Chapter Seven

"A night out at the theater!  How positively thrilling!"  If Phoebe had been a bit younger, it would not have surprised Diana in the least if the young woman had started to jump up and down on the well-sprung carriage's squabs.  "I cannot believe that Lord Hathaway has requested to escort me once we arrive at the theater!  This is simply marvelous!  Wait until all of my friends back home hear that I have been seen in the company of an actual duke!"

In truth, Diana could not believe Phoebe's luck either.  However the proof - in the form of Miss Banbrook herself - had been waiting in Diana's family's drawing room when she returned from her drive with Lachlan.  Who by sheer coincidence had also requested that Diana attend the opening performance of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing that evening where they were to be guests in the private box of Lord and Lady Radcliffe.  The very same performance that Phoebe was attending with Lord Hathaway.  The girl practically squealed the delightful - to Phoebe anyway - news in Diana's ear when she hopped about the Westfield drawing room like a rabbit on springs.

Phoebe had both received and accepted the invitation when she had been out driving in Hyde Park with the duke, something else that had surprised Diana.  The silly chit had also insisted to Hathaway that, as Diana was helping Phoebe to enter society properly, she would be more than willing to act as chaperone.  After all, it wasn't as if Hathaway and Diana were a potential match any longer, at least according to the indomitable and very silly Miss Banbrook.  It was clear, however, based on the expression on Ursula Saintwood's face that she was not pleased one bit by this announcement and did not expect Diana to be either.

Phoebe also wanted to travel to the theater with Diana in the Saintwood family's coach, as it was, according to her, ever so comfortable.  More so than even the Banbrook's, even though to Diana's way of thinking that was not possible.  She sincerely doubted that the Earl of Hollinworth purchased poor quality carriages.  And since, according to Phoebe, they were going to travel to Drury Lane together, why not dress together as well?  In the younger woman's mind, it would be such fun, almost like when she had village girls back home sleep over at her father's house.

Except that Phoebe hadn't truly thought through the practicalities of that last suggestion however, as was her habit, Diana was quickly coming to realize.  Still, the young woman would not leave the Saintwood town home without the promise of Diana's company for the evening.  In fact, Diana was rather certain that if Phoebe had felt she could have gotten away with it, she would have indulged in a full-blown temper tantrum in order to get her own way.

Truly, the last thing Diana wanted was to accompany Phoebe to the theater and sit in Hathaway's box like some dowdy old maid.  She did not want to play chaperone, either, especially not when she finally had a suitor of her own.  One that she liked very much.  Especially his kisses.

When Diana had protested that she had already accepted Lord Hallstone's invitation to sit in the Duke of Radcliffe's box, that had sent Phoebe into a rather spectacular pout, something that Diana had not thought the young lady in question capable of in the least.  Phoebe had also complained that this was her one chance with the duke, especially since he had made his feelings - or lack thereof - towards Diana plain.  And really, Phoebe insisted, she quite liked the man.  And his wealth.  And his title, which, of course, went without saying.

That last bit had nearly caused Diana's mother to resort to violence.  Or at the very least some fit of madness as she had begun sputtering incoherent words and was turning a rather alarming shade of purple.  All the while, Diana stood there in the middle of the room, mute, while words and actions swirled around her, unable to get in a single word between Phoebe's endless chatter and her mother's garbled, rage-filled words.  Thankfully, Diana's father, upon hearing the ruckus in the drawing room, had once more left the safety of his study to intervene.  It was at times like that when Diana was truly grateful for her father's steadying influence on all of their lives.

Viscount Westfield had made the rather sensible suggestion that Phoebe return to Lord and Lady Hollinworth's home and dress for the evening while Diana readied herself here at home as well.  Then Diana, along with Marie, would arrive at the Hollinworth's town home later that evening in the Westfield coach to collect Phoebe so that both young ladies could be on their way to the theater.  Once there, Diana could join "her young man," as her father had already taken to calling Lachlan in the span of a single afternoon, since Lord and Lady Radcliffe were more than appropriate chaperones for Diana.  Marie could then accompany Phoebe to Hathaway's box since the duke's sister, Lady Sophia, was hardly considered an appropriate chaperone, though it was understood that she would be present as well.  Even if the duke's mother was there - which no one was certain she would be - it would not matter and all proprieties would be observed.

It was a splendid plan and one that Diana silently thanked her father for as the carriage rolled forward a bit in line, ever closer to the steps of the theater.  She had expected that opening night would be crowded of course, but she had not been prepared for such a crush.

"This will be your first time at the theater, will it not, Phoebe?" Diana asked, a bit surprised that Lady Hollinworth had allowed the girl out of the house in a deep blue sapphire dress that was not at all appropriate for a girl so young.  Or so innocent.

"It will be," Phoebe practically sighed, delight mixed with a good dose of anticipation.  Then she searched Diana's face, as if looking for confirmation of something.  "You do not mind that Lord Hathaway asked me to accompany him this evening, do you?"  Phoebe was doing her best to appear as if she had a true concern for Diana's feelings on the matter, but by now, Diana knew that it was most likely the girl did not.  Miss Banbrook had come to London to secure a splendid match and would accept nothing less than a duke if she could manage it.  "I would not wish to offend you.  It is merely that after the other night...well, I did not think you would mind.  Though I am sorry about informing the duke that you would chaperone us.  It did not occur to me that you might have an engagement this evening as well."

No, it probably would not have, Diana thought to herself, and in another time, Phoebe would have been correct.  But that was before Lachlan and his desire to court her, even if it was only for appearances and only then because he was smitten with her to some degree.  The situation was different now, and Phoebe needed to understand that she could not go promising away another's time.  Even if Diana had not accepted Lachlan's invitation, Phoebe's actions were still far from appropriate.

"I am not bothered in the least that you are meeting Lord Hathaway."  It was nothing less than the truth.  Diana refused to admit to this woman that the dream of him as her husband had died long ago.  She had simply clung to the notion for so long merely because it had been what her mother desired.  For Diana, it was simply easier not to argue.  "However, you cannot simply assume that someone - whether it is me or Sophia or another lady of your acquaintance - will always be available to accompany you on such short notice.  Nor should you give away another's time as you did mine.  Tonight it has worked out for the best, but it may not always."  Diana knew she sounded like an old maid but she could not help it.  Phoebe really did need to learn some boundaries.  So much for her supposedly courtly manners that had been so highly touted but a few days earlier.

Diana also suspected that at least some of the girl's innocence a few days ago had been all an act, as if she was judging the situation, deciding how much she could get away with and what she likely could not.  Phoebe was clever, probably more so than was good for her.  Diana would grant her that.  However clever and cunning often had dangerous consequences.  Diana knew she would do well to keep her guard up around the young woman.  Phoebe Banbrook was not nearly as innocent as she pretended to be.

"But then I would have had to turn down the duke's invitation."  Phoebe did not sound as if she cared for that idea at all.

"Perhaps.  But perhaps not."  Diana said the words as gently as she could.  "In any case, the proper and polite thing to do would have been to accept the invitation with the caveat that you would need a chaperone in case his mother was not available."

For a long time, Phoebe said nothing, the lamp inside the coach casting dark shadows across her face.  Then finally she nodded and heaved a great sigh, one which Diana suspected was more for effect than anything.  "Very well.  It seems foolish, as this is not the way of things back home, but I will allow that you probably know more on this topic than I do."

Diana resisted the urge to remind Phoebe that she was no longer a young girl in Ipswich, but decided it was unnecessary.  The point had been made and all had worked out well in the end.  Not to mention that Diana was unwilling to allow Phoebe to spoil the evening for her.  For the first time in longer than she cared to remember, Diana had an actual escort for the evening - the Marquess of Hallstead.  Lachlan.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, the Saintwood carriage rolled to a stop at the steps of the theater and the two ladies disembarked, followed closely by Marie.  Diana felt a little foolish in her sage green watered silk gown, especially next to Phoebe in her stunning dark blue confection that made her appear far older than her scant eighteen years.  Diana's only consolation was that her gown was a Madame LaVallier creation and Phoebe's was not.

Diana hated that she was feeling so petty and petulant that evening.  It was unlike her, after all.  However, her new and growing feelings for Lachlan - not to mention his delicious kisses - were building turmoil inside of her unlike anything she had ever known.  She truly wasn't bothered by Hathaway's treatment of her.  In fact, she was rather glad of it.  However, in a very short time, Lachlan had turned all Diana knew upside down, making her question the path for her life that she had been following for a very long time.

It was also one of the reasons Diana had not been particularly disturbed when Phoebe had announced she was meeting Lord Hathaway at the theater.  The duke did not inspire half of the feelings in her that Lachlan did.  He never had and it was unlikely that he ever would.  She simply did not care for the man, at least as a wife should feel for her husband.  Not to mention that marriage to a duke was her mother's dream.  It was not Diana's and never had been.  Not even when she had been a child.

As they stepped out of the carriage, Diana was surprised to see Lord Hathaway already there and waiting for Phoebe.  He looked, well, Diana would not want to call it happy precisely, but he wasn't scowling or looking as if he had just swallowed a live toad either.  That was his usual expression on most occasions, at least in her opinion.  If Diana had to venture a guess, she might say that he looked almost eager for the young woman's company.

Since Phoebe was the first out of the carriage, due largely to her impatience more than anything else, the duke easily snagged her by the arm, leaving poor Marie, who had been behind Diana exiting the conveyance, to scurry behind the couple, trying to keep up.  Diana could hear the maid uttering a string of French obscenities under her breath, which made Diana think that Phoebe did not speak nor even understand the foreign language.  If she had, the poor girl would have been blushing all the way down her neck.  Not even her thick cascade of sable-brown hair could have hidden it.

Unfortunately, since Hathaway only had eyes for Phoebe, he hadn't noticed that Diana had stepped from the Saintwood's carriage and required assistance as well.

Men, Diana thought to herself in disgust as she watched the trio wind their way up the stairs and through the crowd after a kind footman hurried to assist Marie onto the massive marble staircase.  They cannot see what is right in front of their faces.  He would not know another lady was present if he tripped over her.

"I would know if there was another lady present, I assure you.  Especially if that lady is you."

Diana looked up to see Lachlan waiting for her, looking far more dashing than Hathaway could ever hope to in a silver-hued waistcoat and topcoat of midnight blue superfine that matched his eyes perfectly.

"Did I actually utter that last part aloud?  I truly did not mean to," she whispered as she took the arm he offered her, embarrassed now and afraid that the marquess would think her either a ninny or still infatuated with the duke.  "I was just..."

"Frustrated.  I know."  Lachlan's gaze followed the path Hathaway and Phoebe had cut through the mass of people.  "She is a handful, I dare say, and the man can be a lout most of the time.  The lass is trouble, and do not think it has gone unnoticed.  Nor has his seeming infatuation with her.  I fear this can come to no good end."

At that, Diana began to fret.  "Oh dear.  Should I speak to Lady Hollinworth, I wonder?  I don't wish Phoebe's actions to reflect badly upon her.  She's a very kind and gracious woman."

Lachlan shook his head as he steered Diana gently through the crowd.  "No, lass.  Let that one be.  She is beyond your ability to help her.  She will either snare her duke or she will return home in disgrace.  I could tell from the moment I met her at the jeweler's that there are only two paths for her in life.  It will be one or the other, and you'll not dissuade her from it." Then he grinned at her, a rather wolfish look that sent shivers of heat racing along her spine.  "Besides.  I thought you no longer cared for the duke."

He was teasing.  Diana knew that.  However she felt the need to reassure Lachlan that she was not disappointed in the turn of events, for despite his air of jaded sophistication she detected a hint of uncertainty in his tone.  "I don't.  Care for him, I mean.  I'm not certain I ever did."  Then she lowered her lashes a bit, playing the coy debutante that she had never truly been but in this moment wanted to be.  "At the moment, all I can think of is a certain marquess that has quite captured my imagination.  And perhaps more."  She was flirting with scandalous behavior, she knew.  However she could not quite bring herself to care.

"Ach, love."  Lachlan tucked her more securely against his side, his hand resting possessively over top of hers.  "No more of that or I just might spirit you away to Tinsburg Castle, my family's home in the Highlands, and be done with it.  And we've only just begun to properly court.  You tempt me to break the rules, lass, and we both know I don't wish to do that."

As they walked through the throng of people into the theater, Diana replayed Lachlan's words to her just now over and over in her mind.  Did he realize that he had called her "love"?  Probably not.  It was a term men used often towards women they were fond of, and it was well established that Lachlan was extremely fond of her, even though they did not precisely know each other well.  

More importantly, would he really whisk her off to Scotland if he had the chance?  Again, probably not.  After all, Claire was there and she had made it clear she wanted to be Lachlan's wife after his father passed.  Then again, Gretna Green was in Scotland, too.  In fact, marriage in Scotland was very different than it was in England.  All one really needed was a blacksmith and for some reason, Diana suspected there was most likely one not far from Lachlan's castle.

But Diana had the impression that Lachlan, despite his name and his accent, was more English than Scottish.  He would not risk her reputation - or his, especially the family one he was so desperately attempting to rebuild - for such a fool's errand.  He could not desire her that much.  No man could.  But there was a part of her that wanted him as well.  And it made her think that this pretend courtship - if that was truly what it was - might not be such a good idea after all.  After their carriage ride that afternoon and more of his sinfully delightful kisses, she was no longer certain what this game was that they were engaged in.  Or if she wanted to stop playing and move on to the real thing.

"Of all the comedies, I do enjoy this one the most.  There is a timelessness to such a love story, is there not?  Even when wrapped in the guise of a comedy.  I have not enjoyed myself like this in ever so long."  Lady Julia Radcliffe's smile was among the most serene and peaceful that Diana had ever seen.  Not to mention that the woman dazzled everyone around her with a simple glance, like the truly radiant new mother that she was.  Around the Radcliffe's private box, the rise and fall of the crowd's conversation at intermission seemed to flow like a river, adding a surprisingly relaxing backdrop to the evening.

"I quite agree, my lady.  About all of it, actually."  And Diana did agree.  Though she often times preferred The Bard's tragedies, there was something about his comedies that appealed to her as well, at least if they were performed correctly.  Tonight's actors were a cut above the usual talent for Drury Lane, which only enhanced Diana's enjoyment.

"Please.  Call me Julia.  I know we are in public, but it is foolish to stand on formalities after so long."  Then she cast a long look at where Lord Hallstone sat conversing with Lord Radcliffe.  "And unless I miss my guess, you might be joining the ranks of us married women soon enough."

Diana shook her head, praying that the usual tell-tale blush that appeared when she thought of Lachlan did not spread across her cheeks.  She also prayed that the dim lighting in the theater might hide the blush if it did.  "Oh, no.  Lord Hallstone is just...that is to say..."  Then she sighed.  "Very well.  I do not know what we are, precisely.  I like him.  Rather a lot.  And I know that he enjoys my company as well.  We have also agreed to court.  I think.  But there are outside factors."

"There always are, Diana.  There always are."  Then Julia rose from her seat and looked out across the theater where people were shuffling about, the heavy red velvet curtains that hung from the wall fluttering in the breeze, indicating that the theater's large rear doors were probably open on such a blasted hot spring night.  "But let us not spoil such a fine evening with debate about the state of such things.  As I said, it is a fine night, the first I am out with my husband since the babe was born.  We must leave early, I know, but I think a bit of a stroll is in order first.  It feels simply wonderful to be seen on my husband's arm again and not looking like an overstuffed armchair ready to burst."  Then without waiting for Diana's approval, Julia took her friend's hand and they departed through the red velvet curtain that separated the private theater box from the hallway.

As soon as they stepped outside and into the hall, they were practically mobbed by well-wishers, mostly women who wanted to congratulate Julia on successfully bringing the new Radcliffe heir into the world.  Even though the duke and duchess had only recently hosted the Crystal Ball, this was Lady Radcliffe's first foray back into society outside of her own home and everyone, or so it seemed, wanted a moment of her time.  For a woman who had once been considered an outcast, it was a lovely change and Diana was truly happy for her friend.

Not wishing to intrude, Diana took a step back so that others might congratulate the duchess when she spotted her brother Oliver and Patience a bit down the hall.  Or rather, Oliver with another drink in his hand, and Patience hanging onto the arm of Lord Henry Fontaine, the future Comte de LaCroix.  There were a few members of French nobility who had enough English blood to mix in with the ton, and Fontaine was one of them.  He also looked completely petrified as Patience hung off his arm like some sort of strange ornamentation bent on sexual seduction.

It was the ugly scene from the Crystal Ball all over again, and Diana fought back another sigh.  She truly wished that her brother would either talk to his wife about her unseemly behavior or send her to the country where she could do no more harm.  Allowing her to run amok in society did no one any good and certainly did the family as a whole no credit.  Then Diana thought of Lachlan and his quest to restore his family's name after all of the damage his father had wrought.  Would Oliver's child - the very same child that nearly all of society knew was a bastard - some day have to do the same?  Only in this case because of what his mother had done?  Diana prayed that would not be the case.  Though she was also afraid that she was wrong.

When Fontaine finally managed to break free of Patience's clawing grasp and scoot off down the hall, Diana decided that a chat with her family was in order.  She would not berate them now, of course, but she did want to know exactly how foxed her brother was.  If he was not up to fulfilling his duties as the next viscount due to excessive drink, that was something their father needed to know.  Now.  She did not wish to snitch on her brother but the truth was, when her beloved papa passed, their mother's security would likely be in Oliver's hands.  Possibly Diana's as well if she did not marry.  If Oliver was a drunkard who allowed his wife to rule him - or worse, an inveterate gambler or a man who allowed his wife to drain the family coffers on useless fripperies - then her father needed to know now rather than after it was too late.

Diana had taken only a few steps when a hand latched on to her upper arm.  She looked up to see the familiar face of Lord Horace Manfield, the current Viscount Northrup, and a known womanizer.  He was nearly twenty years older than Diana and had already been through three wives without begetting an heir.  There were rumors that when his wives were unable to bear him children, he had them killed, making it look like accidents.  She wasn't certain she believed that, but then again, she wasn't certain he did not do those things, either.  He looked like the type of man who would harm a woman if she displeased him.  According to Eliza, the man's estate was also in a shambles, and he lacked the proper funds to restore it.  It was something of an embarrassment to him, which also heightened his temper at times.

This was the sort of man Lachlan had warned her about avoiding once it became known that she was no longer claimed by Hathaway.  Conversely, once it was known that Lachlan was courting her, men like Northrup might stay away, not wishing to anger a marquess, even a half-Scottish one.  Especially a half-Scottish one.  Except that Lachlan hadn't quite made his intentions to pursue her clear just yet.  Then again, even if he had, Northrup might just be desperate enough not to care.

Diana wished she had thought to mention to Lachlan that she and Julia were stepping outside the box for some air.  For at some point, Julia and her crowd of admirers had moved away, probably back into their respective boxes.  Unfortunately, Oliver and Patience had disappeared as well, most likely when the house lights dimmed a bit, indicating that the play was about to resume.  She was well and truly alone in the hallway with a man she had no wish to further her acquaintance with. 

"My lord."  Diana gave Lord Northrup a polite but curt nod.  "I would thank you to release me.  I do not know you well enough for such familiarities."

"But you know Hallstone well enough, don't you?  And he's a libertine if there ever was one.  Just like his father."  The man's breath stunk of cheap whiskey and suddenly Diana felt more than a little afraid.  It was not a feeling she was accustomed to, for in general, she was well liked and well regarded by most of society.  No one had cause to wish her harm.  "You know him well enough to go driving in the park.  Everyone saw you making calf eyes at the man like the little trollop you are.  So why not give the rest of us poor men a chance?"  

His words were slightly slurred and all Diana wanted to do was get away.  She doubted that Northrup would harm her, especially in such a public place, but if the man was truly desperate, then he might do something rash like kiss her.  Or worse.  That would ruin her, which she suspected had been the man's plan from the moment he saw her relatively alone in the hallway.

"Lord Northrup, please let go of me."  The hallway was darkening and once the performance started, Diana doubted that anyone would hear her if she screamed.  Then again, they might and if they did, that would be giving the nasty man precisely what he wanted.

"Just a little taste, my sweet," he cooed in such a sickening voice that all Diana wanted was to take a good long soak in her favorite copper tub to wash herself clean of the man's oily charms.  "I know that Hathaway thought you weren't quite the thing, but he's a finicky man.  The rest of us?  Not nearly so much.  Especially when you come with such a nice consolation prize."

Diana felt sick to her stomach and she remembered Lachlan's warnings about how some of the men in society viewed her now, about her dowry and the rumors that she was tossed aside because she failed to please the duke in bed.  None of it was true, of course, but then, there were people in the world stupid enough to believe just about anything.  Clearly, Lord Northrup was one such man.

She attempted to wrench her arm free once more, but the man's grip was tight.  "I will ask you once again, my lord," she ground out through clenched teeth, "to please let me go."  In truth, Diana was terrified, her stomach clenching in fear as the man held her in his iron grip.  She wanted to go home.  She wanted Lachlan.  More than anything she wanted to see his smiling face and laughing eyes and know that she was protected.  He would keep her safe.  He would not allow any harm to befall her.  He had promised.

Oh God!  Where was he when she needed him the most?

"Oh, you're going, my sweet," Northrup whispered, "straight to my bed so I can claim you.  And that delicious dowry of yours when your papa finds out what we've done."

"No.  I said no!"  Diana attempted to fight the rising panic that filled her throat with bile.  She had finally been set free from a prison not of her making.  She had only felt the first stirrings of passion with Lachlan.  She wanted more of that.  She wanted more of him.  In that moment, he was what she longed for, something she had never thought possible.  "Please.  Don't do this.  Let me go."  Except that she was losing the battle, Northrup dragging her farther down the hallway, farther away from the Radcliffe's box.  Away from Lachlan.

She thought she might be ill as she scratched and clawed at Northrup as best she could, her blows from her fists landing ineffectively on his shoulder.  Her body was alternately hot and cold, sweat running down her brow as she attempted to dig the heels of her slippers into the carpet with little effect.  If Northrup managed to get her outside and into his carriage, that would be the end of her.  Nothing her father - or Lachlan - could do would prevent the inevitable and she would most likely meet the same fate as the previous three Lady Northrups.  Dead - either in a carriage accident like the first or fallen from a tree like the second.  She wasn't certain how the third one had died.

With that image in her mind, Diana fought harder, her fingers scrabbling against the wall as Northrup dragged her along.  She knew she was making noise, far too much for it to go unnoticed, but she no longer cared.  All she wanted to do was get away.  Surely someone would believe she was an unwilling victim.  She prayed that it was so, even though she knew it was unlikely.

Just as she saw the stairs come into view, their progress suddenly stopped and the hand that had been wrapped around her arm was gone, setting her free.  In her haste to get away, she stumbled and landed on the floor in an inglorious heap.  However, she was able to gather her wits enough to look up and see her rescuer.    Her heart leapt in her chest when she realized it was Lachlan.  He had come for her!  And as foolish as that might make her, she was more grateful than he would ever know.

"I believe the lady asked you to release her.  Politely.  I am asking now with far less grace than she showed."  There was a quiet anger in Lachlan's voice.  Diana had heard that same tone before when Lord Breckenright had nearly challenged a man to a duel the previous season.  A bellowed threat was one thing, but a quietly stated one was far more dangerous, at least in her opinion.

"I didn't mean any harm," Northrup sneered, casting a glance at where Diana still sat on the floor, though she was doing her best to right herself.  "And it's not like the chit is an innocent any longer.  We all know why Hathaway tossed her over.  You just got to her first."

With a low hiss of rage, Lachlan lashed out, striking the man in the nose, quite possibly breaking it given the crunch of bone that accompanied the hit.  Diana yelped but quickly covered her mouth with her hand, not wanting to attract any more attention than they probably already were.

"Do not speak to the lady ever again," Lachlan growled, still shaking his hand from where he had connected with Northrup's nose.  "And if I ever see you or hear of you coming near the lass again, it will be pistols at dawn.  Do I make myself clear?"  Then he reached into his jacket and tossed down a handkerchief to the man.  Northrup's nose was now spouting blood like a fountain, staining his cravat dark with his own blood.  "She is an innocent lady and you and your ilk would do well to remember that."  He was not precisely quiet about his last sentence either.

Behind her, Diana could hear the swish of velvet curtains being opened and could nearly feel the stares of those peering into the hallway to see what the fuss was about.  After all, this was much greater fun than anything occurring on the stage and she knew it.  Despite his claims that he did not know the intricacies of London society, Lachlan apparently knew it as well.

With a sharp turn, he reached down and offered a Diana a hand so that she might stand up more easily.  "My lady.  Shall we depart?  I find that I have lost my taste for the theater."

On unsteady legs, Diana placed her hand on Lachlan's arm and allowed him to lead her from the theater, never more grateful for the hard bunch of muscle beneath her touch.  This man would defend her.  He already had.  And she lost one more little piece of her heart to him, one more that she was not certain she could ever get back.  Or if she even wanted to.