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widgeons , my dear.”
    Lenore’s lips twitched. “I thought you were here to avoid that sort of thing?”
    Amelia looked pained. “I came here to avoid being pursued, Lenore. As far as I know, Frederick Marshall has never pursued a woman in his life.”
    Putting her head on one side, Lenore acknowledged that truth. “I had heard that. Odd, given his association with Eversleigh.”
    â€œYes, but very refreshing.” Amelia slanted a glance at Lenore. “Tell me, Lenore, do you still cling to your ideal of a singular existence, without the complications of men?”
    Lenore looked down, picking up her papers. “Certainly. It’s the only sensible course, given the strictures that rule our lives.” She glanced up briefly through her glasses. “I would have thought that you, of all people, would appreciate that.”
    Amelia sighed, her gaze on the ceiling. “Oh, I know. But, just sometimes, I wonder. If one is not in the marketplace, one cannot buy. And if one is not…” Her brow creased as she sought for words. “If one does not put oneself in the way of love, however will it find you?”
    â€œLove, as you well know, is not for us.”
    â€œI know, I know. But don’t you sometimes dream?” Abruptly, Amelia swung about in her chair, fixing Lenore with an impish smile. “What happened to those dreams of yours—about being the prisoner of some evil ogre and locked in a tower guarded by a dragon only to be rescued by a tall and fearless knight errant?”
    Lenore glanced up from her piles of receipts. “I long since realised that being held prisoner in some musty dungeon was likely to prove quite uncomfortable and that relying on being rescued was a mite risky, given the likelihood of my knight errant’s being distracted by a mill, or some such event, and forgetting to turn up.”
    â€œOh, Lenore!” Amelia sat back, pulling a disgusted face. After a moment, she said, “You know, I understand all your arguments, but I’ve never understood why you’re so convinced there’s no hope for us.”
    Lenore paused in her sorting, eyes lifting to the peaceful scene beyond her window as memories of her mother’s face, always trying to look so brave, filled her mind’s eye. Abruptly, she drew a curtain firmly across the vision. Looking down, she said, “Let’s just say that love among the ton is a sadly mismanaged affair. It afflicts only one sex, leaving them vulnerable to all sorts of hurts. You only have to listen to the tales of Harriet’s friends. How they bear such lives I do not know. I could never do so.”
    Amelia was frowning. “You mean the…the emotional hurts? The pain of loving and not being loved in return?”
    Brusquely, without looking up, Lenore nodded.
    â€œYes, but…” Amelia’s brow was furrowed as she wrestled with her meaning. “If one does not take a chance and give one’s love, one cannot expect to receive love in return. Which would be worse—to never risk love and die never having known it, or to take a chance and, just possibly, come away with the prize?”
    For a long moment, Lenore gazed at Amelia, a frown deeply etched in her eyes. “I suspect that depends on the odds of winning.”
    â€œWhich in turn depends on the man one loves.”
    Silence descended in the small room, both occupants sunk deep in uneasy speculation. Then, in the distance, a gong clanged.
    With a deep sigh, Amelia stood and shook out her skirts. She looked up and met Lenore’s gaze squarely. “Lunch.”
    Â 
    T HAT EVENING , Lenore entered the drawing-room, her expression serene, her mind in a quandary. Instantly she was aware of Eversleigh, one of a group of guests on the other side of the room, chatting urbanely. Slipping into her accustomed role, she glided from group to group, playing the gracious hostess with effortless ease.