Bellona could have married Felix Prewett on the spot. (Well, that was the case on a regular basis as it was; he was handsome and eligible and she was in dire straights.) That he remained both friendly towards her and assured that she had every right to be confident was nothing shy of a miracle, and a less pragmatic husband-hunter might have swooned right then and there.

"Meekness," she offered with an almost predatory smile, "has never much been my strong suit—loath though I am, of course, to admit to any shortcoming."

Reluctant though she was to see him go—and to lose his shielding presence in this madhouse—Bellona mustered a smile for the gentleman as he departed. She still felt adrift, but rather less hopeless than she had before, though how long this effect would last, Bellona could not say.