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  She looked shocked. “Of course not! Caroline is the very best of sisters. She always has been.” Phoebe bit her lip, her eyes suddenly swimming in tears. One drop spilled free, and she wiped it impatiently away. “It was all my fault.”

  “Your fault?” Justin said sharply. “Why? Were you the one who concocted this scheme to run a gaming establishment, to fleece young men like Harry of their money? To go about in disguise?”

  “There is no need to be sarcastic, Lord Lyndon. And Harry is hardly some poor lamb to the slaughter. He practically begs people to take money from his pockets; even I can see that. I am not the stupid little girl everyone thinks me.” Phoebe sat down, dropping heavily into the chair beside the desk. “And you are trying to distract me, but it will not work.”

  This conversation was getting more and more bizarre. Justin wondered if he had fallen asleep at his desk and was having a brandy-induced dream. “Trying to distract you from what, Miss Lane?”

  “From my purpose in coming here.”

  “Which is?”

  “To tell you what a looby you are, of course. A wicked looby.”

  Justin choked. “A—what?”

  “A looby.” Phoebe shrugged. “It is a word I heard your brother use. And I am sure you are one. You were mean to my sister. She is an absolute angel, and you were cruel to her!”

  He had been cruel. Justin knew that and was ashamed of it, though, truth to tell, he remembered little of the scene on the shore. He had been in a fog of shock and dismay. “Was I?”

  “Caroline would never have done what she did if not for me.” Phoebe stared past him, obviously in her own world of recriminations, regrets, and memories. “She hated that Silver Plume place. I could see the revulsion on her face when she spoke of it.”

  “Golden Feather,” Justin automatically corrected.

  Phoebe went on as if he had not spoken. “I am sure she would have gone to be a companion to her husband’s aunt when he died. But Mrs. Medlock’s School, dull as it was, was very expensive. And my clothes, my gewgaws, my pin money.” She seized a handful of her green skirt, as if to tear it away. “If I had known, I would not have taken any of those things! I would have left school and taken a position with some other old lady. I would not have let her do that!”

  Justin sensed that she was going into hysterics, and looked frantically to the door. Where the deuce was his mother?

  When Amelia didn’t appear, he did the only thing he could think of. He poured a small measure of brandy into a glass and pressed it into her hand.

  She sniffled and looked down at it with interest. “Is this brandy?”

  “Yes. It will help you calm down.”

  “I’ve never had brandy before,” she said. Then she gulped it all down.

  And promptly began to choke.

  “Miss Lane!” Justin thumped her on the back until she stopped wheezing. “You must sip it slowly if you are not accustomed to it.”

  “You might have told me that before.” She eyed the decanter. “May I have some more?”

  “Certainly not.” Relieved that the coughing, as well as the hysterics, had passed, Justin sat down in a chair across from her. “So Lawrence left your sister no money at all?” he asked, going back to their previous conversation.

  Phoebe shook her head. “Not a farthing. Just that ... that place, which he won in a card game. And, as I said, Mrs. Medlock’s was expensive. I would have left there in an instant if Caroline had come for me, but she did not. I am sure she never even considered it. She has always tried to protect me, even when we were children. That is why I have come here today.”

  Justin was not sure he followed her reasoning. “Why is that, Miss Lane?”

  “Because Caroline has always done everything for me. For four years she worked and sacrificed so that I could have a future.” Phoebe looked down at where her fist was balled in her skirt. “And today, when I saw how in despair she was, how you hurt her, something inside of me just ... broke.” She smoothed out her skirt and raised her gaze to meet his. “My sister is a lady, Lord Lyndon. The finest lady who ever lived in England, I am sure. I could not allow you, or anyone, to treat her as anything else.”

  Justin sat back in stunned silence. He had thought Miss Lane to be a rather flighty young woman. But she spoke the truest words he had ever heard, solidifying the vague thoughts that had been floating around in his confused mind all afternoon.

  Caroline Aldritch was a true lady. And he had been too blind to see that.

  He had thought himself a fool for not seeing that she was Mrs. Archer. Now he knew, like a flash of clarifying light, that he had not really been a fool until the moment he walked away from her on the shore.

  The woman he had known these past weeks in Wycombe, the graceful, intelligent, understanding woman he talked to, danced with, and kissed was the real Caroline. And it had been even when she wore the mask of Mrs. Archer.

  She was a woman who would live a life she disliked, even hated, for four long years for the love of her sister. If Justin could understand anything, he understood that. Harry was obnoxious at times, yes, but Justin would do anything to keep him safe, to make certain that his future was happy and secure.

  Caroline had done the same thing, and he had condemned her for it, abandoned her. Now she was leaving. He had lost her.

  Justin groaned and turned his face away from Phoebe, who was crying softly again. In one afternoon, his life had swung in so many different directions he hardly knew where to go.

  But he did know that Phoebe was right. He was a wicked man, a hypocritical one, who had almost carelessly smashed the lives of the two sisters.

  “Caroline says we have to go abroad, because you will tell everyone about the “Copper Quill” and we will be ruined. Not even Sarah will talk to me anymore if I am ruined,” Phoebe sobbed. “I don’t want to go abroad!”

  “You will not have to, Miss Lane. I will never tell anyone.”

  Phoebe looked up, cautiously hopeful. “Do you promise?”

  “I promise, on my father’s grave.”

  She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but his mother came into the room, with Harry close behind her.

  “Justin, what is this nonsense Richards says about Miss Lane being in here with—” Amelia broke off when she saw the young lady actually sitting there. “Oh. Good afternoon, Miss Lane.”

  Phoebe gave a long sniffle. “G-good afternoon, Lady Lyndon.”

  Harry looked about, bewildered, at Phoebe’s tearstained face, the brandy on the desk, and Justin in his shirtsleeves. His youthful face hardened. “You utter cad!” he shouted. “Taking advantage of an innocent lady!”

  Before Justin could even guess what he was about, Harry leaped forward, grabbed him by the cravat, and dragged him to the floor.

  Justin tried to seize his brother and push him off, but Harry had the strength of his anger behind him, and clung with terrierlike tenacity. His fist flew out and caught Justin on the cheekbone.

  “Dash it, Harry!” Justin shouted. “Get off me, you fool, and I will explain.”

  “Explain what, you despoiler of virgins!”

  “Stop it, boys!” Amelia cried, running around them in a flurry of pale gray skirts. “Stop it this moment!”

  Phoebe threw herself into the fray, pummeling Harry with her small fists. “Mr. Seward, no! He was not despoiling me. I came here myself.” She pulled at his hair.

  Harry looked up at her. “Do you mean to say that . . . that you like him? My brother?”

  “Of course not. He is much too old for me! I came here to talk to him about my sister.”

  “Oh.” Harry released his grip on Justin and stood up. “I am sorry, Justin.”

  Justin also stood, and tried to rearrange his rumpled attire. His cheek ached like the very devil, and he was sure a nice bruise was forming there. “I suppose you were only defending the lady. But do not let it happen again.”

  Amelia picked up the brandy from the desk and poured hersel
f out a generous measure. “I must say I am heartily ashamed of you both. Fighting in our own home!” She tossed back the drink with a deep sigh, her shoulders visibly relaxing. “Now see what you have driven me to? Drinking spirits in the middle of the day! I was going to ask you to come to the tea shop with me for strawberries and cake, but now I think Miss Lane and I will go by ourselves. Shall we, Miss Lane?”

  Phoebe jumped up eagerly, her earlier tears obviously forgotten in all the excitement. “Oh, yes, please, Lady Lyndon!”

  But as Amelia ushered Phoebe out the door, she turned back to level one last stem glance at her sons. “This is not over, Harry, Justin. I will want a thorough explanation of this scene when I get back.”

  “Yes, Mother,” they murmured in a chagrined chorus.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The shore was deserted at that time of day; all the bathers and strollers had gone home for their tea. Justin relished the quiet as he stood there on the sand, waves reaching for him but not quite catching him. There, in the silence and the sweet sea air, he felt like the fog that had shrouded his brain was finally lifted, and he could see his way clear.

  He loved Caroline. He loved her as Mrs. Aldritch, or Mrs. Archer. Hell, she could call herself Mrs. Tiddlywinks if she liked and he would still love her.

  He could slap himself for being such an idiot after hearing Phoebe’s story, which only confirmed what he had known, deep inside, to be true all along. If Larry, who Justin well knew had not been the most reliable of men, had only left his wife a gaming establishment and a handful of debts, what choice did she have? Would he rather she starved to death in some genteel garret and her sister with her?

  “Never,” he whispered to himself.

  Instead of starving, she had shown herself to be a resourceful and shrewd businesswoman. She had run the Golden Feather with a flair and a panache that no man could ever have matched; she had made it the most successful gaming house in all London.

  And she had not done it out of some perverse desire to be shocking, as Justin’s first, irrational reaction had been on hearing the truth. No woman with Caroline’s innate seriousness and dignity would do that, and he had been an idiot to think so for even an instant.

  She had done everything she did out of love, so that her sister could have a happy, respectable life.

  He turned his back to the sea to look at her house in the distance. He was on his way there, to apologize, to grovel on his very knees if necessary. But now that the moment was upon him he was a coward. He had no idea what to say, what words might bring her back to him. He was afraid he would forget everything he wanted to say, and just fall on the floor and sob at her feet.

  Getting her shoes all wet would hardly endear him to her.

  He sensed that this was the most important, the most vital conversation he would ever have in his life. And he had to have it now, before she left Wycombe, her sister and her luggage in tow, and he never saw her again.

  Justin smoothed down his windblown hair, tugged his cravat into place, and walked toward her house.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Caroline, tucking a stack of chemises into a trunk, looked up impatiently and blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.

  “Oh, who could that be?” she muttered. “I don’t have time for callers, with all these clothes still to be packed.”

  She listened for Mary or the new housemaid to answer the door, but there was no sound. They must still be in the kitchen, arguing with the cook over supper.

  Then there was another knock.

  Caroline pushed the rest of the garments into the trunk, reached for her makeshift walking stick, and stood up to go answer the blighted thing herself. The sooner she sent whoever it was away, the sooner she could finish her packing.

  And the sooner they could leave Wycombe.

  She was halfway down the stairs when Mary came hurrying across the small, trunk-filled foyer, murmuring and shaking her head.

  The maid opened the door, and shouted, “You! We don’t want to see the likes of you here! Go away.”

  She started to slam the door, but a booted foot was thrust between the stout wood and the frame, preventing it from closing.

  “Please, Mary,” a deep voice said. “I know I am not your favorite person at the moment, but I must see Mrs. Aldritch.”

  “You must go away!” Mary pushed her slight figure against the door, but he was well wedged.

  Justin. Justin had come to see her.

  Caroline pressed her hand against the sudden fluttering at the base of her throat. What could he want? To shout at her, threaten her? To warn her to stay away from his family before she tainted them with the stench of the Golden Feather?

  She knew she should send him away, that she should not subject herself to any more of the pain his condemnation brought. But her curiosity—and the wild desire to see him just once more—won out over self-preservation.

  “Mary,” she called, coming the rest of the way down the stairs, “it is quite all right. You can let Lord Lyndon in.”

  Mary looked up, her cap askew over one eye. “But, madam . . .”

  “I will deal with him,” Caroline said.

  “Please, Caroline!” Justin called. “I only want to talk to you.”

  Mary stepped suddenly away from the door, causing Justin, whose entire weight was against the wood, to tumble ignominiously onto the foyer floor. He sprawled most inelegantly on the black-and-white tile.

  Mary looked down at him and sniffed. “Talk, then, your lordship,” she said scornfully. “But don’t expect any tea.”

  Then she stalked off, back to the kitchen.

  Caroline bit her lip uncertainly as she watched Justin scramble to his feet, his elegant attire all in disarray. She didn’t know if she should laugh at the sight, or cry. So she just said, “Shall we go into the drawing room?”

  Justin nodded, as dignified as he could be with his hair all tumbled about. “Thank you.”

  Caroline drew her shawl about her shoulders and limped her way into the drawing room, closing the door behind them against any prying ears. As he moved past her, she smelled the warm sun caught on the wool of his coat, a spicy scent, and a tang that was only Justin. And . . . something else.

  Brandy? Was he foxed, and that was what made him come to her?

  “Have you been drinking?” she blurted before she could catch herself.

  He turned to look at her, a rueful half smile on his lips. “Just a bit. Have you?”

  Caroline felt an equally rueful expression steal across her own face. “A bit. Mary put brandy in the milk.”

  “Good. Then we will be equally incoherent.”

  Caroline sat down on the settee beside the window, holding herself stiff and still. “Why have you come here? I thought we said everything there was to say this afternoon.”

  Justin shifted on one foot, looking every bit as uncomfortable as she herself felt. “I had a visitor this afternoon.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Miss Lane.”

  “Phoebe?” Caroline cried. Phoebe had gone alone to Justin’s house? She knew her sister was rather, well, impulsive, but this was the outside of enough. “She told me she was going to tea with Miss Bellweather.”

  “I daresay she is at tea now. My mother took her to the tea shop for cake and strawberries. But on the way she made a small stop in my library.”

  Caroline looked down at her lap, twisting and smoothing the pale blue muslin of her skirt. Now he would think her a terribly irresponsible chaperon on top of everything else. “I do apologize.”

  “There is no need for that. She taught me a very valuable lesson.”

  She gaped up at him in surprise. “A lesson? Phoebe? What could that have been?”

  “That I am a wicked looby, of course,” he said in a strangely blithe tone.

  “A—what?”

  “A wicked looby. Those were her words.”

  “Oh, Justin—Lord Lyndon—she should not have done th
at.” Caroline could have sunk to the floor in profound embarrassment.

  “Of course she should have. I heartily deserved it for ... well, for my loobyish behavior. If there is such a word.” He came over to her and knelt beside her settee. His hair brushed silkily against her fingers, his fragrance and warmth wrapped around her. “She also taught me the value of true loyalty. And that brings me to what I came here to say.”

  Caroline linked her fingers tightly together to keep from twining them in his hair. “What did you come here to say?”

  “That I am sorry. So very sorry, Caroline.”

  Were her ears deceiving her? Or maybe she was dreaming. Surely he, the Earl of Lyndon, could not be kneeling here on her floor, telling her he was sorry.

  “You ... are sorry?” she managed to whisper.

  His eyes were ablaze with the blue heat of a summer’s sky as he looked up at her. “I was so ... so shocked when I saw the truth. My damnable Seward pride was hurt. I was convinced that you had set out to deceive me, to make a fool of me.”

  “I did not!” Caroline cried. “I wanted so many times to tell you the truth these last weeks. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

  “You had your sister to protect.”

  “Yes. If I had told you, we would have been ruined. I don’t mind that so much for myself; I would like a quiet country life, away from society. But Phoebe is innocent, and she deserves to decide her own fate.” She shook her head. “Even that would not have held me back much longer, I’m afraid. Once I realized how ... how very serious things were becoming between us, I determined to tell you the truth. I tried to this morning, before I fell.”

  “You did. But then I saw that scar, and I reacted like a complete idiot. I did not see the obvious.”

  “I never set out to use you or your family,” Caroline said. “I just liked your mother so much, and even Harry, too, began to grow on me.”

  “And me?” he said, his voice boyishly hopeful. “Did you like me?”

  “Oh, yes,” she answered softly. Then she gave in to her yearning to touch him, placing her hands softly on either side of his face, framing his beloved features. The prickle of his afternoon whiskers tickled at her palms. “How could I help but like you? You were everything I ever dreamed about but thought could not possibly exist.”