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her undesirable presence any longer. She still remembered the day he told her the vicar had asked for her hand in marriage…
    “You had better accept,” he said in his cool, stern voice, without even bothering to lift his gaze from the papers on his desk, “because you won’t get another offer. Not with your looks. Now get out of here. I’m busy.”
    Of course when it came to Lord Radley and his nephew, the proposed alliance had little to do with her looks. There was the more important matter of her inheritance, which made her an attractive prize for any man, and she was not blind to the fact that Lord Radley would derive great pleasure from seeing it settled upon his nephew. She was not offended by this, mind you. Quite tothe contrary, she was thankful for it, for at twenty-six, she was not as young as the other ladies who were here seeking husbands. And she was completely aware of the fact that she had never been pretty.
    She realized with rather perverse amusement that no one could ever accuse her of not being a realist. How could she be anything but? She had always gotten the cold, hard truth from her father, who would have preferred she’d never been born.
    Filling her lungs with the fresh, salty sea air, she decided to dispense with those memories and anything that resembled a complaint. She was thrilled to be here for this exciting week in Cowes. Absolutely thrilled. She wanted to marry again because she desired the life she never knew—one filled with children and the laughter they would bring into a home of her own. She’d been in mourning for the past two years, starting with her husband’s death and followed immediately thereafter by her father’s, and before that, she had already been living without laughter in her life, simply keeping quiet. It was well past time for a change.
    In that regard, she was glad she had her wealth to attract a husband. At least she had something , and she would not be reluctant to use it to find a husband she could love and respect.
    Thus she linked her arm through Lord Radley’s and accompanied him up the drive to the back lawn of the yacht club, where there was sure to be much laughter and conversation, and perhaps even a potential fiancé among the crowd.

Chapter 4
    A fter finding a spot to drop anchor among the hundred or so other yachts in the Solent, Martin and Spence changed into the proper attire for the Royal Yacht Squadron, donning navy, crested jackets and clean white shirts. They rowed to shore with their belongings, for they had rooms booked at the Royal Marine Hotel.
    A crowd of onlookers was gathered on the parade, and as soon as Martin stepped onto the private Squadron dock, he was met with flattering cheers and applause, just as Spence had predicted. He stopped to face them; then, to their utmost delight, he smiled and took a great sweeping bow. Someone whistled in appreciation, and a group ofyoung ladies giggled and twirled their lacy parasols in the sunshine.
    “Good afternoon!” he called out, directing his gaze to the ladies, of course, and spreading his hands wide. “You’ll all be here for the firing of the starting cannons, I hope?”
    The ladies continued to giggle, while the rest of the crowd hummed with excitement and anticipation for the race.
    Martin and Spence sent their bags to the hotel, then headed for the Squadron, walking past the young guard at the gate house, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen.
    The boy touched the tip of his hat. “Good afternoon, Lord Martin. It’s an honor to have you back.”
    “It’s good to be back, Ethan.”
    The boy’s face lit up, obviously pleased that Martin remembered his name since the previous summer.
    As soon as they were out of hearing range, Spence leaned close. “It’s astounding,” he said, “how they all adore you. Quite sickening, really. If only they knew the real you.”
    Martin acknowledged the teasing insult by nudging him in the ribs.
    They entered the club house through the