Then, his expression wiped clean of all expression except polite reserve, he inclined his head with a muttered "ma'am," while the others were presumably doing the same, and Elizabeth, snapping back to reality, rose to her feet and curtsied.

He seated himself with his back to her and engaged Cecily in conversation while Mr. Mainwaring and Mrs. Prosser talked to Mrs. Rowe. Mr. Prosser, a man in his early forties, Elizabeth estimated, balding and slightly paunchy, strolled over and conversed with her for a few minutes, though she could not recall afterward what had been the topic. After twenty minutes, the company departed with promises of future visits and invitations.

Another half-hour passed before Elizabeth could escape from the raptures of her employer and her charge. Mrs. Rowe was vastly impressed with the good looks and the presence of the owner of Ferndale. Cecily seemed more pleased with the rank and the charm of the marquess. But on one thing they were agreed: Cecily would surely be able to engage the interests of one of the two men, or possibly of both. Had not the marquess had eyes for no one else? Had not Mr. Mainwaring positively glowered when his friend sat next to Cecily before he had a chance to do so himself?

At the earliest opportunity Elizabeth retired to her own room on the pretext of having to wash her hair before dinner. She was very badly shaken by the unexpected encounter and felt that she needed a few hours in which to assess what had happened and what its implications for her immediate future would be.

She had never really expected to meet Robert again. She had known, of course, that he was now Marquess of Hetherington. The vast difference in their ranks should have ensured that their paths would never cross. Elizabeth had tried to make doubly sure by taking a position with a less-than-prominent family in a place quite remote from London, where she assumed he spent most of his time, and from Hetherington Manor in Sussex, where he had his country seat.