Fifteen? George gave her a troubled look. At that age, girls could be very vulnerable to the attentions of handsome older men. Especially gently raised girls, who were kept so ignorant of their own bodies and how easy it was to get carried away. And girls who were due to inherit fortunes were a temptation for men who worked with their hands.

Emm, she knew, had been ruined in her youth by a handsome scoundrel of a groom. She’d lost everything—or thought she had, for years. Until Cal offered her a convenient marriage.

And as a girl, George herself had developed a very painful attachment for a young man only a few years older. He wasn’t a groom; he was worse—a gentleman. So-called. He’d been neither gentle nor honorable . . .

“Fifteen is very young,” she began.

Aunt Dottie laughed. “I know. But in that I think Rose and I are alike. She says she knew Thomas was the man for her, even though she was only sixteen, and I knew Logan was the man for me.” She laughed again. “The problem was that Logan didn’t agree. He’s terribly straitlaced, you know. It was years before he would let me kiss him properly, and even then he refused to let it go any further. I had to have two whole seasons before we so much as kissed. Such a waste of time—though those London balls were lovely. I did have a lot of fun in my seasons, and several very flattering offers, but of course I wasn’t interested. I’d already found my Logan.”

“But you didn’t marry him.”

“Oh, heavens no, we couldn’t let on that there was anything between us. Papa—your grandfather, dear—would have had poor Logan horsewhipped and thrown off the estate, or even bundled onto a ship and forced to emigrate. Or worse. And me married off by force to some horrid old duke—there were several who were interested.” She pulled a face. “Old goats.

“You didn’t know your grandfather, but he wasn’t a nice man. Very proud and autocratic and horridly strict—you cannot imagine. No interest in his daughters or what they wanted. Our only duty was to marry well and produce heirs for their husbands. You can see how that attitude shaped poor Aggie—she married well, but heirs?” She shook her head. “Still, you can see a little of my father in her, can’t you? The pride and arrogance and inflexibility, and she still thinks that’s all girls are for.”

George nodded. She wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive Aunt Agatha for the part—the several parts she’d played in arranging George’s own wedding. She might have accepted her betrothal now, but that didn’t justify Aunt Agatha’s deception.