A fortnight had passed since Tatiana had tricked a kiss from Charles Macmillan, and yet, though she had been as plain as she could possibly get away with about the opportunities he might be afforded, still the gentleman had not made her an offer of marriage. Tatiana had been generous regarding the long courtship, but if her lips on his and the thought of her body beneath his could not be relied upon to spur Mr. Macmillan into action, the debutante was beginning to wonder if he would ever get his damn act together.

Her needlework sat in her lap largely ignored, her gaze focused out the window as she ran through alternative means of attack. She could, of course, still move her sights to Mr. Rosier, but Tatiana had put a great deal of time into her current arrangement and would loathe to lose it altogether. She had thought, at first, that she might arouse jealousy in Mr. Macmillan, but plainly arousal was not working as it ought to. Risking her virtue to trap him into marriage seemed both far too risky and likely start their marriage off on less than desirable footing.

Which left her with simply waiting. Tatiana Lestrange was not a woman who enjoyed waiting for things to happ—

"Hmm?" she asked, drawn from her reverie by her cousin's voice. It took her a moment to process Valerian's words before she answered, "I like to think my thoughts to be far more valuable than a penny—a sickle, at the very least."

A small, teasing smile accompanied her words.