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when there came a knock on the bedroom door. At permission to enter, a maid brought in word that a certain gentleman had called for Miss Davenport.
    In obvious dread of die answer, Lydia asked, “Is it . . . ?” At the maid’s sympathetic nod, her face drained. “No, no! I do not wish to see him,” Lydia exclaimed, clasping and unclasping her slender hands.
    Michele was astonished by her cousin’s whitened face and agitated manner. “Lydia! What is wrong? Why do you behave this way?”
    Lydia turned to her. “It is him! The gentleman that I told you about. Oh, Michele, pray come with me. I dare not meet with him alone.”
    “But surely Lady Basinberry would not allow you to receive a gentleman alone. She will also be notified of his lordship’s arrival and will naturally come down to chaperon you,” Michele said, surprised.
    “Of course Aunt Beatrice will come down. But it is as good as being alone, for she favors him too. Michele, he is so cold and . . . and aloof. He puts me out of all countenance. I ... I never know what to say. I beseech you, pray come with me. Just knowing that you are there shall, be a support to me,” Lydia said, a pleading expression in her large eyes.
    Michele could not withstand her. “Of course I shall accompany you. But I wish you to know that I find you very silly.”
    “Yes, I know that I am. You are truly the best of cousins,” said Lydia, at once relieved and smiling.
    As the cousins made their way downstairs, Michele had difficulty believing that Lydia was as fearful of her suitor as she made out, for she chattered away as though she had not a care in the world. But as they reached the drawing-room door, Lydia’s chatter died away and the anxious look reappeared in her eyes. She reached out for Michele’s hand. Michele gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze and then motioned for Lydia to go ahead of her.
    Lydia squared her shoulders and entered the drawing room. She walked gracefully over to the gentleman who stood at the mantel contemplating the fire in the grate. “My lord, it is good to see you,” she said steadily.
    The gentleman raised his head. He stepped forward to take her hand, and with an awkward movement of his right arm he carried her fingers to his lips. “Miss Davenport, you appear in looks this afternoon.”
    Lydia bestowed a constrained smile on him and drew forward her companion, who had unaccountably stopped a small distance away. Lydia wondered at her cousin’s queer expression. “Lord Randol, I would like you to meet my cousin. She has recently come to England from Brussels and shall be staying with us during the Season.”
    Lord Randol turned his head. A livid scar ran down the entire right side of his face, lending him a fascinating sinister appearance. But it was not this that had caused Michele’s face to drain of color. Her eyes bore an expression of profound shock as Lord Randol’s gray eyes met hers. The polite smile on his lips froze. “Mademoiselle.” His voice was utterly cold.
    There was a rushing in Michele’s ears and she feared she might faint. Certain that she must be seeing a ghost, she stared at the viscount. “My lord,” she whispered.
    Lydia looked from one to the other, astonished. It was obvious that her cousin was somehow acquainted with Lord Randol. She was about to inquire about the circumstances when the butler announced a second visitor.
    Lydia whirled about, all other thoughts flying out of her head. With a glad face she went quickly across the drawing room, her hands outstretched to the military gentleman who had entered.
    He caught one of her hands and bowed over her fingers. “Miss Davenport, I was just inquiring about you of Lady Basinberry,” he said lightly.
    Lydia’s eyes flew to her aunt, who stood just beyond the gentleman’s shoulder. “Captain Hughes, how kind of you,” she said primly.
    Lady Basinberry was not fooled by her niece’s polite formality, but she allowed a tiny smile to play over her