When it became obvious he would not bend, she’d finally consented to his timetable. She didn’t wish to unduly upset or disappoint her father, who rarely asked anything of her. And neither was she willing to forfeit this opportunity to finally put the past to rest, as this would surely be her last chance. If all went according to her carefully constructed life’s plan, by this time next year she would be a married woman, her future secured. Perhaps she’d even be a mother.

“When I think of all the soirees I’m missing… I simply do not understand what Father was thinking.”

Aunt Delia’s brows rose. “Do you not? Why, I’m surprised, what with you being such a bright gel. Clearly, your father wishes for you to marry.”

Victoria blinked. “Naturally. And I intend to do so. But that cannot be his reason for sending me to Cornwall. Especially now. In the last month alone both Earl Branripple and Earl Dravensby have initiated conversations with Father regarding marriage. With the Little Season about to commence, affording me with numerous opportunities to further my acquaintances with the earls, and meet even more marriageable gentlemen, he’d have been much better served had I remained in Town.”

“Not if the gentleman he wished you to meet was in Cornwall, my dear.” Her aunt pursed her lips. “I wonder which of the Oliver men your father is leaning toward-the widowed earl or his heir Colin, Viscount Sutton? Or perhaps even the younger son, Dr. Nathan Oliver?”

Victoria forced her features to remain impassive at the mention of his name. “Surely none of them. I’ve only briefly met Lord Sutton-once, three years ago-and as for the earl, surely Father wouldn’t encourage me to marry someone so old as Lord Rutledge.”

“I believe old Earl Rutledge is a year younger than me,” Aunt Delia said in a dust dry tone. Before Victoria could apologize for her faux pas, her aunt continued, “But you forgot Dr. Oliver.”