hilip was gone when I awoke. Betsy announced it to me in her breathless voice, elated about having new gossip to share. I sat in bed holding the cup of chocolate she brought me, feeling conflicted. The defensive part of me did not want to hear Philip’s name at all. The weak part of me wanted to hear of nothing else. I also had a throbbing headache from crying so much through the night. I said nothing as I listened to Betsy’s ramblings, as I was involved in a battle between my mind and my heart.

“I saw them before they left—Sir Philip and Mr. Wyndham, that is. I was coming from the kitchen and they were standing in the foyer and Sir Philip happened to see me. Imagine my surprise when he came and spoke to me!”

I nearly dropped my cup. “He spoke to you?”

“Yes. He said, ‘You’re Miss Daventry’s maid, are you not?’ And I said that I was, and he asked me how you were feeling. ‘Well enough, I daresay,’ I told him, and then I remembered that I still had the letter you had asked me to mail in my pocket, so I gave it to him and asked him to frank it. He said he would take care of it, and he took it with him. Now he and Mr. Wyndham are gone, but they will be back in a week, I’ve heard, for the ball.”

I stared at her. “You gave my letter to Sir Philip?”

“Yes. Wasn’t it a good idea?”

I did not want Philip to have my letter. It was personal. What if he somehow accidentally opened it and read it? I knew that was a far-fetched idea, but it was within the realm of possibility. I felt vulnerable knowing he had my letter, and I did not like the feeling one bit. But there was nothing I could do about it.

After dressing, I found Cecily lying in her bed, recovering from her late night. My good intentions were firmly in place when I asked her how she had enjoyed the remainder of the ball.

“It was not as enjoyable as I had hoped,” she said, covering her yawn with a dainty hand. “Sir Philip was in a strange mood. He hardly spoke two words to me when we danced together, and as soon as the music ended, he walked away. I didn’t see him again until the carriage ride home. But luckily Mr. Kellet was very attentive.” She flashed me a sly smile. “Very attentive.”

I was taken aback by her look. “What do you mean?”

She rolled her eyes. “Marianne! I thought you were a little bit wiser now.” She leaned forward and whispered, “He told me to meet him outside, and when I did, he grabbed me and kissed me.”

My smile froze. “And how was it?”

She leaned back against her pillows, grinning. “It’s like I told you—the rakes are the best kissers.”

“Cecily!” I stood abruptly. “How can you... how can you act like that and talk like that? How can you even think of another man when you’re supposed to be violently in love with Sir Philip?”

“Well, he’s not trying to kiss me, now, is he? So I might as well find my pleasure where it’s available until he does act on his feelings.” She raked her hands through her hair. “And there is plenty of pleasure to be had from Mr. Kellet.”

I reeled back, shocked. And then I remembered that Philip was off seeking the same type of pleasure. I turned away from her in disgust and walked to the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked, sounding surprised. “Don’t you want to hear more about the ball?”

“No,” I said, opening the door. My good intentions had fled. “I have no desire to hear anything at all about rakes or... or kissing... or whatever it is you elegant people do in pursuit of pleasure. You may talk to Louisa about it.” I slammed the door shut behind me.

Mr. Beaufort called on me later that morning. I had a talk with myself as I walked downstairs to meet him. Here was a handsome, respectable young gentleman who seemed interested in me, and I told myself I should do all that I could to encourage him. After all, a little encouragement from me might lead to an offer of marriage. And right now, when it appeared nobody in the world wanted me, an offer of marriage seemed like a light in the darkness.

Lady Caroline sat with Mr. Beaufort in the drawing room. He still looked dashing and handsome, but now that I had a chance to really look at him, I saw a dullness in his hazel eyes that disconcerted me. But that didn’t matter. He wanted to be with me. I focused on flirting and encouraging, and set to it as if it were an arduous task. After half an hour, Mr. Beaufort stood, looking pleased, and bade me good-bye.

“I hope I may call on you again soon,” he said.

I watched him leave before I glanced at Lady Caroline, who had kept us company while we visited. She set aside her embroidery and turned to me with a smile.

“I am going to cut some roses in the garden. Will you join me?”

I wanted to refuse—I was exhausted from my attempts at flirting—but she smiled at me with such warm affection that I couldn’t find it in my heart to tell her no. I went upstairs to get my bonnet, and when I returned, she was waiting for me with two baskets and two shears. We walked to the rose garden. I tried not to remember the time I had spent wandering through the gardens with Philip. I tried not to think of Philip at all, actually. Not what we had done, and certainly not what I assumed he was doing right now. That thought made me feel as if I had plunged the shears right into my heart.

I started cutting roses and laying them carefully in my basket. After a moment of companionable silence, Lady Caroline said, “There is nothing in my life that makes me happier than to see my children happy. Especially Philip.”

Oh, no. She was going to talk to me about Philip? That was the last thing I wanted to hear about.

She went on. “It has been so nice—no, more than nice—it has been a real joy to see Philip so happy lately, to see him laughing again.”

I looked at her in surprise. “He didn’t laugh before?” The idea seemed absurd—incomprehensible even.

“Oh, no, he used to laugh. He just hasn’t recently.” She brushed a bee away from the rose she was cutting. “As a boy, Philip was lighthearted and carefree. He had a talent for charming someone out of the sulks or turning a fight into a comedy. There was always a new energy when he entered a room—as if he carried a ray of sunshine with him wherever he went.”

She sighed. “But he seemed to lose that part of himself when he took on his father’s role. I think the weight of his responsibility made him take himself too seriously. And then, being flattered and pursued by so many ambitious women... well, I fear it ruined him.” Her mouth set in a firm line. “He became an arrogant boor.” She snipped a rose.

I thought of my first impression of Philip at the inn. “I know what you mean. I encountered that arrogance when I first met him.”

Lady Caroline smiled. “Insufferable!”

“Yes, he was,” I agreed with a laugh.

“But he’s not like that anymore, is he?”

I shook my head. I hadn’t thought of it before, but Philip’s arrogance was a distant memory for me.

“That’s what I meant when I said it was a joy to see him happy again,” Lady Caroline said. “It is as if we have our Philip back—the Philip we all love, the Philip we have all missed these past few years. And having him back has made the whole family happy in a way we haven’t been since my dear husband died.” She stopped cutting and turned to me. Putting a gentle hand on my arm, she said, with utter sincerity, “We all feel so indebted to you, my dear.”

I was so surprised that I snipped off a large white rose too close to its head. Feeling like I had just beheaded something, I shoved my shears into my basket. “You think this change in him is because of me?” I asked in disbelief.

“Why, I know it is.”

She continued cutting roses as if our conversation was at an end. I watched her in suspense, wanting her to convince me that she was right even though I knew she was wrong. My heart had not yet succumbed to my will. It wanted to hope, even though hope was futile and foolish. I tried to bite back the words, but finally, in a moment of weakness, I blurted, “How do you know?”

Her lips twitched as if she were fighting back a smile. It reminded me of an expression I had seen on Philip’s face more than once. She put her shears in her basket and gestured to a bench set in the shade of a tree. Sitting beside her, I wondered if this was the most foolish thing I had done yet.

“Did you know that Philip was running away the night you two met?”

I nodded, remembering what Betsy had told me.

Lady Caroline sighed. “I’m afraid I am partly to blame for that. Philip had returned from Town a few weeks before. He can’t stand staying in London for the whole season. I thought it was an accomplishment that I had gotten him there for any part of it. Well, I didn’t send him word that you and your sister were going to visit. I left the girls with my son and his wife and came here myself, to warn Philip and prepare for your visit.

“He had reacted poorly in the past, you see, when young ladies came to visit, and I thought surprising him with it might be the way to go. But I was wrong. He assumed it was another case of ambitious young ladies after his wealth or his title, and he couldn’t bear another visit like that. There have been so many, you know. He left that night without a word to me.”

She looked closely at me, as if trying to convince me of something by the force of her gaze. “But then he met you at the inn, and he came back.” Her smile warmed her eyes. “He came back, my dear, that very night, late in the night. And when he came into the drawing room and saw you...” She breathed deeply, shaking her head a little as if in wonder. “He lit up, Marianne, just like he used to do.” She rested her hand on mine and squeezed it. “I had my Philip back.”

I watched in surprise as her eyes filled with tears. But when she smiled, I realized they were tears born of joy.

“Forgive me if I have been too personal,” she said, gracefully wiping a tear from her cheek. “But after losing my dear husband, and my son Charles, it felt like more than I could bear to lose Philip too.”

Dismay filled me. She was giving me too much credit for whatever change she had seen recently in Philip. I was certain I was not responsible, for it was in direct opposition to what I had heard from Philip with my own ears. He didn’t want me here. Something else must have made him happy. It certainly wasn’t me.

I wanted to tell her how mistaken she was, but I couldn’t. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” I said, attempting to smile. “I feel like I understand your family a little better now.”

She looked at me in her keen way. “I hoped it would help you understand Philip a little better.”

“Yes, that too,” I said to placate her, and then I quickly excused myself. Her hope was too painful to witness. If she thought that my relationship with Philip had sparked the change in him that had made her so happy, then she would be very disappointed when I left Edenbrooke next week.

Halfway to the house, my steps faltered, then stopped. A gentleman was walking toward me across the lawn, coming from the direction of the woods. Mr. Kellet. I thought of turning and running in the other direction, but he called out to me.

“You’re not thinking of running away from me, are you, cousin?”

Why would he not stop calling me that? I stood my ground and frowned, refusing to let him think I was afraid of him. “No, I am not. I am only going to take a turn around the lawn. You are welcome, of course, to join me.”

He smiled as if that had been his plan all along and he had just manipulated me into doing what he wanted. Which was probably true. He seemed to delight in vexing me. We began to walk—me quickly, and he with a strolling gait that made me want to yank his walking cane out of his hand and break it over his head. He would try to prolong my suffering.

“How is the old bird?” he asked, referring, I gathered, to my grandmother.

I gave him a haughty look. “Still in good health, I believe.”

He sighed and looked up at the sky. “Will she never die?”

I shot him an angry look, ready to berate him, but he laughed and said, “You are so easily taken in, cousin. You should do something about that.”

I hated thinking that he had the upper hand. And I was through with politeness. “Stop calling me cousin. Why are you here?”

“Visiting my dear cousin, of course.”

I stopped and turned to him. “No. I mean why are you here, in Kent? Did you follow me?”

He laughed. “You flatter yourself.” He stopped and leaned on his walking cane. “But I did receive some interesting news. Evidently your grandmother has decided my scandalous behavior has shamed her long enough, and she has cut me out of her will.”

“Oh?”

His eyes narrowed. “And I thought to myself—who would she name her heir if not me? Not that old maid, Amelia.” He pointed his walking cane at me. “You.”

I decided to meet his challenge head on. “You are right. But the inheritance is conditional. She can still cut me off without a penny, just as she did to you.”

“Conditional on what?”

“That is none of your concern, cousin.”

He laughed lightly and raised an eyebrow. “Touché!” He studied me for a moment with narrowed eyes as if debating a course of action. I watched with a sense of misgiving as a slow smile spread across his face. “Well, this has been very enlightening. But now I have somewhere else to be.” He bowed casually and turned away to saunter toward the road. Several leaves clung to the back of his coat, and one was even sticking out of the top of his boot.

Good riddance, I thought. But I couldn’t help wondering why he would come all the way here to ask those few questions. And what had he been doing in the woods? A movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. It was Cecily, walking from the direction of the woods. She was brushing off her skirt, and, as I watched, she pulled a leaf out of her hair.

I stared at her, feeling sick. This was the kind of conduct she had learned in London? This was considered acceptable behavior for an elegant young lady? I turned away, disgusted at the sight of her disheveled hair and happy smile.

When I reached my room, I wrote two letters. The first was quick and to the point.

I meant exactly what I wrote. I had no desire to become like Cecily. And if that was what was required to earn a fortune, then I would simply not earn that fortune. I was not destitute, after all. My father was well enough off, and I would have an inheritance from him. But I would not waste any more of my time trying to become someone I was not.

After I finished my letter to Grandmother, I saw Mr. Whittles’s book of poems in the drawer and thought of another letter I had been meaning to write for some time. The second letter took more thought, but when I finally finished with it, I was pleased with the result. There was so much waste in hoping for something that could never be yours, I decided. It was better to seize happiness where it was available. I addressed the letter to Mr. Whittles.