“Alas, I cannot afford that luxury.” Dorothea stared at his profile. His chin was a tad weak, his hairline receding, his nose boasted a sharp hook. He was far from handsome, yet he truly was a nice young man. With time and maturity he would make some woman a good husband. She felt another stab of disappointment as she acknowledged that woman would most definitely not be her.

“As you well know, marriage is different for a woman,” she continued. “My brother-in-law’s family has been exceedingly generous in their support of me, but I cannot trespass on their hospitality for more than a Season. I therefore feel it is my duty to do everything possible to make a match this year. And since we both agree that you should wait several years before taking a wife, well…”

Dorothea’s voice trailed away. She had given him a chance for a graceful, dignified exit. He pondered it for a moment, hesitated, then wisely took it.

“If that is what you truly wish, then I must of course honor your decision.”

“I fear, ’tis our only option.” Dorothea lowered her eyes, hoping she looked despondent. “However, I do expect us to remain the very best of friends,” she said with a sincerity that was heartily felt.

“Nothing would please me more.”

Dorothea smiled. She had not entirely misjudged him. His affections were not so deeply engaged if he could so quickly relent on his desire to make her his bride. And his intelligence had aided him admirably in making the correct choice. Though it was a bit troubling to see how easily he could be manipulated. Sighing, Dorothea admitted it was all for the best. Obviously, it was not just his inadequate kisses that made him a poor choice for her husband.

“Goodness, I have distressed you,” Mr. Pengrove said, misunderstanding her sigh. “Please, forgive me.”