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ground below.
    Reggie sat some distance from her. He would have lifted one hand to loosen the knot of his neckcloth, but such a gesture would suggest that he did not feel entirely comfortable, and he did not want to give anyone the satisfaction of suspecting that that was true.
    â€œMr. Mason,” the countess said, her eyes on him, “have you met my daughter? Annabelle, make your curtsy to Mr. Reginald Mason, if you please.”

    Reggie jumped back to his feet as Lady Annabelle got to hers.
    â€œLady Annabelle,” he said, making her a bow.
    â€œMr. Mason,” she said, curtsying.
    All of which was utterly absurd. They had lived less than two miles from each other most of their lives, both of them under strict orders to ignore the very existence of the other. Now they were finally being introduced and expected to marry .
    Her eyes did not quite meet his as she resumed her seat and he felt permitted to resume his. Her jaw was set in a hard line. He wondered what was going through her mind.
    His father was openly looking about the room, doubtless pricing out every item down to the last penny and concluding with great satisfaction that the Havercroft drawing room, for all its brocaded walls and gilded frieze and landscape originals in their heavy gold frames, was no more expensive than their own.
    Lady Havercroft began a polite conversation about the weather and the health of the king and the hot air balloon that had ascended from Hyde Park last week. Reggie’s mother hoped the weather would stay warm for
the summer in the country, though they needed some rain, of course, to keep the grass green and grow the crops, and anyway it was greedy to ask for too much good weather. And pointless too since the weather did what it pleased no matter what they wished. Which was a good thing since everyone wanted different weather for different reasons and might end up fighting wars over it if they were able to control it. As if there were not enough things already to fight wars over. His father pronounced flat out that the king was mad, which was a pity since the Prince Regent was even more of an idiot, and that if men had been meant to fly, the good Lord would surely have given them wings. And some men were filled with enough hot air without there being more beneath their feet—an observation that was followed by a hearty and unilateral bellow of laughter.
    The shadow of a smile flitted across Lady Annabelle’s ghost-pale lips.
    It was many months since Reggie had seen his father so brimful of good humor.
    â€œWell,” his father said at last, breaking a short silence that threatened to become awkward, “I have brought Reginald to make his offer to your daughter, Havercroft,
according to our agreement yesterday. Shall we hear him do it so that the whole business can be sealed up right and tight?”
    The earl turned steely gray eyes upon Reginald. He might have regarded a worm beneath his boot with more respect and less dislike.
    â€œI could hardly have phrased it better myself,” he said, his tone quiet and aristocratic and withering.
    Reggie’s father did not wither. He rubbed his hands and beamed.
    â€œGet to it, then, lad,” he said.
    Right! A public offer it was to be, then, both sets of parents watching and listening and judging. How utterly delightful!
    Should he stand? Sit? Kneel? Move closer? Farther away? All the way out onto the landing? Should he smile? Frown? Look contrite? Amorous? Grateful? Humble? Dignified? Triumphant? Defeated? Defiant? Compliant? Supercilious?
    Good Lord, his mind was babbling, and he was missing what the Countess of Havercroft was saying. She had risen to her feet to say it, and Reggie scrambled to his again.

    â€œMr. Mason, William,” she said, looking from Reggie’s father to Havercroft, “how can you possibly expect the young people to come to any sort of amicable agreement unless they are given the chance to speak privately with