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handing over her torn and damaged garments, while making a huge fuss at how “sloppy” the repairs were upon their return. Alexandra always smiled and apologized. She was actually excellent with a thread and needle, and until the downturn, she had enjoyed sewing and embroidery. Now, given a choice, she doubted she would ever thread a needle again.

      But they did have clothes on their backs, a roof over their heads and food on the table. Their clothes were out of fashion and well mended, the roof leaked when it stormed, and their diet was generally limited to bread, vegetables and potatoes, with red meat on Sundays. But that was better than nothing at all.

      And her sisters did not recall a time of luncheons and balls. Alexandra was grateful for that.

      But how would they get on without credit? “I will take in more sewing,” she said, determined.

      “How can you take on more sewing? You are already up all night with the customers you have,” Corey shot back. “You have calluses on your thumbs!”

      Corey was right, and Alexandra knew it. She was only one person, and she simply couldn’t manage more work, unless she forwent any sleep at all.

      “Last summer Lord Henredon asked me if I would paint his portrait. I refused,” Olivia said quietly. While Corey was a true golden blonde, Olivia was that indistinct shade that was neither blond nor brown, but she was also very pretty. “But I could offer my services to the shire as a portrait artist. I think I could make quite a few pounds within a very short time.”

      Alexandra stared at her middle sister, dismayed. Her sisters’ happiness meant everything to her. “You are a naturalist,” she said softly. “You despise doing portraits.” But there was more. She knew that Henredon had made improper remarks to Olivia, and improper advances would no doubt have followed. Henredon was known for his gallivanting ways.

      “It is a good idea,” Olivia returned as quietly, steel in her green eyes.

      “I am hoping it will not come to that,” Alexandra said, meaning it. She was afraid her good-natured sister would be taken advantage of in many ways.

      “I doubt that will be necessary, Olivia,” Edgemont said. He turned to Alexandra. “How old are you?”

      Alexandra was mildly confused by her father’s odd question. “I am twenty-six.”

      The baron flushed. “I thought you were younger, maybe twenty-four. But you’re still an attractive woman, Alexandra, and you keep a fine household, in spite of our means, so you will be the first—to show your sisters proper respect.”

      Tension began to knot in her stomach, but she kept a firm smile in place. “I will be the first to do what, Father?” she asked with care.

      “To marry, of course. It’s high time, don’t you think?”

      Alexandra was disbelieving. “There’s no money for a dowry.”

      “I am aware of that,” Edgemont snapped. “I am very aware of that, Alexandra. Despite that, an inquiry has been made about you.”

      Alexandra pulled a chair close and sat down. Was Edgemont mad? No one would ever consider marrying an impoverished spinster of her age. Everyone in town knew of her “profession,” just as everyone knew that Edgemont gambled and drank every possible night away. The truth was that the good Bolton name was seriously tainted. “Are you serious, Father?”

      He smiled eagerly now. “Squire Denney approached me last night to ask after you—and to enquire if he could call.”

      Alexandra was so surprised that she sat up straight, causing her chair to rock on its uneven legs. Was there a chance of marriage, after all this time? And for the first time in years, she thought of Owen St. James, the man she had given her heart to so long ago.

      “You know him, of course,” her father continued, smiling at her. “You sewed his late wife’s garments for several years. He has come out of mourning now, and apparently you made a considerable impression upon him.”

      Alexandra knew she must not think of Owen now, or of the hopes and dreams they had once shared. She recalled the squire, a rather stately older man who had always been polite and respectful to her. She did not know him well, but his wife had been a valuable customer. She had been saddened for him when his wife had passed away. But now she did not know what to think.

      She trembled. When she had given up the idea of marriage nine years ago, they had still been a family with respectable means. But they had been reduced almost to abject poverty now. The squire was landed and wealthy. Marriage to him could improve their circumstances, their lives.

      “He must be sixty years old,” Corey gasped, paling.

      “He is an older man, but he is very well-off, and he is only fifty, Corey. Alexandra will have a closet full of the latest gowns. You will like that, won’t you?” He turned to her, brows raised. “He has a fine manor house. He has a carriage and a brougham.”

      Alexandra started, gathering up her wits. She had a suitor—one with means. Yes, he was an older man, but he had always been kind, and if he was inclined toward generosity, he could be a savior for their family. She thought again of Owen and his courtship, and she was saddened. She must put Owen out of her mind. Squire Denney’s suit was flattering, and more than that, it was a boon. At her age, in her circumstances, she could not expect more.

      “You know I don’t care about fashion—I care about you and the girls,” she said carefully. She stood up and dusted off her immaculate skirts, and stared carefully at her father now. He was sober, and he was no fool. “Tell me about the squire. Is he aware that there is no dowry?”

      “Oh, dear,” Olivia murmured. “Alexandra, you cannot be considering Denney.”

      “Don’t you dare even think about marrying him!” Corey exclaimed.

      Alexandra ignored their outbursts.

      Edgemont leveled a firm gaze at them both. “You two will keep your opinions to yourselves. They are not wanted. Yes, he is very aware of our predicament, Alexandra.” His stare was sharp.

      “Is there any chance he will be able and willing to contribute to this household?” Alexandra asked, after a lengthy pause.

      Corey ran over to her. “How can you consider marrying that fat old farmer?” She whirled. “You can’t marry Alexandra to him against her will!”

      Edgemont glared. “I have had enough of your harping, missy.”

      “Corey, please, I must discuss this opportunity with Father,” Alexandra said, squeezing her sister’s hand.

      “You are elegant and beautiful. You are kind and good, and he is fat and old,” Corey insisted. “This is not an opportunity. This is a fate worse than death!”

      Alexandra laid her hand on her sister’s arm. “Please calm yourself.” She faced her father. “Well?”

      “Our discussions have not taken that turn. But he is a very wealthy man, Alexandra. I have heard it said he has the largest lease of all the Harrington tenants. He will surely be generous with us.”

      Alexandra chewed on her lip, a terrible habit of hers. Lady Harrington was an old family friend; Elizabeth and Blanche had been fond of one another, once. Lady Blanche came out to Edgemont Way once or twice a year, when she was passing by, to check on Alexandra and her sisters. Alexandra no longer called on Lady Blanche, mostly because their clothes were so out of fashion and so shabby—it was too embarrassing. But it might be time to call now. Lady Blanche would certainly know all about Squire Denney.

      “Father, I will be frank. If he is inclined to be generous, I do not see how I could refuse his offer—if he truly makes one.”

      Corey cried out.

      “By God, Alexandra, you are such a fine and giving woman! You are exactly like your mother. She, too, was selfless. Morton Denney has implied he will be a benevolent son-in-law. And Olivia can certainly run this household once

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