She'd spent the journey formulating a description of the man she would accept as Gerrard's mentor-the one she would trust with her brother's tender youth. By the time they reached Bellamy Hall, she had her criteria firmly fixed.

By the end of their first evening, she'd concluded that none of the gentlemen present met her stringent requirements. While each possessed qualities of which she approved, none was free of traits of which she disapproved. Most especially, none commanded her respect, complete and absolute, which criterion she'd flagged as the most crucial.

Philosophically, she'd shrugged and accepted fate's decree, and set her sights on London. Potential aspirants to the position of Gerrard's mentor would clearly be more numerous there. Comfortable and secure, she and Gerrard had settled into Minnie's household.

Now comfort and security were things of the past-and would remain so until Vane Cynster left.

At that instant, the drawing-room door opened; together with Mrs. Chadwick and Angela, Patience turned to watch the gentlemen stroll in. They were led by Whitticombe Colby, looking insufferably superior as usual; he made for the chaise on which Minnie and Timms sat, with Alice in a chair beside them. Edgar and the General followed Whitticombe through the door; by mutual consent, they headed for the fireplace, beside which Edith Swithins, vaguely smiling, sat tatting industriously.

Her gaze glued to the door, Patience waited-and saw Edmond and Henry amble in. Beneath her breath, she swore, then coughed to disguise the indiscretion. Damn Vane Cynster.