April 9, 1891

The tall, slender, golden-haired young woman fidgeting by the hall table fastened her startling green eyes on the closed door at' the left of the hall. She sighed. The sigh caused her younger cousin Lauren to look away from the window and ask, "For heaven's sake, Corinne, why are you so nervous?" Lauren Ashbum turned back to the window and studied the chilly scene across the way, her brown head tilted back. Boston Common looked so stark-row upon row of ancient trees bending to the merciless wind tearing its way toward Beacon Street and this townhouse.

Even in April, Boston was not an easy place to live. The months of cold, harsh winds and the need to stay indoors much of the time had taken a toll on the cousins. Corinne was harder to please than usual, and even sweet-tempered Lauren found herself gloomy much of the time.

"It doesn't look as though spring is coming at all this year," Lauren sighed as she fingered the rich scarlet draperies.

Corinne glanced up, her golden brows drawing together over the marvelous emerald eyes. "How can you prattle about spring at a time like this?" she snapped. Her glance moved quickly to the closed door and then back to her young cousin.

Following her gaze, Lauren shrugged. "I would think you'd be used to this by now. You've been through it twice in the last year alone."

Corinne's quick temper charged to the surface. "I shouldn't expect you to understand!" she said bitterly. "You have years before suitors will come to speak to your father. Then we'll see how you like waiting while your future is decided by men-instead of by you."

Lauren's brown eyes filled. "I do understand, Cori. I'm sixteen, only three years younger than you."

Corinne instantly regretted her sharp words. Impulsive, she was always having to apologize for angry remarks.

"I'm sorry, Cousin. It's just that I'm so nervous this time. Russell really is my last hope."

"Now why do you say that, Cori? You've had scores of suitors for the last three years, all the most handsome and well-to-do men in Boston. Don't you know how beautiful you are? If Cousin Samuel says no to Russell, there will be plenty more for you to choose from."

"No, there won't be. There are very few men like Russell."

Lauren smiled knowingly. "You mean there are very few men you can twirl around your little finger as you do Russell. Or the way you did Charles, and William before that."

"Exactly. The others just won't do."

"Russell Drayton isn't quite as timid as the other two were. I was really surprised when you chose him. But then, he has seemed to conform to your wishes."

"Russell and I have an understanding. He'll do just fine."

"I guess it's fortunate that you don't love him. At least if your father refuses him, you won't be brokenhearted."

"I will never be broken-hearted," Corinne laughed. "But Russell is going to exert himself, show he has some guts. He should be putting on quite a performance right now," she said, nodding toward the closed study door. She frowned. "The interview shouldn't be taking this long. "

"Why don't we wait in the parlor?" Lauren suggested. "This hall is too drafty."

"You go ahead. I couldn't sit still. And I want to see Russell the second he comes out."

Corinne rang the bell by the parlor door and the Barrows' butler appeared instantly from the back of the house. "Brock, Miss Ashburn will have tea in the parlor."

"Yes, Miss Barrows," the dour Brock replied. "And Mr. Drayton? Will he be staying for dinner after the interview, miss?"

Corinne stiffened. It infuriated her that the household staff always knew everything. She had just that morning decided that today would be appropriate for Russell to make his plea, what with her father's congenial mood of the last few days.

"I will let you know, Brock," she replied sharply, dismissing him.

At that moment the front door knocker sounded, startling the three. Brock moved to answer it, but Corinne stopped him, eager for any diversion. She opened the door and shivered as the chill wind swept past her into the hall, molding her blue muslin dress to her body.

The sharp, light-green eyes of a stranger met hers. The man was small and slender, with bright red hair and long sideburns extending below his bowler hat, which he was wise enough to hold in place. He was a curious little ferret-like man with a beaked nose, wearing a tight- fitting brown tweed suit.

"May I help you?" Corinne offered.

Ned Dougherty scrutinized the lovely blond girl carefully with an eye for detail, a habit necessitated by his profession. His mind registered the dark-gold hair, the slightly arched brows, the large eyes of a brilliant, clear, greenish yellow, set perfectly over the modestly curved nose. Long eyelashes fanned high cheekbones. Her lips were not too wide. Her smooth, ivory complexion and gently rounded chin blended beautifully with the lovely face.

"May I help you?" she repeated, a little sharply.

Ned cleared his throat. Hers was a face he would not forget. Nor could anyone ignore the gleaming golden hair with its coppery highlights.

"Is this the Samuel Barrows residence?"

"Yes."

Ned's sharp green eyes continued his examination, noting the slim neck, the high, pointed breasts. The dress tapered to a tiny waist and he could guess at the slim hips and long legs. She seemed about five feet seven, rather tall for a girl.

"Sir, if you do not quickly state your business, I must bid you good day." Corinne was growing impatient.

"Forgive me, miss. I am looking for a Samuel Barrows who, many years ago, visited a group of islands in the Pacific known once as the Sandwich Islands, more recently as the Hawaiian Islands."