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nauseating Glenda in the process.
    She stared at James. If she just kept staring long enough, he would eventually turn around and she’d see a leap of lust in his eyes and pain as well because he’d quickly realize there was nothing to be done to assuage his lust.
    But James didn’t turn around for the longest time. He turned around finally when his brother-in-law, Giff Poppleton, greeted him. He met Glenda’s eyes briefly, nodded, but then he listened to something Giff said, and laughed.
    Glenda wasn’t pleased. She was eighteen, quite pretty, her breasts milky white and full. Men loved to look at her breasts; she’d known that since they’d blossomed two years before. The stable lads were in a constant state of male turmoil whenever she came around, which was often since she had hit sixteen and was more than eager to test her power on anything male.
    Why wasn’t James Wyndham interested ? Surely he must realize that if he married her, he’d eventually have the Warfield stables to add to his own holdings.
    â€œIt just doesn’t make any sense.”
    â€œWhat doesn’t, dearest?”
    â€œOh, Mother, I was just thinking that James Wyndham should be proposing to me rather than ignoring me.”
    â€œYou’re right,” Portia Warfield said, frowning at this injustice. “It doesn’t make any sense. It is perplexing. Your chemisette is nonexistent, dear. Come with me to the ladies’ withdrawing room and I’ll arrange it. You don’t want to be thought loose by the other ladies.”
    â€œYes, Mama,” Glenda said. She dutifully followed her mother from the large Poppleton drawing room.
    Portia Warfield said to her daughter as they climbed the wide cherry-wood Poppleton stairs to the second floor, “I just wormed it out of your father—James was married to an Englishwoman. Your father wanted to stop there, but I wouldn’t let him. He gave in finally when I offered to let him order whatever he wished for dinner. The woman James married was the daughter of a baron and very young. Evidently she died in childbirth within the first year of their marriage. One supposes that he’s still wounded, at least as much as a man is capable of being wounded when his wife dies. Of course he hadn’t known her all that long, less than a year. The child died with her. I suppose that would depress a man to have his heir lost, but I understand it’s been at least three years since it happened. He should be snapping out of this indifferent stance he’s taken with all the lovely girls in Baltimore.”
    â€œHe has a mistress. He doesn’t need any of the lovely girls until he is ready to marry for an heir.”
    â€œA mistress?” Mrs. Warfield said, pausing a moment, pursing her lips. “Why haven’t I heard anything about that? Do you know who she is, Glenda? Not that you shouldknow anything at all about such improper situations, but anyway, who is she?”
    Glenda leaned closer. “Mrs. Maxwell.”
    â€œConnie Maxwell? Goodness, she must be at least thirty-five years old! She’s been a widow for years now. Fancy that. Are you certain, dearest?”
    â€œOh yes. Maggie Harmon told me she heard her papa tell her mama that he saw them together in her garden and they were kissing and laughing and doing other things, too. Her papa told her mama that they disappeared behind a huge rosebush and the laughing stopped.”
    â€œInteresting,” Mrs. Warfield said. “I’m not saying that Connie’s an old hag, but she isn’t a fresh innocent like you, dearest. She has kept her figure, I’ll have to say that for her. And I suppose she has a pretty enough face, what with all that blond hair of hers and skin so white I’ve often wanted to shoot her. Ah, well, James is a man, so I’m not at all surprised. But soon he will have to find himself a wife. He must be nearing