Clearly Mama had not given up such ridiculous hopes. Still, she'd shrugged off Mama's efforts, knowing full well that there wasn't a man amongst her acquaintances who would consider marrying a plain, bespectacled, outspoken, socially inept, firmly on-the-shelf bookworm.

Except, apparently, Major Wilshire, whom Sammie could only conclude had taken leave of his senses.

Papa fitted his monocle over his left eye and peered at her. "I must say, Sammie, you don't look quite as ecstatic as your mother assured me you would be." He looked truly perplexed.

"I have no desire to marry Major Wilshire, Papa." She cleared her throat, then added very clearly, "And I will not do so."

"Pshaw. Of course you will. Everything is already arranged, my dear."

"Arranged?"

"Why, yes. The banns will appear this Sunday. The wedding will take place next month."

"Next month! Papa, this is madness. I cannot-"

"Now don't worry, Samantha." He reached out and patted her hand. "I'm sure you'll be happy once you and the Major get to know each other a bit better." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial level. "He's planning to call on you later this week to present you with a betrothal ring. A sapphire, I believe."

"I do not want a betrothal ring-"

"Of course you do. All girls do. Your mother told me so. Now, it's terribly late and I'm exhausted. All this marriage arranging is quite wearying, and I wish to retire. Your dear mother harangued me for hours, and I'm quite incapable of talking any more. We'll discuss the plans further tomorrow."

"There are no plans to discuss, Papa. I will not marry him."

"Of course you will. Good night, my dear."

"I will not marry him!" Samantha shouted to his retreating back as he closed the door behind him. An exasperated oohh! escaped her, and she massaged her temples, where a thumping headache was rapidly forming.