“But they do matter,” she protested gently, her tears threatening to spill over. “They’re the ton. They represent everything I have sought to return to. They represent success and achievement and every good thing. Even you must acknowledge that.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “If you really cared for what any of them thought of you, my dear wife, you would not have accidentally lost control of a punch bowl while it was over Lady Brindley’s head. The only achievement and success they represent has to do with the sheer luck of having been born into one of the noble class.”

“But—”

He whirled her into silence for a moment. “Charlotte, they are only people, not gods. They have sins and failures and bad habits just as everyone else does.”

She thought about that for a moment. “That may be, but they look perfectly elegant while they are sinning and failing and indulging in bad habits.”

His gaze softened upon her lovely face as he noted the tears had disappeared unshed. “Appearance is not everything, my lady.”

“Is it not?”

Her eyes were bright, brilliant as the summer sky, her lips parted slightly, beckoning him with a siren song to taste them just once, her curls tipped with molten gold by the candlelight, her skin not the pale, flawless alabaster so popular with ladies of the ton, but a darker hue, honey-warm and flushed with life, as if she had spent time unprotected in the sun. “No,” he said softly, almost without realizing he was speaking aloud. “I do not suppose you can understand what it is to look beneath an appearance when yours is so perfect.”

She even blushed beautifully, her cheeks brushed with dusky rose. “I’m not perfect. My nose is exactly one quarter of an inch too long. My left eyebrow is unruly in the morning, and often requires a strict hand to conform it to the standards set by the right. One of my bosoms is larger than the other, too,” she added with a morose sigh. “I was lopsided for an entire year when I was sixteen. I feared they would never match, and although they are more equitable, they are still not identical. I cannot begin to tell you what a trial it is to have unequal bosoms. It weighs upon my soul quite heavily.”

Dare tried to hold onto a dignified mien, but it was a lost cause. He laughed again, shaking his head at his own folly, knowing that she did not see things as he did, that for her, appearance would be all. Inside him, deep inside where he kept his secret dreams, he mourned the dying hope that she would one day learn to value the things he did—honor, determination, strength in the face of adversity. He was honest enough to admit he didn’t want to change her, just to help her to look beyond the obvious. Perhaps sometime in the future she might be able to see what he saw, but until then… “Charlotte, you are the only woman I know who has a soul made heavy by the state of her breasts.” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “As an unbiased witness to them, I am happy to reassure you that any imperfections you might perceive are not visible to my eye. Or hands. Or…mouth.”