“Well?” Thomas demanded, his heavy brows lifting expectantly. “What is your reaction to Lady Natalie?”

Rafe hitched up his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “She’ll do.”

The brows rushed downward. ” ‘She’ll do’? That’s all you can say?”

“Lady Natalie is no more and no less than what I expected.” After taking another swallow of whisky, Rafe said flatly, “I suppose I wouldn’t mind marrying her. Although she doesn’t interest me in the least.”

“A wife is not supposed to be interesting.”

Ruefully Rafe wondered if there wasn’t some hidden wisdom in that. With a wife like Lady Natalie, there would be no surprises. It would be a calm, frictionless marriage, leaving him ample time for his work and his personal pursuits. All he would have to do would be to supply her with generous bank drafts, and she would manage the household and produce children.

Lady Natalie was pleasant and beautiful, her hair blond and sleek, her manner remarkably self-assured. If Rafe ever took her to New York, she would acquit herself splendidly with the Knickerbocker crowd. Her poise, breeding, and confidence would make her much admired.

An hour in her company, and one knew virtually everything there was to know about her.

Whereas Hannah Appleton was fresh and fascinating, and at supper he hadn’t been able to take his gaze off her. She did not possess Natalie’s meticulously manicured beauty. Instead, there was a haphazard, cheerful bloom about her, like a fistful of wild-flowers. Her hair, springing in little locks around her face, drove him mad with the urge to reach out and play with the shiny loose strands. She had a kind of delicious vitality he had never run up against before, and he instinctively wanted to be inside it, inside her.

The feeling had intensified as Rafe had witnessed Hannah conversing earnestly with Westcliff. She had been animated and adorable as she had described Samuel Clark’s work concerning the development of the human mind. In fact, she had become so absorbed in the subject that she had forgotten to eat, and then she’d glanced wistfully at her still-full soup bowl while a footman had removed it.

“You will offer for her, won’t you?” his father demanded, steering his thoughts back to Lady Natalie.

Rafe stared at him without expression. “Eventually. Am I supposed to get a ring, or have you already picked one out?”

“As a matter of fact, your mother purchased one she thought would be appropriate”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Would you like to propose to her for me, and come fetch me when she’s given her answer?”

“I daresay I’d do it with a damned sight more enthusiasm than you,” Thomas retorted.

“I’ll tell you what I would do with some enthusiasm, Father: establish a large-scale soap manufacturing industry all over the Continent. And I shouldn’t have to marry Lady Natalie to do it.”

“Why not? Why should you be exempt from paying a price? Why shouldn’t you try to please me?”

“Why indeed?” Rafe gave him a hard look. “Maybe because I knocked my head against that particular wall for years and never made a dent.”

Thomas’s complexion, always prone to easy color, turned a dull plum hue as his temper ignited. “You have been a trial to me at every stage of your life. Things always came too easily to you and your siblingsspoiled, lazy creatures all of you, who never wanted to do anything.”

“Lazy?” Rafe struggled for self-control, but the word set his own temper off like a match held to a tinderbox. “Only you, Father, could have five offspring do everything short of standing on their heads to impress you, and say they weren’t trying hard enough. Do you know what happens when you call a clever person stupid, or a hardworking man lazy? It makes him realize there’s no damn point in trying to get your approval.”

“You’ve always thought I owed you my approval merely because you were born a Bowman.”

“I don’t want it any longer,” Rafe said through gritted teeth, vaguely surprised to discover that the velocity of his own temper wasn’t far behind his father’s. “I want” He checked himself and tossed back the rest of his whisky, swallowing hard against the velvety burn. When the glow had faded from his throat, he gave his father a cool, steady look. “I’ll marry Lady Natalie, since it doesn’t matter in any case. I was always going to end up with someone like her. But you can keep your damned approval. All I want is a share of Bowman’s.”

IN THE MORNING THE GUESTS BEGAN TO ARRIVE, AN ELEGANT clamor of well-heeled families and their servants. Trunks, valises, and parcels were brought into the manor in an unending parade. Other families would stay at neighboring estates or at the tavern in the village, coming and going to the various events that would take place at the manor.

Once Hannah was awakened by the muffled, busy sounds beyond the room, she couldn’t go back to sleep. Taking care not to wake Natalie, she rose and took care of her morning ablutions, finishing by braiding her hair and pinning it in a knot at the base of her neck. She dressed in a gray-green wool gown trimmed with kilt pleating and closed in front with gleaming black buttons. Intending to go for a walk out of doors, she donned a pair of low-heeled boots and picked up a heavy plaid shawl.

Stony Cross Manor was a labyrinth of hallways and clustered rooms. Carefully Hannah made her way through the bustling house, pausing now and again to ask directions from one of the passing servants. She eventually found the morning room, which was stuffy and crowded with people she didn’t know. A large breakfast buffet had been set out, featuring fish, a flitch of fried bacon, breads, poached eggs, salads, muffins, and several varieties of cheese. She poured a cup of tea, folded a bit of bacon in some bread, and slipped past a set of French doors that led to an outside terrace. The weather was bright and dry, the chilled air fomenting her breath into white mist.