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not."
    Helpless to keep the angry embarrassment from her voice, Alexandra retorted stiffly, "If I were the demure, vapid, helpless creature you seem to want me to be, this household would have starved long ago."
    Mrs. Lawrence had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "What you say is true, but we cannot go on this way much longer. Despite your best efforts, we're in debt to everyone. I know I've not been a good mother these three years past, but I've come to my senses at last, and I must take steps to see you safely married."
    "But I don't love Will Helmsley," Alexandra burst out desperately.
    "Which is all to the good," Mrs. Lawrence said harshly. "Then he can't hurt you as your father hurt me. Will comes from a steady, solid family. You won't find him keeping an extra wife in London and gambling everything away." Alexandra winced at this cruel reminder of her father's perfidy, as her mother continued, "Actually, we're very lucky Squire Helmsley is so very pushing—otherwise, I daresay he wouldn't have you for a daughter."
    "Just what
is
my attraction as a daughter-in-law?"
    Mrs. Lawrence looked shocked. "Why, we are connected to an earl, Alexandra, and to a knight of the realm," she said as if that answered everything.
    When Mrs. Lawrence fell into a pensive silence, Alexandra shrugged and said, "I'm off to Mary Ellen's. It's her brother's birthday today."
    "Perhaps it's better if you aren't present at supper," Mrs. Lawrence said, absently picking up her hairbrush and running it haphazardly through her hair. "I believe the Helmsleys mean to broach the subject of the marriage tonight, and it wouldn't do to have you here frowning and looking mutinous."
    "Mama," Alexandra said with a mixture of pity and alarm, "I would rather starve than marry Will."
    Mrs. Lawrence's expression made it clear that she, for one, did not prefer starvation to her daughter's marriage. "These matters are best left for adults to decide. Go along to Mary Ellen's, but do wear a gown."
    "I can't. In honor of John OToole's birthday, we're going to have a jousting tournament like in days of old—you know, the sort of tournament the OTooles always have on birthdays."
    "You're entirely too old to go parading about in that rusty old suit of armor, Alexandra. Leave it in the hallway where it belongs."
    "No harm will come to it," Alex assured. "I'm only taking a shield, the helmet, the lance, and the breastplate."
    "Oh, very well," her mother said with a weary shrug.
Chapter Four
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    M ounted upon old T hunder , a swaybacked, evil-tempered gelding who was older than she was and who had belonged to her grandfather, Alexandra plodded down the rutted road toward the OTooles' sprawling cottage, her rifle in a scabbard beside her, her gaze sweeping the side of the road in hopes of spying some small game to shoot on the way to Mary Ellen's. Not that there was much chance of surprising any animal this afternoon, for the long lance tucked under her arm clanked noisily against the breastplate she wore and banged against the shield she carried.
    Despite her unhappy confrontation with her mother, Alex's spirits rose, buoyed up by the glorious spring day and the same sense of excited expectation she'd tried to describe to Sarah.
    Down in the valley on her left and in the woods on her right, spring flowers had burst into bloom, filling her eyes and nose with their rainbow colors and delicious scent. On the outskirts of the village there was a small inn, and Alexandra, who knew everyone within the eight-mile circle that encompassed her entire world, shoved the visor of her helmet up and waved gaily at Mr. Tilson, the proprietor. "Good day, Mr. Tilson," she called.
    "Good day to you, Miss Alex," he called back.
    Mary Ellen O'Toole and her six brothers were outside the OTooles' rambling cottage, a rollicking game of knights-of-yore already in full progress in their yard. "Come on, Alexandra," fourteen-year-old Tom called from atop his father's ancient horse.