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Rowena, I shall have one of the maids press it and starch it for you. But it’s hardly the type of garment you could wear in this climate, when it turns cold at night.”
    â€œIt was eminently suited for the climate of India, and I had no time to buy other clothes before I left,” Rowena said coolly. With a shrug, she accepted the serviceable-looking wool wrapper that Adams handed her, wondering whose castoff it had been. “Perhaps I could have my luncheon brought up here? Something very light, please, I am not particularly hungry.”
    Adams had departed with a stiff bob of her head, and here Rowena sat before the fire, with only a book to keep her company.
    Perhaps they will contrive to forget I am here if I keep out of their way, she thought hopefully, but the very next morning she was summoned to her mother’s room and informed that her measurements would be taken by Jenks, so that some suitable gowns and underwear could be procured for her immediately.
    Lady Fanny, sitting up in bed, appeared a trifle calmer this morning, although her pale blue eyes were still red-rimmed and slightly swollen.
    She sighed as she looked at her daughter. Those dark blue eyes, so like Guy’s, with their cold and arrogant look. That wild black hair, also his. There is nothing of me in her, Fanny thought; nothing at all. She is his child, just as she was from the very beginning, even before she was born.
    â€œAll right, all right! So we’ve both made a mistake. But it’s too late to rectify that—we’re married. But give me a child, Fanny, give me my son, and you may go your way. Have all the fun you whine about, do as you please, I’ll not care. We’ll make a bargain.”
    They had made the bargain after all, and she had given him a daughter instead of a son, almost dying in the process. And Guy had kept his word, except that she’d met Edgar, and become careless. The Dangerfields cared more for their precious honor than they did for people and human feelings. And it was this same concept of “honor” that had undone Guy in the end, when he played into their hands.
    I mustn’t think about that! Fanny thought now, almost feverishly. But why did she have to come? Why must I be saddled with her? Duty, Edgar had said. People would think it strange and unnatural if they did not take her in. But I don’t want to have a daughter eighteen years old! When I’ve been telling my friends for years I’m younger than I am.
    â€œMy lady, about the clothes for Lady Rowena…” Mrs. Jenk’s brisk voice brought Fanny Cardon back to earth. Her daughter still stood in the center of the room, staring at her with those cold eyes that gave nothing away.
    With an effort at composure Lady Fanny said lightly, “Do you have any preferences as to color and style, Rowena? Bustles are all the rage now, of course, but if you—”
    â€œDark colors, please,” the girl said in her infuriatingly cool voice. “I am still in mourning for my grandfather, you know. And as for bustles, I have never cared for them—they look so ugly and unnatural. If I may, I would rather wear simpler clothes—nothing too elaborate or tight-fitting, for I won’t wear stays or corsets.”
    Mrs. Jenks looked scandalized, and Lady Fanny helpless. If only Edgar were here!
    â€œBut, Rowena!” Lady Fanny protested faintly. “Every young woman wears them, if she wants to cut a pretty figure. You’ll be going out in public. I cannot have you looking dowdy!”
    She sounds as if dowdiness is the worst sin in the world, Rowena thought viciously. She made her voice sound subdued.
    â€œBut I can hardly be expected to make public appearances while I am still in mourning, can I? Even in India, we heard how strongly the Queen feels about a decent period of mourning following a bereavement. My grandfather and I were very close, and I would much rather stay quietly in