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remained unmarried. From what I've seen of men lately, I can see certain advantages to staying a spinster all my life."
    He burst into laughter.
    "What do you find so amusing, pray tell?"
    "My dear girl, a glance in your mirror should tell you that you're made for marriage. Indeed, I'm surprised you're still a spinster at—how old are you? Seventeen?"
    "I'm eighteen. And my father didn't find any of the men in Virginia suitable," she said indignantly. "What business is it of yours why I haven't married? I surely would not wed you if you were the last man alive."
    "I'll admit I'm relieved," he told her.
    Her eyes widened and she was momentarily speechless.
    Adrien turned toward the coach window. After a moment he said, "There's the Bank of Leening, actually a municipal pawnshop. The loans are made for six months, then if an article isn't redeemed, it's sold at public auction."
    "How interesting," she said stiffly. "You appear to be well acquainted with Amsterdam."
    "I've traveled a bit."
    I hate him, Romell told herself. Arrogant, vain—I hope he chokes on his words.
    "Perhaps you'd like to know something of the city's history," Adrien went on. "Gysbrecht II founded Amsterdam in 1204, when he built a castle and choked the flow of the Amstel River by putting a dam across it. The current stadholder , Prince Frederick Hendrick, is building a royal palace but—"
    Interested in spite of her annoyance, Romell broke in to ask, " Stadholder ?"
    "No kings for the Hollanders. That's what Prince Frederick is, actually, though with limited power since he's supposed to be merely a representative of Felipe IV, the emperor of Spain. Of course, it's more complicated than that, since Holland has been fighting Spain for some seventy years. They don't care much for the Spanish Habsburgs."
    "Neither did my father. He said—" Romell, who'd intended to share with Adrien her father's opinion of the Spanish ruling family, broke off and clamped her lips tightly together.
    I won't be friends with him, she thought. I want nothing between us at all. The sooner he leaves Holland, the better. I never want to see him again.
    The coach was now traveling along a street with smaller houses. The municipal buildings of Amsterdam had been left behind, and Romell saw cows on the other side of a canal to the left of the road. The driver turned the horses into a street that was little better than a rutted lane.
    "Stop here," Adrien ordered, and the driver halted his horses.
    Adrien handed Romell out in front of a two-story brick house with a thatched roof. As they came up the walk toward the door, it opened; a white-capped maid stood aside for them to enter. She closed the door behind them and ushered them into a sitting room where two women dressed in black satin sat in straight-backed chairs. White caps hid the color of their hair, but the wrinkled faces showed age.
    Romell moved hesitantly across the wine and gold tiled floor to stand in front of them. They stared at her with identical eyes of pale blue.
    "Cousin Greta, Cousin Halva—" Romell began.
    " Ik heb Engels niet ," one of them said firmly. She appeared to be the oldest of the two.
    "Neither of your cousins speaks English," Adrien told Romell. He stepped forward until he stood beside her and bowed to the seated women.
    "Mag ik U voorstellen: Mejuffrouw Romell Wellsley," he said to them, turning his head toward Romell.
    " Hoe maakt U het?" the elder woman asked.
    Romell smiled nervously. Obviously she was going to have to learn the Dutch language as rapidly as possible. 
    Adrien answered for her, and there was silence as both women examined her. Romell became conscious of the colors in the gown she wore, colors that had seemed ordinary enough at Francesca's house. Now the dull reds and deep blue of the brocaded skirt seemed to flare conspicuously in the sedately-furnished sitting room. She felt a flush creep up her face and thought she must appear to be aflame, with her red face and her uncapped head