After all she had no reason to be sure that he thought her important enough.
Roxana had lived in Amsterdam long enough to know that the social protocol was almost sacred to those at Court and to the Dutch Burghers and their wives.
The Count was near the top of a pyramid that rose higher and higher until it reached the Queen.
Could she really expect that he, a close relative of the Queen Dowager, an exceedingly wealthy man, and without doubt the most eligible bachelor in the country, would be prepared, however perfect their love might be, to marry a girl of whom he knew nothing except that she was the step-niece of a Missionary?
It was as if a cold hand clutched at Roxana’s heart.
At the same time some pride in her blood made her vow to herself that she would not tell him who her paren
