Rendezvous by Amanda Quick

with its daringly cut neckline edged with tiny satin roses. It was Betsy who had chosen the matching satin slippers and elbow-length gloves. And it was Betsy who had decided to dress Augusta’s dark chestnut brown hair in the Grecian style. The cascading ringlets bobbed about wildly as Augusta stalked back and forth.
    “I fail to see the problem,” Claudia murmured. “I had the impression you were growing rather fond of Graystone.”
    “That is simply not true.”
    “Come, now, Augusta. Even Papa noticed your interest in the earl and remarked upon it just the other day.”
    “I asked to read a copy of one of Graystone’s recent treatises on some moldering old Roman, that’s all. You can hardly call that a sign of deep fondness.”
    “Well, be that as it may, I am not surprised Papa went ahead and accepted Graystone’s offer on your behalf. He assumed you would be delighted, as indeed you should be. It is a wonderful match, Augusta. You cannot deny it.”
    Augusta stopped pacing long enough to give her cousin an anguished glance. “But don’t you see, Claudia? Tis all a
mistake
. Graystone would never have asked for my hand in marriage. Never in a million years. He thinks me a terrible hoyden, an unruly scapegrace who is always one step away from falling into a scandal broth. To him I am an ungovernable little baggage. In his eyes I would make a most unsuitable countess. And he is quite right.”
    “Nonsense. You would make a lovely countess,” Claudia said loyally.
    “Thank you.” Augusta groaned in frustrated annoyance. “But you are quite wrong. Graystone has already been married to a most suitable female, from what I have heard, and I have no desire to try to live up to my predecessor’s standards.”
    “Oh, yes. He was married to Catherine Montrose, was he not? I seem to recall Mother talking about her. Mrs. Montrose was a great believer in the value of Mother’s books for young ladies. She raised Catherine on them, I believe. And Mother always claimed Catherine Montrose was a fine example of the efficacy of her instructional techniques.”
    “What a jolly notion.” Augusta went to the window and stood gazing forlornly down into the gardens behind the town house. “Graystone and I have absolutely nothing in common. We are violently opposed on all the modern questions. He does not care for free-thinking females, you know. He has made that quite clear. And he does not even know the half of it. He would no doubt have a fit of the vapors if he realized some of the things I have done.”
    “I cannot envision Lord Graystone having a fit of thevapors under any circumstances, and in any event I do not think you behave so very poorly, Augusta.”
    Augusta winced. “You are too generous by half. Believe me, Claudia, Graystone cannot possibly want me for his bride.”
    “Then why did he ask for your hand?”
    “I do not believe he did,” Augusta announced grimly. “In fact, I am certain he did not. As I told you, it was all a ghastly error. He no doubt thought he was asking for your hand.”
    “Mine?” Claudia’s cup clattered in the saucer. “Good heavens. That is impossible.”
    “Not at all.” Augusta frowned intently. “I have been thinking about it and I can see precisely how the mistake occurred. Graystone no doubt arrived here this afternoon and asked for the hand of a
Miss Ballinger
. Uncle Thomas persuaded himself the earl meant me because I am the eldest. But of course he did not. He meant you.”
    “Really, Augusta. I doubt Papa would have made a mistake of that magnitude.”
    “No, no, it is entirely possible. Uncle Thomas is always mixing us up. You know that. Only think of all the times he calls one of us by the other’s name. He gets so involved in his studies that he frequently forgets us altogether.”
    “It does not happen all that often, Augusta.”
    “But you must agree it has happened,” Augusta insisted. “And in this situation where he no doubt wanted to convince