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suit if he truly loved Lorna and she loved him in return.
    “Do you think he would make a kind and loving husband?” asked Lorna. “I mean, it’s hard to say, when one does not know someone as well as one should before making a judgement, but what do you think?”
    Patience replied with complete sincerity, “I think he is deeply considerate of others, and always shows such unfailing courtesy to everyone that he appears to have the kindest of hearts. I think he will make some lucky woman very happy.”
    Lorna clapped her hands in delight. “I am so glad you think this way. And you don’t think he’s too old? Some people might say an older man will be in his dotage soon.”
    Patience had a brief vision of Henrietta’s disapproving expression as she voiced her strong opinion that a man of forty would not want to dance the night away to the whims of a mere twenty-year-old. Lorna and Lord Blackwood would indeed be the despised May-December match she had described. Would it work? Possibly, if both parties truly loved each other. Love could overcome most, if not all, obstacles.
    “I don’t think so,” she responded in a weak tone. “He seems to be so healthy and active from the reports I have heard. One can be young and behave like a dotard, or else one can have a few extra years but still be as athletic as ever.”
    “That’s my opinion as well,” said Lorna with an approving nod. “I heard Lady Carrington complain the other day that her eldest daughter’s new husband is like an old man. He never wants to do anything more than is necessary and prefers being closeted in his club with a cigar, a bottle of brandy, and his newspaper.” She made wide eyes at Patience. “And he is not yet thirty! Imagine when he is forty .”
    “The same age as Lord Blackwood,” said Patience, unable to prevent the image of his lordship materialising in her mind. His strong, capable hands, as expert with the whip and rapier she imagined as with holding a lady’s dainty gloved fingers while leading her into a dance. His strong shoulders were perfect in either evening or country attire. Imagine being enfolded in those arms and resting one’s cheek against his manly chest. The corners of his eyes creased in laughter and his eyebrows drew together when he gave something or someone his deepest thought or utmost attention. How did she know so much about him when they had spoken on so few occasions? It was shocking!
    “Yes,” Lorna said with a happy chirrup. “The same age as Lord Blackwood. I don’t think his lordship is too old at all. He seems so youthful. He dances well; he knows all the latest news and on-dits . And you can ask him anything about the theatre and music and books.”
    Patience suppressed the unkind thought that this was hardly conducive to a deep and meaningful relationship with a woman who considered reading the Lady’s Monthly Museum and La Belle Assemblée quite enough intellectual activity. Then Lorna surprised her.
    “He told me all about Mrs. Shelley’s Frankenstein, and I was so intrigued by the story that he promised to lend me his copy. Imagine writing a story about recreating a person after death and bringing him back to life!”
    “Would you be interested in such a book?” she asked. Lorna, although hardly feather-brained, tended to be attracted to the activities that most young women of her age found entertaining. Intellectual books were not generally high on the list of pleasures desirable to a vivacious debutante enjoying the London Season. Since her arrival, Lorna had flicked through a few popular novels, yawned over a couple of volumes of poetry, and expressed a half-murmured desire to see the Elgin Marbles at the British Museum after reading about them in the newspaper. Beyond that, nothing too scholarly.
    “But of course, one would need to learn about someone’s reading habits if one is to consider sharing a life with him,” Lorna said with a sly smile. “In fact, one should learn as much