Yes, Robert must have noted a huge difference in her. I Elizabeth's eyes strayed to the mirror over her dressing table. Her hair was as rich and as healthy as it had been, but was worn now in a severe knot. Her face was pale; it appeared to have lost its youthful bloom. And her prim gray governess's gown hardly compared to the white and pastel-colored muslins and silks and laces that she had worn the year she met Robert.

Elizabeth was staring unseeingly now at her own image. She was reliving that first meeting at a particularly crowded and stuffy ball. She could not even remember who the hosts had been. Her aunt had introduced them. He was Robert Denning, younger son of the Marquess of Hetherington. At first he had been just another dance partner. But it had not taken many minutes for Elizabeth to respond to his charm and his obvious enthusiasm for life. He, too, ignored the trend toward affected boredom. He was very different from the languid, dandified young men with whom the ballrooms were usually filled.

When the supper dance had begun later in the evening, Elizabeth was delighted to be claimed yet again by Robert Denning. He had led her to a table apart in the supper room instead of joining a group of acquaintances, and they had talked animatedly for a full hour, sharing stories of their childhood. She had learned that he had been a lonely boy, eleven years younger than his only brother. His mother had died at his birth; his father was almost constantly in London, very involved in the business of the House of Lords; and his brother had been away at school or university during his boyhood. Robert had spent those years at Hetherington Manor with a secretary, a tutor, and a housekeeper for companions. His father, a man very conscious of his own superiority, had discouraged him from making friends of his own age in the neighborhood.