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hung open. She, too, had doubts about love and marriage, but they centered largely around her fear of coming across as arrogant and off-putting to potential suitors—and on whether she’d be able to choose better than Lady Holmes had. It had yet to occur to her to form large-scale judgments on the entire system.
    â€œBut what about the Cummingses? They’ve been married thirty years and they’re still happy with each other.”
    â€œAnd there are the Archibalds and the Smalls, too. But we mustn’t be sentimental about the success of those marriages. We must look at it mathematically, the number of long-term happily married couples in proportion to all married couples. By my estimation that comes to less than twenty percent among our acquaintances. Will you bet on that kind of odds?”
    Livia blinked several times. “I take it you won’t.”
    â€œThose wouldn’t be bad odds at all if we were at a horse race. And they aren’t such terrible odds if we consider that the prize is decades of contented companionship. My problem lies with the stake I’m required to put up: my entire lifetime. Not to mention, unless I bury my husband or divorce him, I can play only once. And of course if I were to divorce my husband, my parents can never show their faces anywhere again—I’ll have effectively done them in, too. So, no. Given the exorbitant costs and constraints, I am not willing to take this gamble.”
    She tugged at Livia. Belatedly, Livia realized that they’d come to a stop some time ago and that she stood in the way of an oncoming dogcart. She allowed Charlotte to guide her to the edge of the dirt lane and nodded mechanically at the village doctor who drove past, tipping his hat.
    â€œI take it you plan to wait for your twenty-fifth birthday, then thumb your nose at society and go to school,” she said, when they resumed walking again.
    â€œMore or less. Papa asked me to make a good-faith effort to let a man sweep me off my feet and I’ve agreed. But I don’t know why he thinks I’ll weigh contributing factors differently when I’m off my feet. Sometimes I feel I must conclude that Papa doesn’t know me at all.”
    That was a deduction that needed no comment. It was Livia’s opinion that Sir Henry still viewed Charlotte as an amusing oddity—or at least still hoped she’d return to being such if he ignored her radical thinking long enough. And it certainly didn’t help matters that Charlotte looked as she did, so emphatically, and one might even say extravagantly feminine, all rotundity and softness, not a sharp angle anywhere.
    â€œWell,” said Livia, “I’ve heard that kissing does affect a lady’s thinking.”
    â€œI’ve been kissed. It’s very nice, but I—”
    â€œ
What?
Who kissed you? When? And where?”
    â€œIt was several years ago. But I’ve pledged to never divulge the gentleman’s name—which means I also can’t tell you where the kiss took place, since that would narrow the list of likely candidates.”
    Several years ago?
Charlotte would have been only thirteen or fourteen at the time. “You never said a thing!”
    â€œYou never asked.”
    â€œI—” Livia decided she had better shut up before she blurted out that she could scarcely have wondered whether Charlotte was kissing boys when she had half suspected Charlotte had been sent from Mars to investigate the cultural observances of Earthlings. “How did it happen? Did it take you by surprise?”
    â€œNot at all. I set it in motion.”
    â€œCharlotte! Were you in love?”
    â€œNo, I wanted to know what it felt like.”
    â€œBut how did you pick the boy? Surely you didn’t draw a name out of a hat.” Livia gasped. “Or
did
you?”
    â€œI didn’t do that. But I can’t reveal the circumstances that led me to choose him, since