This earned him a scowl.

"Oh, all right," he capitulated. "Tell me your objections thus far. I'll finish when you're done."

"Right. Well, first of all, I have lots of fun here in Cornwall, and I see no reason why I need to travel across the country to look for more fun. It seems deuced paganish to me."

"Deuced paganish?" he echoed in disbelief.

"Don't laugh," she warned.

"I won't," he assured her. "But deuced paganish? Where the devil did you come up with that?"

"I was merely trying to point out that I have responsibilities here and have no wish for a frivolous lifestyle. Some of us have more important things to do than fritter our time away, looking for activities with which to amuse ourselves."

"Of course."

She narrowed her eyes, trying to detect any sarcasm in his voice. Either he was serious or else he was a master at deception, because he looked utterly earnest.

"Did you have any other objections?" he asked politely.

"Yes. I will not quibble with you over the fact that I need a new wardrobe, but you have forgotten a pertinent fact. I have no money. If I couldn't afford new gowns here in Cornwall, I don't see how I could afford any in London, where everything is surely more expensive."

"I'll pay for them."

"Even I know that isn't proper, Dunford."

"It probably wasn't proper last week when we went to Truro," he acquiesced with a shrug. "But now I'm your guardian. It couldn't be more proper."

"But I cannot allow you to spend your money on me."

"Perhaps I want to."

"But you cannot."

"I believe I know my own mind," he said dryly. "Probably a bit better than you do, I imagine."

"If you want to spend your money, I'd much rather you put it into Stannage Park. We could use a bit of work on the stables, and there is a piece of land adjoining the southern border I've had my eye on—"

"That wasn't what I had in mind."

Henry crossed her arms and clamped her mouth shut, fresh out of objections to his scheme.

Dunford regarded her petulant expression and correctly guessed that she was ceding the floor to him. "If I may continue...Let me see, where was I? Fun, wardrobe, oh, yes. It might do you a bit of good to get a little town polish. Even," he said loudly as he saw her mouth open in consternation, "if you have no intention of ever returning to London again. It is always good to be able to hold one's own with the best in the land—and the snobbiest, I suppose—and there is no way you'll be able to do that if you do not know what's what. The port was a good example."

A flush stained her neck.

"Any objections there?"

She shook her head mutely. She hadn't felt the need for social polish up to now; she ignored and was ignored by most of Cornwall society and was fairly content with the arrangement, but she had to admit he had a point. Knowledge was always a good thing, and it certainly couldn't hurt to learn how to comport herself a little more properly.

"Good," he said. "I always knew you had exceptional common sense. I'm glad you're showing it now."

Henry rather thought he was being somewhat condescending but decided not to comment on it.

"Also," Dunford continued, "I think it would do you a great deal of good to meet some people your age and make some friends."

"Why do you sound as if you're lecturing to an errant child?" she muttered.

"Forgive me. Our age, I should say. I'm not so very much older than you, I suppose, and my two closest female friends can't be more than a year older than you, if that."

"Dunford," Henry said, trying to stave off the embarrassed flush that was staining her cheeks, "the very reason I most object to going to London is that I don't think people will like me. I don't mind being alone here at Stannage Park, where I truly am alone. I quite like it, as a matter of fact. But I do not think I will enjoy being alone in a ballroom full of hundreds of people."

"Nonsense," he said dismissively. "You'll make friends. You just haven't been in the right situation before. Or the right clothing," he added dryly. "Not, of course, that one ought to judge a person on his or her wardrobe, but I can see where people would be slightly, er, suspicious of a female who doesn't seem to own a dress."

"And you, of course, are going to buy me a closetful of dresses."

"Just so," he replied, pointedly ignoring her sarcasm. "And don't worry about making friends. My friends will adore you; I'm sure of it. And they will introduce you to other nice people, and so on and so forth."

She didn't have any other cogent arguments on that particular point, so she had to settle for a loud grumble to express her ire.

"Finally," Dunford said, "I know you adore Stannage Park and would like to spend the rest of your life here, but perhaps, just perhaps, Henry, you might someday like to have a family of your own. It is exceedingly selfish for me to keep you here for myself, although Lord knows I would like to have you around because I'll never find an estate manager who will do a better job—"

"I'm more than happy to stay," she interjected quickly.

"Have you never given any thought to marrying?" he asked softly. "Or children? Neither is a distinct possibility if you remain here at Stannage Park. As you have pointed out, there is nobody worth his salt right here in the village, and I think you have effectively scared off most of the gentry around Truro. If you go to London, you might meet a man who captures your fancy. Maybe," he said in a teasing voice, "he will even turn out to be from Cornwall."