“Why?” The question stopped Amy in her tracks. Then, realizing Kit meant the question literally, she marshaled her thoughts. “Because I love George and want to be with him for the rest of my life.” She looked hopefully at Kit, willing her to understand.

Kit stared back, violet eyes intent. “You want to marry him because you love him?” When Amy nodded, she asked: “What’s love feel like?”

Brow furrowed, Amy considered. “Well,” she began, “you know all about the…the act, don’t you?”

“Of course I know about that.” They were both country bred-such matters were inescapable facts of country life.

“But what’s that got to do with love?”

“Well,” Amy continued, “when you love a man you want to…do that with him.”

Kit frowned. “Do you really want to do that with your George?”

Blushing furiously, Amy nodded.

Kit’s brows rose, then she shrugged. “It seems such a peculiar undertaking-so undignified, if you know what I mean.”

Amy choked.

“But how do you know you want to do that with George?” Kit focused on Amy’s face. “You haven’t, have you?”

“Of course I haven’t!” Amy stiffened.

“How then?”

Drawing a deep breath, Amy fixed Kit with a long-suffering look. “You can tell because of what you feel when a man kisses you.”

Kit frowned.

“You’ve been kissed by a gentleman, haven’t you? I mean, not one of your relatives. What about your London gentlemen-didn’t they?”

It was Kit’s turn to blush. “Some of them,” she admitted.

“Well? What did it feel like?”

Kit grimaced. “One was like kissing a dead fish, and the others were sort of hot wriggling things. They tried to put their tongues in my mouth.” She shuddered expressively. “It was awful!”

Amy bit her lips, then drew an unsteady breath. “Yes, all right. That’s probably just as well-that means you don’t want to go to bed with any of them.”

“Oh.” Kit’s face cleared. “What should it feel like if I do want to…” She gestured. “You know.”