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breakfast tray. Tiffany stood before her mirror checking her appearance and wondering if she would ever be fashionably beautiful. You silly goose, she thought, what matters is that Alan thinks I'm beautiful. She continued to gaze at her reflection, making attempts at appearing haughty, sophisticated, batting her eyelashes as she had seen women friends of her father's do. She struck a pose: her shoulders straight, her lips drawn in a fine line, a brow raised delicately over her eye, revealing a look of determination. Speaking to her reflection, she said, "I am going to France, where I shall become a most beautiful, most sophisticated woman." Lifting her chin, she continued, "And I shall return to England and to the man I love." She held the pose but for a moment, until the fourteen-year-old girl emerged giggling at her playacting. She heard the boom of her father's voice and ran for the door, opening it, raising her skirt above her knees, running to the end of the hallway, where she paused unseen. She patted her hair, dropped her skirts, and took a deep, calming breath, then turned, proceeding to descend the steps, seeing her father waiting at the bottom.
    "Well, you're finally ready, girl, I haven't all day to dally," he announced, abruptly taking her hand as she stepped onto the marble floor. "Now say your final goodbyes and let's be gone." He pointed to the line of servants who waited outside on the stone drive.
    As the carriage pulled away, Tiffany pushed back the curtain from the back window, gazing at the line of servants who broke rank and were filing back into the manor. She watched for a long time until the figures became smaller and smaller. When she dropped the curtain, a lump formed in her throat and her whole world faded from sight.
    The rap of the footman's stick against the carriage top brought Tiffany out of her reverie.
    ' 'It appears we are to arrive shortly, Tiffany.'' William turned, appraising her as he often did, looking for any sign of imperfection.
    "Button up your pelisse, daughter."
    She readily complied with his request, even though it was warm in the carriage.
    "We will be met by the Devonshire family. Winifred made arrangements for you to travel with them." He cleared his throat. "It appears Charles and Carolyn Devonshire have been sent abroad on diplomatic services for the regent, and their daughter, Alysse, will be attending the same academy as yourself. They are close friends to Winifred, and you would do good to follow the example of their daughter.'' He peered sharply at her for any sign of disagreement. Tiffany realized suddenly her father was not accompanying her abroad, and in an effort to keep her emotions in hand, she bit her trembling lip to still it.
    "It seems the girl is already betrothed to an earl," he said with a nod. "Yes, a fine example for you to follow."
    Tiffany could not suppress her surprise. "Already betrothed? How old is she, Father?"
    "Don't look so shocked, daughter. I have told you repeatedly it is a daughter's responsibility to marry to suit one's family. The girl is your age, and unlike you, has begun to fulfill her duty."
    "But does she know him?"
    "Matters not," he responded exasperatedly, "as it should not. One marries primarily for lineage and dowry. In your case, you possess both; however, you lack elsewhere, which I hope this stint in France will take care of."
    Tiffany lowered her head at his comment but ventured on, "Do you consider the Marquess Thurston to possess both?"
    The earl furrowed his brow at her and replied, "Of course. A good match once the baron takes on a bit more responsibility and stops his--" The sudden halt of the carriage interrupted his words. "Damn, Mason drives like a demon from hell!"
    George, the footman, opened the carriage door. The earl stepped out, giving instructions to the footman regarding the trunks, and then assisted Tiffany in her descent.
    They were approached by a handsome young man in his early twenties who escorted an older