Next to Beryl, Grayson had been her dearest friend, and she had once thought he always would be. But then he had said he loved her. It was absurd, of course, and she had told him so. She’d told him the love he felt for her was that of one friend for another. He had argued that it was entirely different. That he hadn’t realized the difference until he was about to lose her. Nonsense, she’d said. Why, she was about to be wed and he was being silly. He was simply trying to save her from marrying without the kind of love she’d always said she wanted. He’d then made an absurd charge that she would marry him if he were wealthy and titled. She’d snapped at that comment and said, as he wasn’t, it was a moot point. She’d regretted it the moment the words were out of her mouth, but it was too late. It was as if she had slapped him, hard. She’d ignored the look in his eyes because she couldn’t bear that she had hurt him and said she was quite fond of Harold and they would have a lovely life together. She still recalled how Grayson had stared at her for an endless moment and then nodded, wished her well and took his leave.

Camille had collapsed onto this very sofa then and noted the odd tremble in her hands and the lump in her throat and the shock that held her in its grip. And she admitted to herself for the first time that, of course, she loved him. She had always loved him. But he had never behaved toward her as anything other than a friend, treated her as a sister really. She had long before recognized and accepted that there could never be anything between them but friendship; even if she did, on occasion, wish it could be otherwise. And until he had put his feelings into words, she had not really recognized her own. But it was too late. She was to marry Harold. He was the type of man she’d been raised to marry and she had given her word, after all. Besides, he was a very nice man and she would not have hurt him for anything in the world.

But if a man truly loved a woman, would he give up so easily? Wouldn’t he fight for her? Wouldn’t he appear at the last possible moment and sweep her away? Like a prince in a fairy tale? And wouldn’t another very nice man see the truth of it all and graciously step aside?