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promised to prepare an excellent meal."
    "Penrose is a butler, Mama, he can't be expected to cook for company."
    "I am well aware of Penrose's original position in the household, Alexandra. However, he does cook better than Filbert or you, so we will have to make do with his skills this evening. And with fish, of course," she said, and a delicate shudder shook her thin shoulders. "I do wish we didn't have to eat so much fish. I never cared overmuch for it."
    Alexandra, who caught the fish and shot whatever game she could find for their table, flushed, as if she was somehow failing in her duty as head of the strange household. "I'm sorry, Mama, but game is scarce just now. Tomorrow, I'll ride out into the countryside and see if I can get something better. Just now, I'm leaving, and I won't be home until late."
    "Late?" her mother gasped. "But you must be here tonight, and you must, must,
must
be on the most excellent behavior. You know what sticklers the squire and his wife are for modesty and decorum in a female, although it galls my soul that
that man
has left us so low in the world that we must now cater to the preferences of a mere squire."
    Alexandra didn't need to ask who "that man" referred to. Her mother always referred to Alex's father either as "that man" or as "your father"—as if Alexandra herself were somehow to blame for choosing him and she, Mrs. Lawrence, were the mere innocent victim of that choice.
    "Then you mustn't cater to the squire," Alexandra said with gentle, but unshakable firmness, "for I wouldn't marry Will Helmsley if it would save me from starving—which we are not in the least danger of doing."
    "Oh yes, you will," her mother said in a low, angry voice that sprang from a mixture of desperation and terror. "And you must comport yourself like the wellborn young lady you are. No more gallivanting about the countryside. The Helmsleys won't overlook a breath of scandal if it is attached to their future daughter-in-law."
    "I am not their future anything!" Alexandra said, hanging on to her shaky composure with an effort. "I loathe Will Helmsley and for your information," she finished, pushed to the point of forgetting about her mother's fragile hold on sanity, "Mary Ellen says Will Helmsley prefers young boys to girls!"
    The horror of that statement, which Alex only partially understood herself, sailed right over Mrs. Lawrence's greying head. "Well, of course—most young men prefer other young men as companions. Although," Mrs. Lawrence continued, getting up and beginning to pace with the fevered awkwardness of one who has been an invalid for a long time, "that may be exactly why he hasn't shown a strong reluctance to wed you, Alexandra." Her gaze was riveted up on Alexandra's thin frame clad in threadbare, tight brown breeches, a white, full-sleeved shirt opened at the throat, and brown boots that showed she'd attempted to shine them. She looked much like a once-prosperous young lad whose family had fallen on hard times and who was forced to wear clothes he'd outgrown. "You must begin wearing gowns, even though young Will doesn't seem to object to your breeches."
    Hanging on to her temper with an effort, Alex said patiently, "Mama, I do not own a gown that is not inches above my knees."
    "I told you to alter one of mine for you."
    "But I'm not handy with a needle, and—"
    Mrs. Lawrence stopped pacing and glared at her. "I must say you're putting every obstacle you can think of in the way of your betrothal, but I mean to end this mockery of a life we've been living, and Squire Helmsley's son is the only hope we have." She frowned darkly at the stubborn child-woman standing in the doorway, a shadow of bitter regret crossing her pale features. "I realize that we have never been truly close, Alexandra, but it is
that man's
fault you've grown into the wild, unruly hoyden you are today, gallivanting about the countryside, wearing pants, shooting that rifle, and doing all manner of things you ought