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the casement and skipped back to the bed to tuck her toes underneath the eiderdown. Hugging her knees, she considered what she would do if Simon failed to come for her. Recognizing her disappointment for what it was, she remembered certain things that Lydia had said to her the previous night. Was she merely playing bride games with her husband? Could their frequent quarrels be the result of such childishness as that? Diana grimaced, wriggling her toes in order to hasten the warming process, not liking the turn her thoughts were taking. Surely the fiery nature of their relationship was not entirely her fault.
    Where was Simon, anyway? Why did he not come for her? He would be furious, of course. At least, she certainly hoped he was furious. Her thoughts seemed suddenly to suspend themselves as she turned the last one over in her mind to examine it more thoroughly. Would she truly be disappointed if Simon were not angry with her?
    Stretching, she pushed the disturbing thoughts to the back of her mind. It was no use to wonder what would or would not happen or how she would or would not feel. The sensible course was to await the future and to deal now with the present. And that meant it was time to cease her idleness and get dressed to greet her brother.
    Ringing for a maid, Diana quickly accomplished her ablutions and within half an hour, clad in one of her own morning gowns, a turquoise-and-green sprigged muslin with silk mistake ribbons banding the high waist and a ruffled flounce decking the hem, she made her way downstairs to the magnificent conservatory, which was the family’s customary daytime gathering place even in the wintertime.
    During the past ten years, as turnpike roads and fast coaches had made country living more accessible and subsequently more fashionable among the members of the beau monde , their houses had begun to reflect their changing tastes, and in the conservatory at Ethelmoor Hall, Doth John Nash and Humphrey Repton had combined their considerable talents to make the room at one with the surrounding landscape. For some twenty years the trend had been moving away from the notion that the servants’ day rooms in a noble house needed to be beneath the main rooms. In newer homes, such as Ethelmoor Hall, it was therefore now possible to put the servants in a wing of their own so that the main rooms of the house could be at ground level.
    Symmetry was no longer fashionable either, so the rooms on the ground floor of the Hall had been grouped to enjoy the sun and the view. All of the main rooms opened directly onto green turf or gardens, and each of these rooms had windows down to the floor. The furnishings, even in the Egyptian-style drawing room, were simple, so as not to compete with the view, and while the dining room, drawing room, and Ethelmoor’s study all had curtains framing their gothic-arched windows, the conservatory had none.
    As Diana passed through the drawing room toward the door into the conservatory, she heard her brother’s deep voice.
    “‘I wish you will tell Mama,’” he said, amusement coloring his tone, “‘that when she directs my letters, she must remember to direct Mr. Sterling and not Master, for every boy’s letter is now directed Mr. Thingabob. It is only a week to the holidays now, and that will soon be gone. I am to tell you—’ Good morning, Diana, I trust you slept well.”
    Ethelmoor stood in the center of the spacious room, peering at her over a sheet of flimsy paper, crossed and recrossed in schoolboyish scrawl. He was a gentleman of slightly more than thirty years and was generally accounted to be a handsome man. Certainly his figure was well enough, though with his better than average height, long legs, and broad, rather bony shoulders, he had a tendency to look lanky rather than graceful when he moved. The expression on his face spoke of a sweet disposition, his eyes were wont to twinkle, and he possessed a smile of singular charm. The latter came into play