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They were very different, of course. She was eager to learn all a young lady should know by the time she grew up. She wanted to conform, to fit in, to be liked, even loved, by everyone, young and old, rich and poor. She knew that the life of a lady was often a life of service to her family and friends and neighbors and servants, and she wanted to do it well. Matthew sometimes called her a dullard, though he always said it fondly and it made no difference to their friendship. He was a dreamer and a rebel, both of which attributes got him into constant trouble at home, some of which he deliberately courted, as though he enjoyed incurring the wrath of adults and drawing the punishments they could mete out. She occasionally called him reckless. But it never, ever occurred to her to put an end to their friendship.

She wished now that he was not in love with her. But she feared he was. And she wished she was not a little bit in love with him, though she feared she might be. She was too sensible, too rooted in reality, however, to encourage the budding feelings either in herself or in him.

She was the beloved only daughter of a wealthy, privileged landowner, a member of the ton. She had always known she could expect to make a good, even brilliant marriage when she grew up. Matthew was the second son of a landowner of moderate means and must make his own way in the world when he grew up. His brother would inherit everything, including his maternal grandmother's estate after her passing. She had never made a secret of that fact.

Unfortunately, Matthew did not fancy any of the careers his father had tried to thrust upon him—the church, the military, a seat in Parliament. Not even the diplomatic service or the law, though his uncles had apparently declared their willingness to help him get a start. Nor did he fancy trying to snare a wealthy heiress—his mother's suggestion. Perhaps it was just as well, he had told Clarissa, that no wealthy heiress in her right mind would ever fancy him.

His father had lost patience with him long ago. So had his brother, who had married three years ago and produced two sons in rapid succession. Matthew had always been a rebel. Clarissa had frequently shaken her head at him, but she had rarely if ever scolded him. She had always listened to him and sympathized with him, for she knew that all his bad behavior was a cry for help, a plea to be accepted and loved for who he was. She had once held him in her arms while he wept on her shoulder, though he had been only ten at the time. It had not happened again.

It was all stupidity. For Matthew Taylor just did not know who he was or where he belonged in life. And he had been blessed with the worst possible family to help him find answers—in Clarissa's opinion anyway. They were well-meaning. She was sure that deep down they loved him and were genuinely concerned about his future. But they had not an ounce of imagination among them. They simply could not understand that Matthew would never fit into any mold of their devising. The more they tried to insist, the more outrageously he would rebel.

To be fair, though, she did not know how anyone could help someone who would not help himself. She had given Matthew her friendship and her love and sympathy all her life, but she knew they were not enough. At least she had let him know he was not all alone in the world, that someone cared, really cared, for the precious, intelligent, talented person who lay somewhere deep inside the troubled boy.

Yet now she was making matters worse for him, and she feared he would feel she was abandoning him. For she believed he was a fair way to being in love with her, while she was about to make a brilliant marriage with the man of every young girl's dreams.

Ah, life could be very cruel. What would become of Matthew?

Clarissa had always looked forward eagerly to the future, though she had known it would not include him. A young lady of her social stature did not marry a younger son who would have neither property upon which to settle her nor the means with which to support her in the manner to which she was accustomed. More important, he would not be able to provide their children with any sort of secure prospect for their future. It all sounded a bit calculated and unfeeling, perhaps, but it was how society worked.

Besides, she was young. She wanted everything the world had to offer her. Did that make her shallow? Surely not. The future did not just happen. At least, one did not have to let it just happen. One must try to shape it into something that would bring stability and security as well as happiness to one's life.

She desperately wanted to be the Countess of Stratton, especially as merely thinking of the earl made her feel breathless. He was terribly good-looking and amiable and charming. At tea two days ago, he had demonstrated impeccably good manners and made conversation with her parents and even with George, her twelve-year-old brother. But when he had talked to her, or listened to something she was saying, she had felt herself really seen and heard. She had felt his liking, his admiration. And it had seemed natural, not forced in any way. It perhaps seemed conceited to believe he had been enchanted with her, but...well, she really believed he had been.