London, during 'The Season'.

'Don't you think you could have tried a little harder, Fij?' asked Kit in a wheedling tone.

It made Iphigenia's answer that much harder to give. Her younger brother could remind her so easily of a puppy on occasion - all youthful exuberance and little rationality. Not that he would be at all flattered by the observation, Iphigenia added scrupulously to herself. Since their arrival in town, Kit had made rather a mission of being as well dressed as any other young buck in the Metropolis, and would receive with horror the news that he impressed onlookers as anything other than excessively dashing.

'And if I lie to you, and tell you that yes, of course I could have tried harder, and wantonly let dozens of eligible offers slip through my fingers, would it make any significant difference to our situation, dear one?' Iphigenia asked patiently as she laid aside the leather-bound volume of verse she had been reading and stood up, taking an uneasy turn about the room, the creases in her muslin round dress testament to the fact that she had been reading for some time.

Kit looked troubled. He ran an unthinking hand through his dark locks, destroying forty minutes' hard work by his valet. An idea occurred to him, and his face brightened. 'I say, Fij - there's Ponsonby! Have you considered him?' he inquired hopefully.

Over her shoulder, Iphigenia turned with a short smile of tolerance and shook her head, her own chocolate-coloured curls bobbing. 'I haven't needed to consider him,' she admitted, ruefully.

Crestfallen again, Kit remarked, 'Very agreeable fellow, is Ponsonby. Daresay the two of you might hit it off well together, if the thought was suggested. Have you tried doing that?'

After a deep breath, Iphigenia attempted explanation yet again. 'No, Kit, I have not. You see, I am afraid that I simply don't see eye to eye with the rest of the polite world on the score of matrimony. A mere feeling of hitting it off with someone isn't quite enough to tempt me into wedlock with a man, be he ever so well-connected or plump in the pocket.'

The younger gentleman opened his mouth to interrupt, but his sister continued quickly, 'I have subjected the matter to ruthless introspection and I am afraid that I really would have to feel, if not love, then, at the very least, admiration and esteem above the common rate for a person with whom I would be expected to be on intimate terms for the rest of my life. Or theirs.' She sighed. She had spoken as plainly as she could, and yet, before her brother replied, she knew that he had failed to comprehend.

Eyebrows creased, mouth compressed, Kit stood up from the winged easy chair in which he had been seated, and thrust his hands into the pockets of his buff-coloured pantaloons. 'I don't see why you can't admire Ponsonby,' he said at last. 'Fellow has the best right hook I've ever seen on anyone! Why, the number of times he's cast a leveller above his weight while sparring at Jackon's ...'

Kit cast a hasty glance at Iphigenia's unmoved countenance and resumed his argument in a slightly modified form. 'And as for cards! Fellow's not a Captain Sharp, but the amount of luck he has when playing Whist or Hazard!' Kit broke into a laugh of reminiscence before an unfortunate memory came to mind. 'Of course, Faro is another matter entirely for old Pons. Almost rolled up the last time we played, in fact! However, as long as you keep him away from that particular game, there's a deuced lot to admire about the fellow.' He tweaked his shirt cuffs, and added reflectively, 'Always has a well-tailored coat, too.'

Iphigenia tried very hard not to laugh at these recommendations in favour of her brother's choice of suitor. She succeeded in keeping a straight face, although her dark eyes sparkled with merriment, and she was unable to resist saying, 'Well, I'm not trying to talk you out of accepting any offers that Ponsonby might make to you!' Mr Christopher Ffouldes, man about town, rudely poked his tongue out at his sister. She rolled her eyes and continued, 'I'm merely trying to explain that I have yet to meet anyone whom I could accept. Be they ever so impressive a boxer or at cards.' Her mouth twitched, but she overcame the desire to laugh.

This last remark was too much for Kit's delicate sensibilities. He would not be laughed at, or his wisdom dismissed. He paced the room briskly, occasionally stopping to throw dark and loaded looks in her direction.

Iphiegenia was far too used to her brother's turbulent moods to be greatly perturbed, however. She knew that he would not remain silent for long. And while she waited for him to build up sufficient ire for the outburst that she knew was coming, she amused herself by moving to the box window and looking out at the traffic passing on the street below their unfashionable townhouse: horses and carriages, sedan-chairs, women in their bonnets and high-waisted pelisses, gentlemen in tall Beaver hats and carrying canes, a crossing sweeper, the occasional liveried footman.

Hearing Kit's tread increase in tempo, Iphigenia returned her attention to the room she occupied. She made herself comfortable on the window-seat, and smoothed her skirts.

Hands behind his back, a portrait of outrage and dignity, Kit delivered himself of his grievances in a forthright manner. 'I would have expected better of you, Iphigenia.'

I cannot think of a reason why you would have, but we shall let this pass.

'You know how things stand with us. This is necessity. Not just for you, but for us all. It is essential that you make a success here in London this Season.'

Really? Oh, but it seemed such a well-kept secret!

'You know how much this has cost. How very poorly we could afford to come here at all. You're the family's last throw of the dice, my girl!'

I do know. And I have felt all along that it was a very great mistake to wager anything in the scheme at all.

'You have had every opportunity for enjoyment here in London. Nothing has been denied you.'

What? Now that is going to make me lose my temper! Every opportunity for enjoyment, indeed! How could anyone enjoy themselves under pressure of this sort? Besides, it's all been dress fittings, soirees and social calls paid to people I barely know and care nothing about. Endless afternoons of being driven around the park - no riding, of course, what a waste of time such a solitary pursuit would be! - being driven around in circles by hopelessly ineligible and intolerable parties. Nothing has been denied me except any say in the direction my life must take!


'Surely you have enough gratitude left in you to understand that all that has been required of you in return for all this freedom is that you contract an eligible alliance. You can even choose the man! And save the family from ruin.'

Freedom. Hah! ... I suppose there must be gratitude left inside me somewhere. But it's not really at the forefront of the emotions I've been feeling lately. I wonder do the prostitutes at Covent Garden feel grateful for their lot in life? Must ask one one day. ... Oh, I'm so funny.

'So small a thing is being asked of you, Fij. So small a thing and yet such consequences for us all if you succeed!'

I suppose my honour and my happiness might be counted as small things by some.

'You must see how hard it is for us to see you...' he fought for words, 'throw away our chances of redemption!'

With control, Iphigenia managed to remark quietly, 'I am not sure how I am supposed to entice men of the kind of eligibility that will save our family from the Poor House into offering for me when I am possessed of only a modicum of beauty, no personal fortune, nor any prospects of acquiring one, and no connections who are prepared to own me.'

Unwilling to see these objections as impediments to the success of the venture, Mr Ffouldes waved an arm in exasperation. 'You just ... oh i don't know! ... You use your feminine wiles and charm them into submission, I suppose!'

Mischief reared its head inside Iphigenia once again. 'I must say, Kit - what a turn of phrase! Did you come up with that yourself, or have you culled it from the pages of some lurid romance that you've been reading?' She grinned.

A hand angrily raked through Kit's hair, creating further disorder. 'Yes, well never mind that! The point is that you don't really seem to have exerted yourself to make a match with anyone.'

Breathing deeply and composing her features, Iphigenia said, 'It appears that there is no getting around the necessity of having this conversation. Very well then, we shall - but let us first understand firstly that I have been set an impossible task.' She smoothed her skirt again, and then primly folded her hands in her lap, waiting.

Thunderstruck, Kit repeated, 'Impossible?' His jaw dropped far enough to crush his very high shirt points and carefully arranged neck-cloth. Ignoring this damage to his apparel, Mr Ffouldes waited for elucidation, and when none came, continued, 'Devil take it, Fij, all you have to do is marry a man with enough blunt to rescue us from all our money troubles, and who has enough ton to lend us a bit of credit in good society!'

'What am I to use as bait for this poor man? What enticements should I offer him?' she asked calmly, staring at her brother inscrutably with large, brown eyes, full of expression.

Colouring somewhat, he replied, 'I hardly like to say, Fij. All the usual stuff no doubt.' He put up a hand in an attempt to rectify the earlier disarray to his neck-cloth.

TO BE CONTINUED VERY SOON ...