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if it had occurred to them, they wouldn’t know how to go about finding such a person. But then that would have been too simple, and Roslynn had expected from the beginning that this husband-hunting business would be difficult. She expected to agonize over it, simply because she knew she couldn’t afford the time necessary to make a cautious decision.
    At least she was making progress tonight, slow but helpful. Sir Artemus Shadwell, her silver-templed widower, had braved her pack of randy bucks, as she was beginning to think of them because of their overzealous pursuit, and stolen her away for a dance. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a dance conducive to conversation, and the most she was able to learn from him was that with five children from his first marriage (och, but Frances was way off there!), he wasn’t at all interested in starting a new family if he ever married again. How he could avoid it, she’d like to know, but so he said.
    That was too bad, because if Roslynn was determined to get anything out of the husband she eventually decided on, it was children. That was the only thing about getting married she was looking forward to. She wanted children, not many, but some, two or three or four, and that was definite. Nor was thissomething she could wait on either, not at her age. If she was going to have a family, it had to be started immediately. That would have to be understood. There would be no “Maybes” or “We’ll sees” about it.
    But she needn’t write Sir Artemus off her list yet. After all, he wasn’t aware that he was one of her “possibles,” so he couldn’t have considered her question about children serious. And a man’s mind could be changed. If she knew anything about men, it was that.
    After their dance he took her back to Frances, who was standing by the refreshment table with a young woman Roslynn hadn’t met yet. But a waltz began immediately, and Roslynn noticed the persistent Lord Bradley making a beeline toward her. She groaned audibly. It was too much. She was not going to get her feet mashed up again by that clumsy fellow.
    “What’s wrong now, Roslynn?” Frances inquired, hearing her.
    “Nothing—och, everything,” she answered, exasperated and then quite determined, without the least thought for the stranger who hadn’t yet been introduced to her. “I’m not going to dance with that looby Bradley again, Frances. I swear I’m not. I’ll faint first, which will embarrass you, so you must excuse me while I go hide this one out.”
    And with a pleased chuckle for the one decision she had been able to make with ease, she gave both ladies a conspiratorial grin and disappeared into the crowd, leaving them to explain to the persistent Bradley how his quarry could simply vanish.
    Quickly making her way to one of several open French doors that led out onto a terrace, Roslynn ducked outside but went no further. Pressed up againstthe wall beside the door, she spared a quick glance to make sure she wouldn’t be observed by anyone taking advantage of the lovely moonlit garden that spread out over a large lawn beyond the flat stone terrace, but thankfully she saw no one. She then twisted and bent over at the waist to peek around the door to make sure her escape was successful. And it was. She was just in time to see Lord Bradley leaving Frances, quite obviously disappointed.
    It was shameful, but she couldn’t dredge up even the slightest pang of remorse. In fact, she continued to watch Lord Bradley just to make certain he wouldn’t think to look outside for her when he couldn’t find her on the dance floor. She would have to rush to another hiding place then, and she could see herself crouching ridiculously behind flower beds in the garden, but looking no more ridiculous than she did at the moment, she realized belatedly and spared another nervous glance behind her to make sure the garden was still deserted. It was, as far as she could see. After spying on Lord Bradley for a few