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  Caroline watched him until he disappeared, and at that moment she could no longer help herself. The tears she had choked back, making her throat ache, came out in a great salty flood. They fell off her chin and dripped onto her clenched hands.

  They were not ladylike, diamondlike tears. They were great, gulping, ugly sobs.

  She had not cried like this since she was a little child. Now she could not stop, even though she knew she was creating a scene.

  Phoebe and Sarah knelt beside her, patting her and murmuring soothing words. Sarah pulled out a bottle of smelling salts.

  Harry fluttered about helplessly, offering handkerchiefs and saying in a quavering voice, “Oh, I say! Do let me see you ladies home or send for the physician. Or something. Anything!”

  Phoebe glared up at him. “It was your brother who caused this, Mr. Seward!”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Caroline protested through her tears. “I caused it. Every bit of it.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Phoebe soothed. “It was Lord Lyndon. Men are such beasts.”

  “I beg your pardon!” Harry cried.

  “Beasts!” Phoebe repeated loudly. She put her arm around Caroline’s shoulder and said, “Come, dear, let me take you home.”

  “I’ll see you ladies home,” Harry offered again.

  “We have our own carriage, thank you, Mr. Seward.” Phoebe and Sarah helped Caroline up between them and supported her on her injured ankle as they left the sandy shore.

  Harry trotted along behind them all the way.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Justin hardly knew where he was walking. He only knew he had to get away, to escape from the nightmare his life had suddenly become.

  He walked blindly down the shore, unaware of the waves lapping at his boots or the birds wheeling overhead. He rubbed his hand hard over his brow, but he could not blot out the vision of Caroline, Mrs. Aldritch/Archer, staring at him with wide, dark eyes in her pale face.

  What a blasted, stupid fool he had been not to see what was right before him all these weeks! Of course he recognized Caroline when he first met her, but not because of some mystical union of souls. It was because he had called on her once in her very own gaming house.

  She must have laughed at him so behind her hand. The fool who didn’t recognize her, who hung about all the time like a love-struck puppy. How easily he had fallen in with her, let her use him for her social ends.

  Justin sat down on a large chunk of wood to stare out at the sea, at the white-capped waves that danced and flowed endlessly. He knew it had been insufferably rude of him to leave her and the others alone on the shore, but he had to get out of there, to be alone. To think.

  He had thought of himself as much changed by his years in India—older and wiser. In truth, he was as silly as Harry, taken in by a pretty face and a sad air.

  What a fine actress she was. Her talents were wasted in owning a gaming house, and especially in matronly respectability. She should be treading the boards.

  He picked up a stick of wood and tossed it into the water, watching it sink beneath the waves. He should have been thinking of the future all these weeks. He should have followed his mother’s original advice and courted and married Miss Bellweather, even if she did prefer digging about in the dirt to matrimony. She never would have made him feel this way, angry and hollow inside.

  Because he had truly fallen in love with Caroline, whoever she was. He had never given his heart to any woman like this before, but she touched him with her quiet grace and understanding. He had wanted to take away the sadness in her eyes, to make her life full of nothing but happiness.

  It had all been false. All a lie.

  But even as he castigated himself for a fool, he could not forget the way she had looked under the moonlight while he kissed her.

  “Tell me, Caro, please! Tell me what happened,” Phoebe beseeched. She sat on a chair in Caroline’s bedroom, watching helplessly as her sister lay in bed, tears still trickling down her cheeks.

  Caroline shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about what had happened, or anything else. She just wanted to stay here in bed and forget. As if she would ever be able to forget at all. She would see Justin’s shocked, betrayed face in her mind forever.

  She rolled onto her side to stare out the window. She could just barely see the edge of the house next door.

  “At least let Mary and me help you into your nightdress,” Phoebe said desperately.

  Caroline looked down at herself to see that she still wore her sandy bathing costume. She sat up and reached down to pull at her stockings, taking them off and throwing them onto the floor.

  Her scarred ankle was still there. It hadn’t been erased.

  Phoebe gasped. “Caro, you’re hurt! Did Lord Lyndon do that?”

  “Of course not. It is an old scar.” Caroline rubbed at it furiously with her palm, wishing that it would vanish, and with it all the past.

  Her fingernails scraped across the swollen skin there, making it bleed.

  Mary, who had just come into the room with a glass of brandy-laced milk, cried out, “Stop that, madam! You are making your injury worse.” She rushed over to pull Caroline’s hand away and look at the scratches.

  “It cannot get any worse,” Caroline murmured. “It’s all over.”

  Phoebe’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “Caro, you are scaring me. You are acting just like that Lady Macbeth.”

  Caroline looked over at her, a faint beam of surprise penetrating the fog of her mind. “Lady Macbeth?”

  “Well, don’t look at me like that. I do sometimes read things other than novels, you know. I am not completely ignorant.”

  Caroline laughed at that, and Phoebe and Mary exchanged relieved glances.

  “Miss Phoebe, go and fetch some warm water and bandages,” Mary instructed. “And you, madam, will change out of those dirty clothes and drink every drop of this milk. It will help you rest.”

  Caroline obediently stood up and unbuttoned the top of her bodice. “I can’t rest now. We have to start packing.”

  “Packing? Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know. Italy maybe, or America. Somewhere far away.” Caroline dropped the last of her clothes and turned back to look at her reflection in the mirror. She looked thin and pale in her chemise, almost like the ghost she felt. “Something terrible has happened, Mary. We are ruined.”

  And her heart was shattered.

  “Ruined, madam?” Mary’s voice held only mild curiosity. After four years at the Golden Feather with her mistress, she could hardly be shocked anymore. She dropped a clean nightdress over Caroline’s head.

  The soft cotton folds enveloped her, sheltering her. “Yes. Justin—Lord Lyndon—discovered the truth about Mrs. Archer.”

  Now Mary did look shocked. Her hands froze on the pearl button she was fastening at Caroline’s throat. “Oh, no, madam. Did he threaten to expose you?”

  “Not exactly.” He had not said much of anything. That was the worst part. If he had shouted, she could have shouted back. But he had just walked away. “You know he will tell, though. We will no longer be accepted into the Sewards’ house, and people will want to know why.”

  “Oh, madam!” Mary cried, her lower lip trembling. “I thought we were going to be normal now.”

  “I thought, so, too. But it seems my life is doomed to drama, no matter how much I might wish it otherwise.” Caroline pulled a valise out from under the bed and limped to the wardrobe, not even noticing the pain in her ankle as she reached in for an armload of clothes. “I want Phoebe to be affected by this as little as possible, so we must leave at once. Tonight, if possible.”

  She balled up a lacy petticoat and thrust it into the valise. Then she picked up a pink silk spencer.

  “Here, let me do that! You are wrinkling everything.” Mary caught the spencer out of Caroline’s trembling hands and folded it neatly. “If we have to leave, then we have to leave. You know I will follow you anywhere. Thoug
h I must say I do like it here in Wycombe.”

  “So do I, Mary,” Caroline answered wistfully, sitting back down on the bed.

  She had never been so happy anywhere in her life before.

  Phoebe appeared with a basin of water, which she almost dropped when she saw the open valise. “What are you doing? Where are we going?”

  Caroline turned to her sister and held out her hand. “Phoebe, darling, come over here and sit down beside me, so we may talk.”

  Phoebe backed up, water sloshing from the basin onto her bright green muslin gown. “It’s Lord Lyndon, isn’t it? He hurt you, and now we must leave to get away from him! How vile he is. I should not have invited him to our outing; then none of this would have happened.”

  “It isn’t like that at all.” Caroline had thought to make up some tale for Phoebe about why they were leaving Wycombe. But now, as she looked into her sister’s desperate eyes, she knew she had to tell her the truth. She was done forever with lies and half-truths. All they had ever brought her was pain.

  Caroline took the basin from Phoebe and placed it carefully on a table. Then she drew her over to sit down on the window seat. She pulled the curtains against the sight of the Sewards’ house.

  “Now, Phoebe,” she said, taking Phoebe’s trembling hands in her own, “I must tell you something. We are leaving because of Lord Lyndon, but it is not his fault. It is mine.”

  “Yours, Caro? How can that be?”

  Caroline took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “After Lawrence died, I told you I was working as companion to his elderly aunt. Remember?”

  “Yes. That is why we could only see each other a couple of times a year.”

  “I fear I lied to you.”

  Phoebe looked confused. “Do you mean you were not working for Mr. Aldritch’s aunt?”

  “No.” Caroline closed her eyes so she could not see her sister’s reaction to her words. “I-I owned a gaming establishment, called the Golden Feather. Lawrence won it in a game of chance right before he died, and I took it over.”

  She steeled herself for the storm, for Phoebe to rail at her for her lies.

  Instead there was . . . silence.

  Caroline cautiously opened her eyes. Phoebe was watching her, a rapt and fascinated look on her face.

  “A gaming establishment,” she breathed. “Truly, Caro?”

  Caroline nodded. “I fear so.”

  “Oh! It is just like A Gamble on Love. You must tell me all about it. What fascinating people you must have met!”

  Relief swept over Caroline. She should have known her sister better; Phoebe did not have a condemning bone in her body. But she was far too curious for her own good.

  “I certainly will not ‘tell you all about it.’ The people were generally most unfascinating, too drunk to walk straight, let alone converse. It was a dreadful life, and we are well away from it here.”

  Phoebe’s face, so avid and shining only a moment before, darkened. “Only we will not be here much longer. All because of Lord Lyndon. I suppose he came to your . . . your place frequently, and that is how he knew you. Though I must say it took long enough for him to recognize you.”

  Caroline shook her head. “I always wore a mask, so no one could recognize me. And it was actually Harry Seward who was a frequent visitor. I only saw Lord Lyndon there twice, once when he came with his brother right after his return from India and then the day after.”

  “Why did he come then?”

  Caroline hesitated. The story of Harry Seward and his fight was so very inappropriate for a young girl’s ears. But then, she had already told this particular young girl the rest of the sordid story.

  “Mr. Seward had a ... a disagreement with another patron, which resulted in some furniture breaking.”

  Phoebe nodded sagely. “A brawl. That sounds like something Harry Seward would do.”

  “You are not disappointed, dear? I know you are rather fond of him.”

  “Perhaps I was, once. Now I am through with him and all his family. I suppose Lord Lyndon paid off his brother’s debts on that second visit?”

  “Yes. When he was there, I tripped.” She looked down ruefully at her swollen appendage. “Much like today. He came to my assistance and saw the scar.”

  “So that is how he knew you,” Phoebe murmured. “Oh, my poor, poor Caro! And now we must go away.”

  Yes. They had to go away. “You can see why, can you not? We will be ruined if we stay.”

  “Like Mary, I will go with you anywhere you like. You are the best sister in the world, and I have been such a trial to you!” Phoebe threw herself into Caroline’s arms, crying contritely, “I will never be any trouble to you again, I swear.”

  Caroline kissed the top of Phoebe’s head and held her close. “You could never be a trial to me, Phoebe. You are all my family now, and I love you.”

  “I love you, too. And I will help you, I promise. I will make everything better.”

  “You make things better just by being here.”

  Phoebe hugged her once more, then stood up and walked toward the door. “I will just go and start my own packing now. I’m supposed to have tea with Sarah later, and I can tell her good-bye then. You just rest, Caro.” She smiled and ran off.

  Caroline looked after her suspiciously. “Do you believe she is just going to pack, Mary?” she asked.

  Mary just pressed the glass of milk and brandy into her hand and said, “Drink this, madam. It will help you feel better.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “I am here to see Lord Lyndon,” Phoebe said stoutly, facing down the prune-faced butler with her hands on her hips. “If you please.”

  The butler’s lips flattened even farther, and he kept a firm grip on the door, leaving Phoebe on the doorstep. “His lordship is occupied at the moment, Miss ...”

  “I am Miss Lane.”

  “Miss Lane. His lordship is occupied at the moment with important business and is not accepting visitors.”

  Phoebe felt a hot flare of temper in her stomach spreading up until it threatened to burst forth in a torrent of screaming, shouting, and generally unladylike behavior. Her sister was in despair, all because of Lord Lyndon, and he sat smug in his house, guarded by this elderly dragon of a gatekeeper.

  She stamped her foot. “I happen to have ‘important business’ with his lordship, and I will see him right now!”

  With that, she burst past the shocked butler and through the front door. She dashed down the corridor, looking quickly into the doorways she passed, the butler hard on her heels. For such an old man, he was incredibly quick.

  But not quick enough for Phoebe.

  She finally found Lord Lyndon in the library, sitting behind a large desk with a decanter of what looked like brandy.

  Phoebe marched up to the desk and planted her hands flat on the cool wooden surface. “How dare you, you wicked man!” she shouted.

  Justin had been sitting alone in his library with his brandy for about two hours, feeling more and more guilty over his behavior toward Caroline, trying to drown the image of her white, stricken face in the amber liquid’s warmth, when he heard the commotion in the foyer. Loud, raised voices, Richards’s and a woman’s.

  Justin shook his head. He hoped it wasn’t someone Harry knew, come to cause trouble. He had enough trouble of his own without dealing with Harry’s messes.

  Then the voices came closer. He heard a rather familiar one insist, “I will see Lord Lyndon!”

  Miss Lane’s voice?

  He put the glass carefully back down on the desk. Surely he had not drunk enough of the stuff to be hearing things! His head did not feel in the least bit fuzzy. But not even Miss Lane would come to a gentleman’s house and shout at his butler.

  Would she?

  Then the library door burst open, and Phoebe did indeed stand there. She had changed from her bathing costume into a somewhat respectable bright green gown, but her hair fell down in a mass of curls that positively writhed with indignat
ion.

  She strode across the carpet, arms akimbo, then leaned across the desk and shouted, “How dare you, you wicked man!”

  Justin just stared up at her frowning face. He had never been called a “wicked man” by a young miss before, and he hardly knew what to say. Should he ask her to sit down? Offer her a brandy? Let her pummel him thoroughly, as she so obviously longed to do?

  This was all completely outside his realm of experience. All he could seem to do was stare at her rather stupidly.

  Richards appeared at the door, puffing to catch his breath. “My lord,” he gasped. “I am so sorry! The young lady . . . she pushed past me....”

  Justin rose slowly to his feet. “That is quite all right, Richards. You might fetch my mother, and have some refreshments sent in.” Yes. His mother would know what to do.

  “Very good, my lord.” Richards bowed and gratefully retreated.

  Justin turned back reluctantly to face Miss Lane.

  She stood with her fists planted on her hips, glaring at him. “This is not a social call. You needn’t have ordered refreshments.”

  Justin propped his hip against the desk and crossed his own arms over his chest. He knew it was quite improper to be in his shirtsleeves, but he didn’t want to risk pushing past Medusa to retrieve his coat. “You look as if you have been running a long way. I thought some tea might be in order.”

  “I don’t want anything from you! You are a wi—”

  “I know,” he interjected dryly. “I am a wicked man.”

  “You are. A very wicked man. Caroline says we must leave here and go abroad, all because of you. We were happy here, and you ruined everything.”

  Justin rubbed wearily at his jaw. She was leaving. Leaving. His mind repeated that one word over and over.

  “So you knew, too?” he muttered. “Everyone knew the truth but me.”

  Phoebe shook her head. “I did not know. All these years I thought she was companion to Mr. Aldritch’s old aunt. She just told me this afternoon, to explain why we have to leave so quickly.”

  “And you were not angry that your sister lied to you?”