"I don't want to intrude." Rathbone took a step backwards, already regretting his words. "Perhaps…"

"Not at all," FitzRobert said with an expansive gesture. He took Rathbone by the arm. "Come on, by all means."

Rathbone had little choice but to follow, and a few moments later he was being introduced to Barton Lambert and his wife and daughter.

"How do you do, sir," Lambert said with a strong northern accent. His manner was open and friendly, but he seemed not to be too impressed by Rathbone's title.

Delphine Lambert, on the other hand, had a very different air. Closer to her, it was apparent that her marvelous jewelry was real-and almost certainly worth more than Rathbone made in half a year, although he did extremely well. And she was a remarkably pretty woman. Her skin was blemishless and the arch of her brows and delicate curve of her hairline were quite unique, as was the slope of her cheekbones. Her intelligence was apparent in her wide, clear eyes.

"How do you do, Sir Oliver," she said with charm, but marked reserve. Rathbone had an instant feeling that were her daughter not engaged to be married, her interest in him would have been quite different. He felt a surge of relief, which was ridiculous. He was perfectly capable of declining politely! He had done it for years.

Zillah was lovely. There was a naturalness and a spontaneity about her which Rathbone liked immediately. Also, she was unashamedly happy. The knowledge of how soon it would be shattered bothered Rathbone more than he had expected.

They spoke of the usual kind of trivia, and he could see her parents' pride in her, the quick glances of obvious affection from her father. Her pain would be his pain; her embarrassment would cut him more deeply than his own. Rathbone doubted Barton Lambert would forgive a man who hurt his daughter, privately or publicly. It was not difficult to understand.