Amy sent her a stern look. “He was heartbroken when you left. I did tell you.”

Kit’s eyes clouded, violet hazed with grey. “I know, but my aunts were very clever.” A short silence fell; Kit broke it with a sigh. “So now I’m finished with London and with men. I can live very happily without either.”

Amy frowned. “Is it wise to go that far? After all, who knows what delicious gentleman might be lurking around the next bend in your road?”

“Just as long as he stays out of my road, I’ll be satisfied.”

“Oh, Kit. Not all men are old dodderers or fops. Some are quite personable. Like George.”

With a “Humph,” Kit turned on her stomach and propped her chin in her hands. “Enough of my affairs. Tell me about this George of yours.”

George, it transpired, was the only son of the Smeatons of Smeaton Hall, located some way beyond Gresham Manor. He was twelve years Kit’s senior; she could not recall meeting either him or his parents before.

“It’s reassuring knowing I’ll not be too far away,” Amy concluded. “We must have you and your grandfather over for dinner and introduce you to George and his parents.”

Noting the happiness shining in Amy’s face, Kit agreed with what enthusiasm she could. It was obvious to the meanest intelligence that Amy was head over heels in love with George, and that soon Kit would lose her best friend to matrimony. Amy chattered on; eventually, a frown tugging at her brows, Kit broke into her narrative. “Amy,why do you want to marry?”