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Cora permanently, sip sherry, and raise pug dogs. Maybe Uncle Donald would finally invite her to Dorset, to keep him company in his old age. Maybe pigs would fly. Or Rowanne and Miss Simpson could set up housekeeping somewhere by themselves. Now that would cause a dust-up even Gabe would notice. Rowanne had the financial means, but she didn't know if she had the backbone. Ah well, there was always marriage.
    She tossed the pillows to the floor and rolled over.
     
    Rowanne had been looking forward to a relaxing month or so with her elderly aunt in Bath after the bustle of the London Season, walking on the strand, strolling in Sydney Gardens, catching up on her reading. Aunt Cora had other plans, and she was about as fragile in her determination as a red-eyed bull. Lady Silber was going to snabble her wayward niece an eligible parti if it killed both of them. In Aunt Cora's estimation, eligible meant any male between seventeen and seventy. She dragged Rowanne off to the Pump Room daily, to the Upper and Lower Assembly Rooms, and to as many other entertainments as she and her ancient cronies could devise. She made sure Rowanne accepted the multitude of invitations from the many other London visitors in Bath for the summer, and especially from the local great houses. Aunt Cora was positive a gentleman meeting even Rowanne's demanding standards could easily be found.
    Every evening, when Rowanne came home and only wished to kick off her slippers and sink into bed, Aunt Cora would call out, loudly enough to wake all the servants, if not the next-door neighbors, "Well, did you find Prince Charming? Why ain't you married yet?"
Chapter Five
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    R owanne was delighted to be back in London, vowing this Season would be different. There would be no more junketing
around, burning herself to the socket with no higher goal than filling her dance
card or finding the most outrageous bonnet. Now Rowanne had a Mission. First she
would reconnoiter, then plan her campaign.
    She cornered her quarry in the breakfast room on the day following her return. The servants had finished serving and Miss Simpson had not yet returned from her month's vacation to her brother's family in Kent. Gabriel was reading the morning papers over his coffee and kippers.
    Rowanne buttered her toast. She had not been able to imagine any graceful way of bringing the topic she wished to discuss into a conversation so she simply came out and asked: "Gabe, have you ever considered marrying?"
    Her brother did not even put down the papers. "Poor puss, you have spent too much time with Aunt Cora, haven't you?"
    "Quite, but surely, though, isn't it time you thought of taking a wife?"
    Gabe laid the newspaper aside and boosted his spectacles back up on his nose. "I know what it is, you are finally going to take one of the coxcombs who are forever littering the place. Good. Which one shall it be, so I'm sure to make myself available to hear his declaration in form?"
    "Don't be a goose, it is no such thing. Besides, my friends are not coxcombs, just because they are not all as serious-minded as you are."
    "Not even Clifford Fairborn? I swear he composed an ode for every day you were gone. And yellow pantaloons, my dear."
    "Very well, Lord Fairborn is a coxcomb, but I was talking about you." She poured him another cup of coffee.
    "If you are worried about leaving, Ro, don't be. I really can manage, you know. You've trained Mrs. Ligett to natter at me quite competently, and Hinkle would never let me be seen in anything less than prime twig. You have been gone a whole month and Wimberly House is still standing. The bailiffs are not even pounding at the door."
    "Housekeepers and valets are all well and good, but I am speaking of a wife, a helpmate, heirs, someone to carry on the title. You have to wed."
    Gabriel opened the paper again. "Did you read today's news?"
    "You are changing the subject, Gabriel Wimberly."
    "Oh, I just wondered if you saw that St. Dillon's cousin was