its contemporary improvements, as did the housekeeper and various retainers. With running water in the kitchen and a private sewer to the river, the manor was amiracle of the modern age. The room Bronwyn shared with Olivia held everything a young woman would want. The room adjoining Adam’s, into which she would move only too soon, combined taste with comfort. Quality was stamped on every item; quality, Adam said, was his overriding concern.
    He meant, she knew, that she hadn’t come up to his definition of quality.
    Going now to dinner, she wished she could sink through the floor and drown in one of those conduits of running water. She’d imagined horrors, but this evening had put her nightmares to shame—and the worst was yet to come. Adam had a guest. In for a cozy dinner, he’d said, but she knew why this “guest” visited now. He was a friend, come to inspect the recently purchased goods.
    Like a buzzing in her ear, she could hear her mother giving advice as they strolled the mirrored hallways to her doom.
    “Don’t gawk about you. Keep your head lowered and a modest demeanor. Don’t interrupt the men’s conversation, especially if you’re sure they’re wrong.”
    Bronwyn shot a look at her mother, but Lady Nora never noticed. “Remember what I’ve taught you. Men prefer women who are useless and decorative.” She arranged the silk of her skirt with a series of little jerks. Her blossoming panniers held the glowing scarlet of her underdress out to the sides. The costume enhanced her coiffure, an artful arrangement of her own black curls, and the cream of her skin. Retrieving her patch box from her voluminous pocket, she placed a heart-shaped bit of black velvet above her upper lip and perfected her seductive smile.
    It would hardly do to compare herself with her mother, Bronwyn thought, but with so many mirrors around them…Overwhelmed by a profusion of laces and ribbons, the formal white dress did nothing to enhance her tanned skin. The fashionable décolletage should reveal the curve of her bosom, yet she had little to reveal, and that was bolsteredby a stuffing of linen beneath. Her brown wig towered above the top of her head, and a ringlet trailed over her shoulder. On a woman as petite as she was, it had a crushing effect, and the high heels she wore didn’t help.
    How women ever learned to walk in them, she didn’t know. She stopped and shook her foot, but nothing could ease the cramp. She sighed, and Lady Nora jerked her attention from her own fascinating reflection and back to her daughter.
    Putting her patch box away, she said, “Lord Rawson seemed most impressed with you.”
    Bronwyn plucked at the silk of her white fan. “Maman, he was stiff as a stick.”
    “La, child.” Lady Nora touched Bronwyn’s cheek with her finger and smiled. “He’s capable of much worse. I didn’t want to tell you, for fear it would worry you, but the man has a nasty temper, and has been known to give vent to it rather loudly in public. You can imagine my relief when he was gracious.”
    Could Lady Nora be so obtuse? A hard look at that enchanting face convinced Bronwyn. Lady Nora could. A glorious butterfly who’d never had to look beyond the obvious, she took Adam’s artistically phrased insults as plaudits. Bronwyn ignored the stab of envy such oblivion caused her. “Why didn’t Da tell Lord Rawson that I don’t look like the rest of you?”
    Lady Nora shrugged, her white shoulders rising and falling in a move she had practiced many times. “What difference will it make in the end? We needed the money, and his was the best offer we’d