Herbert was in his middle thirties. He was a pleasant faced, slightly plump man with ruddy cheeks, pale blue eyes, and a good-natured, inoffensive manner. His thinning, light brown hair was cut and curled in the latest style. His yellow waistcoat, which fitted a trifle too snugly at the waist, as well as his elaborately tied cravat were in the very forefront of fashion.

Iphiginia liked Herbert. He was one of the few men who seemed to have no interest in trying to take what everyone imagined to he Masters 's place in her life. She could be at case in his presence. He enjoyed discussing matters of art and architectural fashion. And she respected his advice in social matters.

But even Herbert, rarely at a loss for the proper response to any given social situation, appeared to be floundering tonight. Obviously he did not know how to handle the impending catastrophe.

Iphiginia unfurled her white lace fan as she collected her wildly scattered thoughts. The only thing that would see her through this disaster was her own intelligence. She reminded herself that she had her fair share of that commodity.

"Masters is, above all, a gentleman. There is no reason for him to embarrass either me or himself."

"Whatever you say, my dear." Herbert arched one bushy brow in a knowing fashion. "I assure you, there's no need to go into the details of your connection to Masters with me. Everyone in Town is well aware of just what sort of friends you and Masters were."

"Indeed." Iphiginia's tone held the repressive note that she employed whenever someone grew too bold on the subject of the earl. She rarely needed to use that tone with Herbert. He was usually more discreet.

She could hardly complain about the assumptions. Herbert and the members of the ton had made concerning the nature of her relationship with Masters. Society had arrived at precisely the conclusions that she had wanted it to reach.