But Raymore made a decision. Before he left the house, he wrote a letter, which he left with the housekeeper to deliver to Rosalind the following morning. He would have liked to speak with her himself, but he could not for two reasons. He had promised that she would not have to see him before Friday night. Also, he knew from experience that any meeting between the two of them was bound to flare into an angry quarrel. He did not wish to quarrel with her ever again. He wanted to love her.


***

Both letters were received the following morning. Rosalind was sitting at the breakfast table alone when she broke the seal of hers. She could not understand why her guardian would be writing to her unless it was in reply to her own note. Perhaps he had changed his mind and did not wish her, after all, to play at his concert. She read:

My dear Rosalind,

In reflecting on our conversation of yesterday afternoon, it has occurred to me that you might have engaged yourself to marry Sir Bernard Crawleigh only as a means of escaping my control over your affairs. I would not wish to drive you into an unwelcome marriage.

If your heart is engaged, I sincerely wish you joy of your union. But if not, I urge you to put an end to the betrothal. I shall send you home to Raymore Manor next week and allow you to live there for the rest of your life as if it belonged to you. I shall release to you control of your fortune and engage never to enter the property without an express invitation from you. You can be free, Rosalind. All this I am willing to put in legal form if you so choose.

Believe me when I say that I wish only what is best for you, and that I remain now and always,

Your servant,

Edward Marsh, Earl of Raymore.

Damn him, she thought, crumpling the paper and holding it rightly in her hand. He was determined, it seemed, to keep her mind and her life in turmoil. She had disliked him from the start, but at least then he could always be relied upon to behave consistently. She had labeled him as a cold man, totally devoid of all the finer feelings in life. It would have been more comfortable for her peace of mind if he had not recently begun behaving as if he had a heart. Even two days ago it had been hard to continue hating him, but at least then she could convince herself that his gentleness had an ulterior motive. But what could be his motive this time? He must already have had her letter telling him that she would play at his concert. She could not explain his letter in any other way than by seeing it as a sincere attempt to give her some freedom of choice about her future. Oh, damn him!

And what about the choice he had given her? Why did everyone seem intent upon putting doubts in her mind just at a time when she was feeling less than certain about her own feelings? She wanted to marry Bernard, of course she did. He was handsome, kindly, good-humored. He was the only man who had ever shown a real interest in her, if one discounted Sir Rowland Axby and the strange advances of her guardian. She could be happy with him. Only a few months before, she had resigned herself to a life of spinster-hood, believing that no man could tolerate her disability and her dark, unfashionable looks.

But first Lady Elise and now Raymore were attempting to make her take a closer look at her feelings. She did not wish to do so. She was terrified of doing so, in fact. She wanted to be safe. Lady Elise had even made the quite absurd suggestion that she loved the Earl of Raymore. And she had always considered her new friend to be a woman of good judgment. She was not going to stop to think about him. She was already too disturbed by the uncharacteristic nature of his behavior in the past two days. She would not think anymore.

Rosalind spread the letter on the table before her and folded it carefully into its original creases. She would not think about him or about her betrothal until Saturday. She had only two days to prepare herself for the concert. It was imperative that she be calm so that all her concentration could be given to her music. She rose from the table, her breakfast untouched, and went to the morning room to write a letter to Sir Bernard, canceling a dinner engagement with him that evening and explaining that she needed to be alone until Friday evening to prepare her mind as well as to practice her music. Then she went to the music room to make the best use of her time until the Austrian arrived.

For his part, Raymore was handed Rosalind's note when he returned very early to his own house. He had spent the night playing cards, or most of the night, anyway. Late in the evening he had kept an appointment to escort the new actress from Hamlet to dinner and then to her home. He completely mystified and enraged her when, after a half-hearted conversation of ten minutes' duration, he picked up his cloak and took his leave of her without having so much as touched her Her anger was somewhat mollified when she saw the number of bank notes he had deposited on the table where his hat had been, but she still made straight for a mirror after he had left and gazed at her own image, wondering what defect had turned away such a desirable protector.

He was done with such unsatisfactory liaisons, Raymore decided during the course of the night. Occupying a woman's body could bring him no further delight unless the woman herself was the object of his love. When Rosalind was gone, he would make an honest effort to find himself another woman whom he could love. He doubted that it was possible, but he would take the risk. He had been absent from life too long.

Rosalind's note delighted him. She had given him a last chance to show her that he esteemed her for herself. He must be very careful of the way he introduced her and of what he said to her afterward, if he had a chance to speak to her at all. Most of all, he wanted her to see that his assessment of her talent was correct. If she received the acclaim that he expected, she would have restored to her the confidence that her lameness and the loss of her parents had deprived her of at a very early age.

Tired as he was, Raymore took the stairs to his room two at a time and rang for a hot bath.


***

The next two days were intense ones for Rosalind, who practiced morning and night and shut herself into her room during the afternoons. Nothing was to be allowed to disturb her concentration. At first she found that her playing was full of mistakes and that the music itself was lifeless. She had to make a determined effort to control her nervousness. There was really no need to be afraid. The people who were coming on Friday night were coming, not in the hope that she would fumble, nor in order to criticize. They were coming to be entertained. And she was not even the star attraction. She was capable of performing well. He had said so and she must trust his judgment. Strangely, Rosalind found in the end that the best calming influence on her was to see his face before her, the rather austere aquiline features, the intense blue eyes, the blond hair. It was a face that could be trusted, as far as her music went, anyway. She played for him. She would play for him on Friday.

Finally even the Earl of Raymore faded into the background of her consciousness and the music lived for itself. It seemed no longer as if she played the music but as if the music released her into life and freedom.

Cousin Hetty, fretting over the fact that her charge had neither received company nor ventured out of doors for three whole days, decided on the Friday morning that she must take a firm hand. When Rosalind could not be persuaded to recognize her need of any new purchases for the evening, she herself had to make up a list of imaginary items that she needed. She could not possibly shop alone, she assured her charge. That would be most dreary. And positively none of her acquaintances rose before noon. Would Rosalind please spare an hour of her time?

Rosalind went with great reluctance. When they returned to Grosvenor Square at noon, it was to find that they had visitors awaiting them in the drawing room. Sylvia and Nigel had returned to London a day earlier than planned when Nigel's sister, Letty, had written to tell them that Rosalind was to play at Raymore's concert. They had traveled all night, having received the news only the day before.

"But we could not miss it, Ros," Sylvia said, throwing her arms around her cousin. "It is perfectly splendid news. I said to Nigel when I heard, 'How I wish I could be there,' and he said, 'Pack a bag; we are going.' And here we are."

Rosalind looked from one to the other of the newly married pair. They both positively glowed, despite the lines of tiredness that smudged the eyes of both. If they had made a mistake, they certainly had not discovered it yet. And somehow Rosalind did not believe that they had made a mistake.

"I always knew you were out of the ordinary, Ros," her cousin continued. "I never persevered with my own playing because I felt so inferior to you. But even so, this is a signal honor for you. Nigel says that Edward's opinion on music and art is very highly respected."

"My love," Nigel said now, "you are so tired that you must be sleeping on your feet. And if my guess is correct, Rosalind has her mind on other matters today than prattling with us. Let us go and get some sleep before this evening."

"As you wish, Nigel," his bride agreed, smiling radiantly at him. She placed her hand in his.

"Are you not staying here?" Cousin Hetty asked.

"No, ma'am," Nigel replied. "We stay at my brother's home for a few days before moving back to the country. When summer is over, we will find a house of our own. And I plan to make a start with a boys' school for the poor."

"Sylvie," Rosalind said, hugging her cousin, "I am so glad you returned today. I shall feel far less lonely and overawed tonight knowing that you are there."

"Nigel said you would feel that way," Sylvia agreed, and allowed herself to be led away by her husband.

"That little puss has got what she wants, at any rate," Cousin Hetty remarked as she and Rosalind made their way to the dining room for luncheon. "She has no business looking so happy. But then, I always did have a soft spot for young love. One sees it so rarely nowadays."


***

The Earl of Raymore did not dine at home. He had decided to keep his promise to Rosalind to the letter. He had not set eyes on her since that afternoon in the music room. He stood at the entrance to the music room now, greeting his guests as they arrived. The room was lit brilliantly by chandeliers that held hundreds of candles. Gilt chairs to accommodate the guests were set out around the room. He was nervous. Never had he succeeded in presenting someone of quite the caliber of Hans Dehnert at one of his concerts. He hoped that the setting would be to the man's liking. But it was Rosalind who caused his feeling of trepidation. He did not doubt her skill, but he knew her to have a somewhat volatile temper. How would she stand up to the strain of such an occasion? Had he pushed her too far?

He longed to see her again. Yet he dreaded it, too. It would be the last time, except possibly for the farewell he would take of her next week or the week after. He doubted that she would want him to attend her wedding, and indeed he did not wish it himself.

She finally appeared on the arm of Crawleigh. He recalled then that her fiance had been engaged to dine at the house. She was looking pale, but there was a determined set to her jaw. She wore the same rose-pink gown that she had worn to her come-out ball. Her dark hair was piled in intricate swirls around her head, a few tendrils carefully curling over her temples and along her neck. She looked the picture of beauty to the man on whom her eyes were riveted.

Rosalind hardly knew how she had reached the music room. She knew that she was leaning rather heavily on Bernard's arm and that she was limping more than usual. She was in the grip of a blind terror. She could not go through with it, she thought. She would be sick. Every moment she thought she would have to tell Bernard to turn back. Then she caught sight of the Earl of Raymore standing inside the doorway of the music room looking reassuringly cool and confident. He had told her she could do it. And he did not appear worried now that he had made an error. She fixed her eyes on him and felt some of the warmth returning to her body.

He looked back at her, smiled, and bowed. "Rosalind," he said, taking her hand in a steady, warm one, "how are you feeling? Crawleigh?"