An image of that painting flashed through her mind. Poor Lord Greybourne. Where his father, the earl, was quite handsome, Lord Greybourne was… not. His painting depicted a pale, pudgy-faced, unsmiling countenance decorated with thick spectacles magnifying unremarkable brown eyes. Definitely not the most attractive of fellows. Of course, the painting had been commissioned fourteen years earlier, when he was but a youth of fifteen. Meredith hoped his years abroad had improved him somewhat, although it did not really matter. In addition to being a Paragon, Lady Sarah did not, like many young women her age, harbor unrealistic romantic notions regarding marriage. Thank goodness. Because the dear girl is taking on more the frog than the prince, I’m afraid.

Yes, Lady Sarah knew it was her duty to marry, and marry well, according to her father’s dictates. Meredith blessed the fact that Lady Sarah was not difficult like a growing number of modern young ladies who professed to want their marriages to be love matches. Meredith fought the urge to snicker at such nonsense. Love matches indeed. Love had nothing to do with a successful marriage.

Meredith looked up at Lady Sarah, who, based on her expression, was not as happy as she should be. “Now, don’t frown, Lady Sarah,” Meredith scolded gently. “You’ll wrinkle your forehead. Is something amiss? The dress-”

“The dress is fine,” Lady Sarah said. Her huge pansy-blue eyes, reflecting unmistakable distress, met Meredith’s in the mirror. “I was just thinking about what you said… about Lord Greybourne being besotted the moment he sees me. Do you truly think he will be?”