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daring. Without conscious volition, she sat up, relit her candle, pulled on her robe and drifted to the door.
    She knew it was foolish, worse than foolish—it threatened utter ruin, but she made her way down the stairs and along the polished timber boards to the drawing room. Only when she stood alone, shivering with cold, did she acknowledge the truth. She’d hoped to find James. Hoped for just one more glimpse of a different life, one more of those fascinating, terrifying kisses before he left to go to wherever next took his fancy.
    But he wasn’t here. How absurd to think the mysterious pull she’d felt emanated from him, that he would be here waiting.
    A strange feeling tingled between her shoulder blades as if something unseen touched her. “I shouldn’t be here,” she said out loud, and turned to trudge back to her room. She had just placed her foot on the first step when the drawing room door slammed shut, sending a waft of air her way, carrying with it the scent of spice and pine. She shivered and ran silently back to her room.

Chapter Five
     
     
     
    Lucinda woke late on Boxing Day morning.
    She brushed off Betsy’s enquiries about a choice of outfit for the day. What difference would it make what she wore? Edward’s opinion didn’t matter, and her appearance wouldn’t change anything, even if anyone else did happen to notice.
    By the time she got to the breakfast room, everyone had already eaten and left. She crumbled a cold slice of toast, spread a coddled egg over her plate, drank half a cup of tea and pushed herself away from the table.
    She looked out of the window and sighed. Fresh snow had fallen again in the night. The disturbance left by their snowball fight would be covered up. No sign that it had ever happened. She left the room, deciding to go back to her room. Before she’d come to Beaufield, she had found solace for many hours of boredom in reading. She would have to learn to do so again.
    As she reached the first landing, Edward emerged from his study. “Ah. Miss Demerham. Lucinda. I had been hoping to see you this morning.” He smiled, and Lucinda realized how infrequently that happened. Not like James who… She cut the thought off in its tracks.
    Instead she focused on what Edward was saying.
    “I have arranged an interview with your father at midday. After that I hope you will be available. I shall have a very particular question to ask you.”
    Her father? A particular question. Oh, no! No! She didn’t want…
    “Edward, I beg you won’t…”
    “Come, come, my dear. You know what I am about. Why I asked my mother to issue this invitation.” He reached out and lightly grasped her chin. “There is no need for false modesty.” He tapped her once with his pale, soft finger, then released her. “Perhaps you’d like to converse with your mother. Happy news is always to be shared.”
    He went back into his room without waiting for her reply.
    A surge of nausea soured Lucinda’s mouth. She swallowed, clasped her hands to her chest and tried to think. She’d suspected this would happen. She had to decide how she would deal with it. Her first thought was to go to her father and demand he deny Edward his permission. But to do that would be to offer Edward an insult he didn’t deserve.
    If she were going to refuse this marriage, she had to do it herself. She was not a coward. Edward wouldn’t be pleased and his inflated self-esteem might mean it took a little while to convince him, but she could do it.
    The interlude wouldn’t be pleasant, however. With that hanging over her head, she wasn’t going to be able to sit in her room reading and waiting for the summons.
    Instead she took her coat and headed out for a walk in the new-fallen snow. She paced through the park, ignoring the cold, rehearsing the way the conversation might go, muttering to herself in a way she was sure would have sounded quite demented to anyone who had the misfortune of overhearing her.
    She’d just