A fire burned sedately in the hearth of rose-grained marble. Atop the mantel were silver-framed photos, the delicate silver candlesticks with the slim white tapers she loved to burn at night. And the Dresden bud vase that held the single white rose Peter had sent that morning.

There was the desk where she had studied all the way through high school, where she would continue to study through what was left of her senior year.

Odd, she mused, tracing a hand over it, she didn’t feel like a high school student. She felt so much older than her contemporaries. So much wiser, so much more sure of where she was going.

This was the room of her childhood, she thought, of her youth and of her heart. As Templeton House was the home of her heart. Though she knew she would never love any place as much, she was prepared, even eager to build a new home with the man she loved.

At last, she turned and looked at herself in the cheval glass. And smiled. She’d been right about the dress, she decided. Simple, clean lines suited her small frame. The scoop neckline, the long, tapered sleeves, the straight column that skimmed down to flirt with her ankles—the effect was classic, dignified, and perfect for a woman who met Peter Ridgeway’s standards.

She might have preferred that her hair be straight and flowing, but since it insisted on curling frivolously, she’d swept it up. It added maturity, she thought.

She would never be bold and sexy like Margo, or casually intriguing like Kate. So she would settle for mature and dignified. After all, those were qualities that Peter found appealing.

She so badly wanted to be perfect for him. Tonight—especially tonight.

Reverently she picked up the earrings that had been her parents’ birthday gift. The diamonds and sapphires winked flirtatiously back at her. She was smiling at them when her door burst open.

“I am not putting that crap all over my face.” Flushed and flustered, Kate continued her argument with Margo as both of them strode inside. “You have enough on yours for both of us.”

“You said Laura would be the judge,” Margo reminded her, then stopped. With an expert’s eye she studied her friend. “You look fabulous. Dignified sex.”

“Really? Are you sure?” The idea of being sexy was so thrilling, Laura turned back to the mirror. All she saw was herself, a small young woman with anxious gray eyes and hair that wouldn’t quite stay in place.

“Absolutely. Every guy at the party is going to want you, and be afraid to ask.”

Kate snorted and plopped onto Laura’s bed. “They won’t be afraid to ask you, pal. You’re a prime example of truth in advertising.”