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Chapter One

Cassie grasped her traveling bag, a modest burden, but one that held all her possessions nonetheless. She peered through her spectacles at the rain-spattered yard, noted the mounds of horse droppings scattered over the cobbles, and picked out the clearest path to the posting inn.

Luckily, her one misstep only muddied the soles of her shoes. She scraped them clean at the door then entered. Inside, the long table was set with loaves of bread, cold ham, and a thin soup that seemed to hold nothing more than the scent of beef shank. Cassie caught the innkeeper's eye. He, an angular, bony man, looked as though he dined off the leavings of his own tables.

His sunken eyes brightened at the sight of her. "The young lady 'll be wantin' a room to hersel', then?"

"I believe you have a room reserved for Miss Lucinda Sinclaire?"

"Oh, aye, aye." His eyes seemed to sink deeper into their sockets. "Down the hall, thurd door on't left. She's expectin' you," he added before he hurried off to greet a portly gentleman with a bulging purse.

Cassie caught his last remark with surprise. Even though Lucinda had both carriage and driver at her disposal, she'd insisted she couldn't reach the inn any earlier than midday. Cassie, who'd traveled by stagecoach, had arrived at half past eleven. She'd expected a longish wait for her friend. Still, neither reliability nor consistency could be numbered amongst Lucinda's many good qualities.

Cassie hurried down the hall, hoping her friend hadn't been alone for long. Not pausing to knock, she pushed open the third door. "Lucinda, I'm--"

She broke off. The chamber--poorly lit and furnished with a stained table, two wooden chairs, and a narrow cot--was empty. Cool April breezes gusted through an open window, squelching any heat yielded by the miserly fire flickering on the grate. A pile of baggage had been heaped at the foot of the cot, but the owner of that baggage was nowhere to be seen.

Cassie hesitated in the doorway. Lucinda wouldn't have toured the inn alone, and given her marked distaste for drafts, she wouldn't have left a window open on such a blustery day. Either Cassie had misunderstood the directions or she'd been misdirected. She backed out of the room.

Back in the hallway, she counted the doors. The third door on the left was, indeed, the room she'd entered. She turned and looked at the door directly across the hall. Had the innkeeper meant right instead of left? She lifted her hand to knock.

A rough male voice issued from the far side of the door and forestalled her. "Not to put too fine a point on't, I'll be wantin' some blunt."

"Again?" came the reply. This voice, also male, was cultivated but had a ragged edge. "You gave me your word. This is growing damned expensive."

"An' who's to blame for that? Course, if you'd rather talk to a red-breast..."

"I most certainly would not."

"Well, discretion don't come cheap. Tha's the way of it."

"This is the most damnable state of affairs. Take this and go now."

A pair of booted feet strode toward the door. Cassie dropped her hand. Whatever business had taken place inside the room--and that business had sounded a lot like blackmail--it was nothing to do with her. Nor did she wish to be caught eavesdropping. She darted into the room she'd just left, snapped the bolt into place, and prayed the men would be too involved with their own concerns to have heard the noise.

Outside her room, a door banged open and someone stepped out. The footsteps echoed up the hall until finally she could no longer hear them. A moment later, she heard a second set of footsteps. The other man, she supposed, was also leaving. Instead, the steps crossed the hall, stopped directly outside her door, and someone rapped impatiently.

She had been discovered! Heart beating, Cassie pressed her back against the wall and searched the room for something to use as a weapon. The knock came again, more insistent than before. The poker, lying against the hearth stones, presented itself to her gaze, and Cassie dropped her traveling bag in favor of that item. Clutching the iron rod in both hands, she cried out, "If you do not leave this instant, I shall summon the innkeeper."

"I say!" the man drawled. "There's no reason for any to-do, Miss Sinclaire. Your godmama, Lady Tyndale, sent me to escort you to London."

He'd come for Lucinda! Cassie released the breath she'd been holding and silently called herself a ninny. Pulling herself together, she reached for the doorknob. She stopped abruptly. What reason had she to believe this fellow? Just moments ago, she'd heard this same voice succumbing to blackmail. Furthermore, in her letters, Lucinda had said nothing about being met.

Their plans had been straightforward. Cassie had to change coaches at the inn, obliging her to take a two-hour break in her journey to the west country. Lucinda had decided to take her parents' carriage as far as the same inn where she could spend those two hours with Cassie. The Sinclaires' carriage would return immediately to Kent, and Lady Tyndale's coach and driver would collect Lucinda at two. There had never been any mention of an escort, although this man clearly had some knowledge of Lucinda's plans.

Dark thoughts edged into Cassie's mind. The Sinclaire fortune would tempt all manner of men, perhaps even a few who would hope to by-pass the trouble of courtship and arrange a forced elopement. And what might a man, desperate for money, be willing to do to solve his problems? Kidnap an heiress for ransom?

This possibility brought Cassie to a decision. "Go away, sir, whoever you are," she demanded.

"I am Roland, Lord Carlyon. Now stop this foolishness and open the door."

"If you are a gentleman, you will leave immediately and bother me no more."

"I have been given my orders, and I intend to execute them to the best of my ability. Do you wish me to break down the door?"

He sounded fully capable of carrying out his threat. A true lady, Cassie felt certain, would have fainted on the spot. Instead, she glanced across at the open window. It was large enough to allow someone her size to pass through and escape into the open fields beyond, but... The wealth of luggage at the foot of the bed caught her gaze.

Was that Lucinda's luggage? The man outside the door certainly expected to find her here. The thought that her friend might walk down the hall at any moment and confront that gentleman made Cassie's breath catch in her throat. Lucinda would quickly set the man to rights about both their identities, and then what might happen to Lucinda?

Cassie could think of only one course to take. If this man meant to take Lucinda from the premises, then Cassie meant to disappoint him. He already supposed her to be Lucinda. Let him continue to do so and kidnap the wrong young lady. In a few hours, Lucinda would be safely lodged at Tyndale House beyond this bounder's reach, and Cassie's insignificant person wouldn't fetch anyone a penny. Nor was any man in need of money likely to force marriage upon her when he learned that the small inheritance she'd received from her parents had barely covered her education.

She spun around, shot back the bolt, and opened the door. "Really, sir. You are tiresome beyond--" She broke off and gaped at her would-be assailant.

Lord Carlyon, if that was truly his name, was fair and somewhat less than six feet. He was dressed for riding in a bottle green coat, cream pantaloons and Hessians with white tops. His shirt was of fine lawn, and his boots shone with a gloss that could have only come from a champagne blacking. His hair was guinea gold, cut in the Brutus style. Deep blue eyes the color of a Swiss mountain lake met and held hers until feelings of modesty she hadn't known she possessed compelled her to drop her gaze.

His image lingered in her mind. Everything about him was of the first stare. Not at all what she'd expected from a rogue. Indeed, under other circumstances, she would have enjoyed making the gentleman's acquaintance, as would any young woman with breath still in her body. Only the conversation she had overheard kept her from instantly giving him her trust.

Lord Carlyon's gaze dropped to the poker in her hands and his eyebrows raised. "Did no one inform you I would be coming?"

Cassie hurriedly set the poker down. "Indeed they did not. Nor was I to be collected before two."

"Lady Tyndale questioned the inn's reputation and asked that I be in attendance for the full two hours you and your friend were to linger here." He glanced beyond Cassie into the room. "She's not yet here?"

"No, she is not."

"The stagecoach arrived five minutes ago."

"For some reason, Cassie has failed to keep our appointment but was unable to let me know," she admitted, using the same level of glibness he himself employed.

"A careless friend, indeed, to leave someone so young and fair alone at a posting inn."

He smiled down on her with a level of warmth that Cassie normally associated only with blazing fires. Nevertheless, whatever effect that smile might have had on her--and she suspected from the wild fluttering in her stomach it would have been considerable--his unwitting attack on her character stirred even deeper protest.

"I'm sure the circumstances were entirely beyond her control. Until I hear from her, I can only pray some great calamity hasn't befallen her. Nor do I care to be patronized, sir."

"I intended nothing of the sort," he assured her with the same smoothness of voice he had applied earlier. "Indeed, it was my aim only to compliment."

"Then you have wasted your time for I care nothing for flattery."

"Then let me admire your wisdom, at least."

Not even a Bow Street Runner could have uncovered a trace of mockery in his voice, but Cassie suspected it was there all the same. The man's ability to conceal his true feelings heightened her original distrust of him. She needed to remove him from the inn before Lucinda made an appearance.

"Well, since I have no reason to remain, shall we be off?" she asked, a shade too brightly. "You have brought with you some form of conveyance, I assume."

"I have," he agreed.

"Good." She picked up the bag at her feet and, leaving him to follow, stalked down the passage. She hadn't gone far before she realized her escort hadn't accompanied her. Disconcerted, she looked back to find he had not budged as much as one step from his original spot.

"Really, sir. I realize the customs of London's society might be different from those with which I am familiar, but I believe, even in London, a gentleman cannot escort a lady from afar."

"Do you mean to desert the rest of your belongings?" he asked.

Drat! She'd forgotten Lucinda's bags. No wonder he looked so bemused. He would soon discern the truth behind her charade if she couldn't play her part more skillfully. Determined not to look in the least way flustered, Cassie drew herself up to her full five feet four inches and, in her haughtiest voice, announced, "I expect you to take care of them. It is what you are here for, is it not?"

"Indeed, milady." He made a slight bow. "Might I suggest you remain in the room with the rest of your belongings until I make arrangements with a porter."

The idea of lingering in the inn with Lucinda somewhere nearby bothered Cassie a great deal, but she could hardly refuse. She returned to the room with a weary tread. "I suppose this will not take long?" she asked upon reaching him.

"I hope to see you to your journey's end as promptly as can be managed."

Some deep emotion shaded his words, and Cassie wondered what turn his nefarious plans would take when she reached that unknown destination. Nevertheless, she walked back into the room and pointedly closed the door behind her. With her ear pressed against the smooth oak panels, she listened to him leave. Only then did she feel the weakness in her limbs and realize how much the encounter had shaken her.

Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she walked unsteadily to one of the rail-back chairs and sat down. For the first time, she saw the table was not bare as she had supposed. A letter lay on the table, and Cassie's own name had been written across the envelope in familiar handwriting. Lucinda had left her a message.

Cassie withdrew the pages and read the date at the top of the page: 24 February 1808.

More than a month ago! Cassie wondered why the letter had not been posted and hoped that would soon be explained. Dearest Cassie, she read.

I'm shivering, can you tell? Of course, my handwriting was never as good as yours, but even Mme. Aubert would have to admit that it was never this bad. It fairly wobbles. Indeed, I grow faint when I think of What Is To Befall Me.

I never thought--

But let me begin at the beginning. There. Mme. Aubert did manage to teach me something, so Father's money wasn't entirely wasted. Although one would think that one would come away from a Swiss finishing school with something more than the knowledge of how best to begin a story. Never mind. It will have to satisfy for lack of more notable accomplishments.

When I arrived home--

Oh, goodness, you cannot imagine how greatly I fear this upcoming season with Godmama. She can be so very...I do dislike to be harsh, but she is the most formidable woman. No wonder Mother refuses to accompany me to London, although I know she would have enjoyed seeing my debut. She has such high hopes for me.

Thank goodness she quakes before Godmama, as I do. Otherwise, none of what I am about to propose would be possible. But you have no notion of what I am talking about.

Indeed, Cassie thought, she did not. And she was beginning to doubt she ever would be enlightened. Still, she read on, with high hopes if not with utter confidence.

When I arrived home--

I do wish you had agreed to return with me instead of remaining in Geneva for two weeks before taking your post in Bristol. I know if you had been with me you would have found a way to stop this horrid plan.

Dear me, I seem to have wandered a bit. Suffice it to say, I am to be married. Or rather my Godmama intends to see me married. Of course, that was my wish for myself, but I had hoped for a better fate than the one she has planned.

I arrived home to learn she intended to see to my London debut, all with the sole intention of making a match between me and her nephew Roland, Lord Carlyon.

Cassie gasped. Lord Carlyon! But that was the very man she had just met. The horrible certainty that she had just made a complete fool of herself flooded her. Dear heavens! The man would think her brain completely addled when she confessed to what she had done. And Lucinda had still provided no hint of her whereabouts or her intentions. Cassie felt certain that Lucinda's revelations, eked out in dribs and drabs, would only cause her further humiliation.

Steeling herself for that eventuality, she pressed on.

I have so looked forward to this debut, as you yourself know. Perhaps it was silly of me to wish to be regarded as a True Fair, but I have never been as sensible as you and never could be. You, my dear friend, are a Gem, a Woman With Whom To Be Reckoned. It is for that reason I knew that, if I were you, I should have nothing to fear. Not from Godmama and not from The Awful Roland. He, as you will immediately have guessed, is a bounder the like of which has Never Been Seen Before or Since!

Cassie's earlier opinion of the man needed only a slight push to reassert itself. Perhaps it was not kidnapping he intended after all, but a hasty elopement that he believed would, in the end, satisfy all parties--with the possible exception of Lucinda.

If only I were like Cassie, I told myself, and it was then the idea came to me: We Must Switch Places!! You must go to London in my stead--

Cassie gasped and her gaze raced across the page.

--and I will go to the governess position you have found for yourself. Otherwise, you will almost certainly receive an invitation to my wedding before the month is out.

Godmama hasn't seen me since I was four months old, and you and I are not so very different in appearance that she will realize what we have done. I know my plan, wild as it must seem, can only meet with success. Roland will profess his undying love and admiration for you and propose, thinking you me. For your part, you must accept. Then, after Lady Tyndale has learned of your engagement, you must confess to your identity, and he will promptly cry off. Should he attempt to declare he holds those same feelings for me at a later date, my family and my Godmama will be forced to see him as the fortune hunter he truly is.

In your place, I will go to your prospective employers so that you do not lose the position because of your absence. My only fear was that they might blame you for our deception when this matter concludes, but then I asked myself, Could any true lady or gentleman hold such an unselfish act against someone? You will, after all, only be agreeing to this masquerade to save me from A Fate Worse Than Death.

Please do not doubt that I have misjudged this man, for the judgment was not my own. It was my cousin Georgie who, well acquainted with Lord Carlyon as he is, warned me of his character.

Georgie, in Cassie's expert opinion, was something of a pudding-head. A decent young man but not one who had been gifted with good judgment. Still, she had only to think back to what she had heard in the hall to admit that Georgie appeared to know of whom he spoke.

You cannot believe what he has told me of the man's scandalous doings, starting with his request for leave from the army for a personal emergency when the only personal business he seems to be doing is squiring his commanding officer's wife to gaming hells.

Cassie, are you absolutely certain you won't consider my cousin Georgie? He was quite gone with you. It would take very little encouragement on your part to persuade him to propose, and my aunt would not protest your lack of dowry. She has doted on Georgie since my uncle's death, and in her eyes he can Do No Wrong. I know he is a bit caper-witted, and that nervous tick in his eye can be off-putting at times, but he can also be terribly sweet. And then you and I would be related, not quite sisters, but almost.

And if not Georgie, no doubt Papa could be prevailed upon to provide you with some kind of dowry. Especially after you have exposed The Awful Roland for the fortune hunter we know him to be. Please think about this, for if you are to enjoy my season it would not hurt you to cast your eye around for a suitable bridegroom.

Write soon and let me know if you are willing, although in my heart there is no question what your answer will be.

Ever your devoted and grateful friend,

Lucinda

P.S. On second thought, I have chosen to make this a fait accompli. Then it will all be my fault, and you ca not be blamed for trying to keep me from ruining myself. So I am taking the early stage to Bristol in your place, not the correct one, but it will serve nonetheless. You must ride in Godmama's coach and pretend to be me. You cannot fail me as I have left you no choice as to which course you must pursue. L.

Cassie stared at the postscript in disbelief. The conviction that Lucinda had arrived, deposited her baggage along with the letter, then quietly exited the inn through the open window took firm root. Her head spun with questions. What, aside from complete madness, had possessed Lucinda to commit such folly? If the truth came out she would surely be ruined. And how could a deceit of this magnitude possibly succeed? What would Lady Tyndale say when she discovered the truth?

But mingled with those questions were others far more disturbing. Who was the man who had been demanding money from Lord Carlyon? And what could drive Lord Carlyon to pay some rough customer in order to avoid the red-breasts? Were his activities the sort that would carry him to prison? To the gallows?

Hearing footsteps approaching the room, Cassie hastily rose and fed the pages of Lucinda's letter to the fire. The flames flared up and devoured them. Satisfied nothing but ashes remained, she stood, brushed off her hands, and smoothed out her skirts. To admit to Lord Carlyon what Lucinda had done seemed an enormous betrayal of her friend's trust. And, if truth be told, Lucinda's plan might not be as impossible as Cassie feared. Lord Carlyon had already confused their identities. If Lady Tyndale required as little convincing, Cassie might have a chance to expose the blackguard and save Lucinda from a loveless and troubled marriage.

A quick rap on the door was followed by Lord Carlyon's entrance with a porter. The man, a burly fellow with gingery hair sprouting from his ears, went directly to the pile of baggage and somehow collected them all with only two hands and two arms, a feat Cassie would have thought impossible. He then scuttled sideways out the door and disappeared up the passage.

Lord Carlyon looked at her quizzically. "Are you ready?"

Cassie hesitated then met his gaze squarely. "Yes. I believe I am."

* * *

The coach had been appointed with every luxury. A lap robe. A heated brick. And a basket of fruit. And all for Cassie, or rather Lucinda. Lord Carlyon preferred to ride alongside the coach. His horse, a bay gelding with exquisite lines, appeared to claim ancestry at least equal to that of his rider. Even Cassie, who boasted no great knowledge of horses, knew the animal must have cost his owner more money than she would see in her lifetime. No wonder Lord Carlyon needed to marry an heiress.

She pushed her spectacles firmly onto her nose and peered out of the carriage window on the far side of the coach. Tantalizing glimpses of London swept past her. Narrow streets swelled with carriages, carts, people, and horses. Men and women milled through open vegetable markets. Buildings overhung the street and would have blocked out the sunshine had there been any. Instead, a drizzling rain slanted down against the windowpane.

The coach fastidiously picked its way through the lesser streets, rattling over uneven cobblestones, past sooty buildings squeezed together in a miserable gray line, until finally turning into the more fashionable neighborhoods. There, as if by royal decree, the clouds parted and sunlight glistened off puddles, rain-spattered leaves, and gleaming brass doorknockers.

The coach halted at the bottom of the spotless marble steps of an elegant white townhouse. Palladian windows with heavy drapes soared above her, and at each side of the black door, two yew trees stood in simple pots. Such tasteful elegance fairly intimidated her--as perhaps it was meant to do.

Lord Carlyon handed her down just as the butler opened the front door. Cassie hastily retrieved her hand and noted her would-be bridegroom seemed oddly willing to release her. Perhaps his devotion would appear later, beneath Lady Tyndale's appreciative gaze.

Thanking him curtly for seeing her safely to London, Cassie left him to take care of his horse and mounted the steps alone. The butler bowed stiffly as she entered, then signaled for a footman to take her traveling cloak and bonnet. His faintly raised eyebrows suggested the blue velvet carriage dress failed to meet with his expectations.

The fit, the material, or the style? she wondered, feeling her meager confidence slipping away. She reached up to pat her hair in place, and her fingertips brushed her spectacles. Perhaps they were what had dismayed him.

Whatever his thoughts, the butler politely introduced himself as Knolls. "Lady Tyndale is awaiting you in the drawing room, Miss. If you would be so good as to follow me."

Swallowing her welling panic, she stuffed her spectacles into her reticule, straightened her shoulders, and told herself she truly was Lucinda Sinclaire. Nevertheless, she marched after Knolls with all the pleasure of a soldier about to be court-martialed and passed stiffly through the door the butler held open for her. Just inside the room she stopped.

The room was oppressively warm and done all in shades of yellow. Cassie had the distinct impression of being trapped in a buttercup, and a well-furnished buttercup, at that. Lady Tyndale was ensconced in the overstuffed wing chair nearest the fire. Slim and willowy, she wore a day dress of deep saffron, the lace at her wrists and neck so fine it was as if fairies had done the stitching. Her white hair had been dressed in a deceptively simple style that must have taken hours to achieve. A complexion that looked like snowdrops and rose petals completed the picture.

Her ladyship gave Cassie the same appraisal that Cook at school would have given an inferior joint of mutton. For a scant second, Cassie wondered if the game was up.

"Come, child. There's no need to stand like a stick," Lady Tyndale said with asperity, and nodded at the chair opposite hers.

A profusion of small tables displaying delicate figurines littered her path and defied her to navigate through their midst. Lacking her spectacles and rattled by Lady Tyndale's inspection, Cassie promptly blundered into a table. Somehow, its limbs and her own became entangled and she fell, dislodging a particularly graceful grouping of figurines. Despite the cushioning of both Cassie's head and the soft carpet, they shattered.

The quiet after the crash was complete, and Cassie's spectacles spilled out of her reticule as though in mute confession. Furious with herself, she sat up, brushed the painted slivers of porcelain from her person, and defiantly placed the spectacles on her nose. Meeting Lady Tyndale's gaze took all her resolution.

Her ladyship peered down her large Roman nose. "Your mother made no mention of spectacles. That widgeon! I should not be surprised. She would start a conversation and meander through such an assortment of subjects that one could quite forget the original topic."

With a graceful wave of her hand, she indicated the carnage that had been wreaked upon her salon. "Is this a common occurrence? If so, there are certain invitations I will wish to decline to save wear and tear on our hostesses' households."

Feeling as though she'd faced a firing squad and somehow escaped intact, Cassie pulled herself to her feet and looked at her hostess straightly. "It is only nearby items that are endangered. Distant objects are quite safe."

"Nevertheless, you must not wear spectacles outside Tyndale House."

"Might it not seem rude of me to cut acquaintances dead because I cannot see them?" she asked, her hasty tongue getting the better of her.

"Foolish child! Your aim is not to see, but to be seen."

Her wisdom left Cassie without a response. Uncertain of how to proceed, she succumbed to her natural instincts and bent over to pick up the fragments.

"No, no, child," Lady Tyndale remonstrated. "That is why we have servants. Gives them something to do. Come here and we shall have a comfortable coze."

With a guilty parting glance for the shattered figurines, Cassie picked her way carefully across the floor to the older woman's side. Aided by her spectacles, she completed the trip without mishap.

"I am sorry about the damage," she said sincerely.

"It's of no consequence. I have always detested that particular grouping. One of the shepherdesses had such a superior smile I would always check my dress for a spot."

"Surely not, Lady Tyndale."

"Lady Tyndale? No, no, that will never do. You must call me Godmama, as in your letters."

Another error! Many more and a child would see through her tricks. "I did not wish to appear presumptuous," she said, hoping her explanation would satisfy.

"Tosh, child! We might not have met since you were a babe in arms, but I am still your Godmama for all of that."

"Godmama it is then." Cassie sat carefully on the settee and attempted to smooth both her skirts and her ruffled nerves. When she finally looked up at Lady Tyndale, it was to discover a slight frown on the older woman's face.

"The spectacles must be put away at all times, child. We never know when someone may choose to call." When Cassie attempted to object, she shook her head. "Your parents have agreed to my complete supervision of your debut since I am unquestionably better suited than they in this matter. They have ignored Society for so many years they cannot expect to know how best to proceed. For the next several days we will be quite busy with the dressmakers. I warn you"--she waggled a finger--"it will be exceedingly tiresome, so I will expect you to rest as much as possible this day. And I will need to inspect your wardrobe."

She fingered the sleeve of the blue velvet dress and shook her head again. "This one is fine for a schoolgirl but not for a young lady of fashion. Your mother's taste is still excellent, though provincial, and she made some recommendations that we will follow, but I fear we will need to consult my couturier."

Cassie felt quite offended for Mrs. Sinclaire.

"But Mrs. uh...Mama's taste is--"

"Quite sound. She has made several original suggestions, and we shall listen to them. The others we shall ignore."

At this, Lady Tyndale began a searching inspection of her supposed goddaughter's face and hair, even picking up Cassie's hands and examining them as if they were a pair of gloves she was planning to purchase.

"Quite nice," she announced.

At that instant, Cassie was grateful for all those nights she had slept with gloves over lard-coated hands.

"You have turned out well," Lady Tyndale told her. "As a baby, your hair was the color of burnished gold and your eyes the blue of a summer sky. Now your hair is the color of honey, and your eyes have deepened to a stormy blue, almost a gray. And that might be just as well. A childishly bright color of hair would be suspect now. Some unkind tongues would say it was not natural."

Lady Tyndale reached out, turned Cassie's head, and studied her profile.

"You have neither the aspect of your mother nor your father. How strange. Still, you have a pleasing profile, and it will serve you well. We shall have your hair dressed to emphasize your delicate features." She released Cassie's chin and sat back.

Cassie had never thought of her features as pleasing. A charming turned-up nose such as Lucinda's was much more the rage. Nor, until now, had Cassie realized she possessed any vanity. It was lowering to realize how greatly one compliment pleased her. "That is quite the nicest thing anyone has ever said, Godmama," she admitted honestly.

Lady Tyndale raised her eyebrows in a question, and Cassie realized how her words must have sounded. Lucinda, the reigning Fair of every country ball she'd attended, would have heard far better flummeries.

"I mean, I have never had someone other than callow boys given to Spanish coin pay me a compliment. It is most gratifying coming from one such as you."

Lady Tyndale pinched her chin. "Such a good puss. I am pleased you have better sense than to succumb to hearing your praises sung. I'm pleased with what I've seen here. Of course, we'll get to know one another better over the coming weeks, but I think we have accomplished enough for now."

She lifted a silver bell that sat within hand's reach and gave it a firm shake. "Knolls will see you to your room. You must be tired after your journey. I do question your parents' wisdom in allowing you to remain alone at the inn."

"I'm afraid I insisted, Godmama. I'd hoped to see Cassie, but there was some confusion and we missed each other."

"There. I knew I was right to send Roland. I can't imagine what your mother was thinking. Now, go up to your room and amuse yourself until four. We shall take our tea privately. I have no wish for others to see you until you look less like a chit from the schoolroom and more like my goddaughter. Knolls," she said, following the one-word command with a nod to the butler who had silently appeared at the door.

"Of course, milady."

Cassie rose from her chair, adjusted her spectacles and turned on her heel to leave. Unfortunately, the largest shard of the porcelain grouping had somehow found its way under her white kid boot and was ground into powder.

In a meditative tone, Lady Tyndale said, "I must remember to move the remaining figurines, or at least the ones I favor."

Cassie gladly slipped out the door and hurried after the butler's retreating back.

Chapter Two

If the salon had reminded Cassie of a buttercup, the bedroom was nothing short of a rose garden. The woodwork was painted a soft green, the walls were a delicate rose pink, and the curtains were figured velvet with a rose-patterned tie-back. Poised near the bed was a thin girl, a bit younger than Cassie, her dark hair pulled ruthlessly back into a heavy braid. Her face was sharp, her chin pointed. Indeed, her whole person was all angles and elbows.

She bobbed a curtsey. "I'm Polly, miss. Lady Tyndale assigned me to you."

"Did she? How very kind of her."

They examined each other carefully. Cassie had never had a maid nor ever expected to have one. Governesses did not have abigails, and she dare not become accustomed to having one. She frowned and Polly's pale face lightened another two shades.

"Lawks, miss. I hope I'll satisfy. I've niver done for a lady before," she said in a voice as thin as the rest of her. "All yer clothes are hung, and I laid out this dress for tea."

The cream-colored dress Lucinda had given her before they left school lay on the bed. Cassie smiled. Lucinda's seamstress erred each season, and there were always several dresses that didn't quite fit Lucinda yet suited Cassie to perfection. Those "lapses" had filled out her sparse wardrobe the last two years.

"That is just the dress I would have chosen. Thank you, Polly."

"Bless you, miss. Here now, let me help you." Smiling broadly, she darted over and unhooked the back of Cassie's carriage dress. "I just knew you'd be a right one. The others in the kitchen said as how you'd be all grand and sharp-tongued because young ladies always are."

Having an abigail assist her was different from having Lucinda do her sleeve buttons. More like having slipped back to the nursery with her old nanny. Even Cassie's mother had never had a lady's maid. Nanny would assist her on those rare occasions Cassie's parents were at home, but after Cassie left the nursery, they were constantly off on archeological quests. Perhaps the critics of advanced schooling for women had an argument, Cassie thought. Being overly educated had hastened her mother's demise, for if she hadn't been so knowledgeable about ancient civilizations, she might not have accompanied Cassie's father and perished with him. It was strange to think of them. They had been away so much Cassie didn't feel as though they were family. More like distant friends who would visit on occasion. Her nanny had been both mother and father to her.

Polly helped her into a wrapper and led her to the dressing table. Cassie sat quietly while her new abigail brushed her hair.

"Sich a lovely color, miss."

"How kind of you. Tell me, have you worked for Lady Tyndale long?"

"Since I was seven. Her ladyship took me from the shop where I was apprenticed. She paid ever so much, an' promised no one would ever beat me again, and they haven't. Knolls thought about it one time when I broke a piece of the best china, but Cook stopped him. She's watched out for me 'cos I started in the kitchen. Then I worked my way up to housemaid, and now I'm to be helping you. Jist like a proper lady's maid."

Cassie smiled. She could hardly imagine anything less like a proper lady's maid than Polly. And perhaps that was just as well for Cassie.

At precisely four p.m. she went downstairs feeling presentable and refreshed. Although she had quitted the salon a scant hour and a half earlier, it showed no signs of the destruction she'd wrought. Instead, many of the tables had been removed, the bulk of the statuary had vanished, and the furnishings had been shifted into new positions. Lady Tyndale had forgotten nothing.

But I have. Cassie quickly wrapped her spectacles in a corner of her shawl, tied the fringe in a knot, and hoped that Lady Tyndale wouldn't notice the lump in the lace. As she draped the shawl the best she could, the door opened and her hostess entered.

Her toilette dashed Cassie's hopes of appearing elegant. The saffron dress had been replaced by a round dress of Pomona green. Its hem was fringed and scalloped with tiny tassels hanging down. Tilting her head, Lady Tyndale scanned Cassie's attire. She nodded approvingly. "That dress is much more becoming."

Before Cassie could thank her for the abigail, Knolls entered with their tea. He set down the tray with a flourish.

"Would you pour out, my dear?" Lady Tyndale led the way to the tea table and seated herself in a wing chair.

This test Cassie knew she could pass. Nothing could match the ordeal of pouring out under the all-too-critical eye of Mme. Aubert. She sat with her back to the door and reached for the teapot.

Lady Tyndale leaned back in her chair and shot a shrewd glance in her direction. "Of course, you know my intentions."

Cassie nodded.

"Are you aware I played matchmaker for your own mama and papa? They were both resistant at first but finally agreed to meet. As I suspected, they were made for one another. It was a love match and quite the talk of the season." For a moment, she seemed lost in a pleasant memory, but then she shook off the past. "Well, let me tell you about Roland. He is only a viscount, but his family and estates are old and established. Sadly, his father was a gamester who impoverished the family. Roland wishes to experiment with some new crops and methods that he feels will eventually restore his fortunes." She brushed away this topic with a sweep of her hand.

"More to the point, your family has the money to help him put his plans into operation, and his has an honorable lineage. Please remember, Lucinda, your mother's great-grandmother was tainted by the smell of the shop. Some would find that unacceptable. You will forgive plain speaking on my part?" She waited for a dutiful nod--one Cassie gave reluctantly, with a sharp twinge of guilt for her disloyalty to the Sinclaires--before she continued.

"Roland doesn't object, but he is the most amiable young man. This match is in both of your best interests." She sighed and placed one hand over her heart. "Many caps have been set for him, but I am convinced you are the one who will suit. It is so romantic. To have brought happiness to your parents, and now to have the opportunity to do the same for you." She beamed at her as if the wedding were a fait accompli.

Heavens! Cassie thought. There was no tyranny like that of kindness and good intentions.

The door behind her opened just as she was filling Lady Tyndale's cup. A look of annoyance crossed the older woman's face but was quickly replaced by a tight smile.

"Roland."

Cassie started, but Mme. Aubert's judicious use of a willow wand stood her in good stead. She only spilled the slightest drop in the saucer.

"I did not expect you back for tea," Lady Tyndale continued.

"How could I slight our guest, Aunt?"

With the cup safely filled and the teapot returned to the tray, Cassie dared to glance toward Lord Carlyon.

He bowed civilly. "I hope you will forgive me for not staying to become better acquainted earlier, but I had commitments to keep."

If Cassie had not known otherwise, she would have believed they had become the fondest of friends during those brief moments at the inn.

"May I offer you tea, Lord Carlyon?" she asked, barely skipping a beat.

He nodded and as she poured the cup for him, she noticed that he seemed to be studying her. Happily, her hands were steady and she was the model of grace.

He accepted the cup with an arched brow. "I see you have collected yourself, Miss Sinclaire."

"Whatever do you mean, Roland?" Lady Tyndale demanded.

His warm smile broadened to include his aunt. "This afternoon, Miss Sinclaire greeted me with a poker. I do believe she thought I meant to abscond with her or something worse."

"Lucinda! You never said a word to me."

"Mama didn't tell me I was to be met, and I'm afraid the innkeeper gave me a mistrust for his establishment."

"Sending Roland was a last-minute decision," Lady Tyndale admitted. "There wasn't time for me to advise you. And given your own assessment of the establishment you must agree I acted in your best interest."

"Yes, thank you, Godmama."

"I am not certain I agree with you, Aunt." Lord Carlyon's lazy smile washed over Cassie. "I believe I am lucky to have emerged from our meeting with my crown intact. Wouldn't you agree, Miss Sinclaire?"

"Indeed, I would, Lord Carlyon," Cassie said with all the sweetness she could summon. "Between my concern for my missing friend and my mistrust of unexpected escorts, I felt fully capable of dispensing with you with a single blow."

"However did I escape, I wonder?"

"The thought of explaining your corpse to the constabulary forestalled me. It seems you owe them your life."

"I must remember to thank them."

"Indeed, you should. Do you number them amongst your acquaintances?"

"A few."

"Well then, they will enjoy hearing the story of your narrow escape."

"You will tell no such story to anyone, Roland," Lady Tyndale said firmly. "Your job is to protect Lucinda's reputation. Not create a scandal."

"The thought never crossed my mind, I assure you. Indeed, I abhor scandals."

"Do you, Lord Carlyon? I would have thought the life of a military man could become quite adventurous at times."

"I was speaking on behalf of the fairer sex. A man's reputation is not so easily lost."

"How very fortunate for you." A flicker in his eyes told Cassie her barb had struck home, and she regretted her indiscretion. It was, after all, her purpose to encourage him to declare himself. In a warmer tone, she amended, "Don't you agree it's most unfair for women alone to suffer such restrictions on their behavior."

His smile, which had never left his face, relaxed. "Perhaps, but it would be foolish to assume otherwise."

"Exactly," Lady Tyndale said. "Never forget that, Lucinda, or you will certainly regret the oversight."

"Yes, Godmama."

Lady Tyndale nodded approvingly. "Well, Roland. What do you think of my goddaughter? She certainly has a head on her shoulders, don't you agree?"

"And a most attractive one." His voice was soft-pitched, but not so soft that Lady Tyndale missed the compliment paid her goddaughter. She beamed at the two of them.

"Mme. Aubert, the maîtresse of my school, would be surprised to hear me described so," Cassie admitted.

"Nonsense," said Lady Tyndale. "She should be very pleased. You just need a little town bronze. Do you agree, Roland?"

He sipped his tea while looking over Cassie's gown and her person. It was the third time that day she had been inspected. Lady Tyndale, Polly, and now a wastrel. As if his opinion could possibly matter to her.

"She is delightful," he pronounced at last. "You shall be forced to attend every rout party in the season just to allow all her suitors the opportunity of dancing with her."

"Never. One must draw the line at accepting any invitation from Amanda Bedlington."

He laughed. It was a warm, honeyed laugh, not at all unpleasant, and Cassie realized more than a few women would have been pleased to coax forth that laughter, but only if they were unaware of his true character.

Lord Carlyon turned his gaze from his aunt to Cassie, and a surprising heat flowed between them. Cassie hoped only she was aware of the odd effect he was having on her.

Amusement flickered in his eyes. "Miss Sinclaire, would you allow me the pleasure of escorting you on a ride through the park one afternoon?"

"Roland has an excellent seat," Lady Tyndale told her, subtly voicing her approval to the plan. "Perhaps one day next week?"

Cassie was not at all used to having plans made for her without being consulted. Only her concern for Lucinda stopped her from making a sharp retort, but she was happy to be unable to fit in with their plans. "I fear I am not a good horsewoman," she said with what she hoped was just the right mix of good manners, disappointment, and wistfulness.

"How noble of you to confess your lack of skill," Lord Carlyon replied. "Many young ladies would ruin a horse rather than admit to just such a shortcoming."

"Letting an innocent beast suffer for the sake of vanity would be unforgivable," she said sincerely.

"There, did I not tell you she was out of the ordinary way? I am certain you must agree." Lady Tyndale patted Cassie on the hand.

Her nephew stood and sketched a half bow. "When have I ever doubted your judgment? Truly, you are the wisest woman I know. Except when it comes to picking Derby winners."

His tone was light and teasing, and he walked toward Cassie with a conspirator's smile. "I assure you, Miss Sinclaire, always wager the opposite of my aunt, and you shall come away richer by half." He stopped with his hand on the arm of the settee.

"I do not gamble," she said, refusing to draw back, but finding his nearness discomfiting in the extreme.

"It is not gambling," he said in an intimate tone that brought warmth to her cheeks. "It is a sure thing."

"Silly boy." Lady Tyndale waggled her finger at him. "You'll see me win this year. Then where will you be?"

"Clapped up in Bedlam," he said promptly.

She laughed at the sally.

Cassie, too, allowed herself a faint smile. The man's manner was disconcerting, and his charm and ready wit would certainly make most women--no, most people--susceptible to his machinations. No wonder he was a successful rake and scoundrel. She would do well to remind herself of everything she'd read in Lucinda's letter.

To her relief, Lord Carlyon returned to his seat and the conversation turned to more commonplace topics. How did she find London compared to Geneva? Did she prefer English to European roads? Did the differences in weather seem extreme to her? Throughout it all, it was impossible to be unaware of Lord Carlyon's masculine presence, or how he dominated their small company. Nevertheless, Cassie had regained a semblance of her self-possession before the conversation had been exhausted. And, throughout, she replied intelligently to his questions and even returned a few sallies.

They had all finished tea when he rose, took her hand, and pressed a kiss on her fingers. Cassie drew back, her fingers tingling, her composure shaken.

His lips twitched, as if he were aware of her confusion. "I shall look forward to furthering our acquaintance. There is no need to forego our ride in the park. I will bring the carriage round for you instead of a mount. For now, I beg your leave as I have a dinner engagement I must honor." Before Cassie could object or think of a plausible reason to refuse the carriage ride, he bowed and turned to Lady Tyndale. "Aunt, you will excuse me?"

Lady Tyndale watched him leave the room, then turned to her and said triumphantly, "Well?"

"He is most handsome, Godmama. And charming," she added when she saw her hostess expected more. But nothing would force a greater admission from her lips.

"He is a remarkable young man," Lady Tyndale said, seeming to think more praise was required. "I can only hope to do as well for your daughters." She smiled and patted Cassie's hand again. "I will order a dinner tray sent up to your room. You would be well advised to retire early this evening. I plan to do the same in order to be rested for tomorrow." With a kiss on Cassie's cheek, Lady Tyndale dismissed her.

Lost in thought, Cassie wandered back to her room. Lady Tyndale would be sorely disappointed if she planned on matchmaking for any children of hers. And now that Lord Carlyon could no longer confuse her with his presence, she was able to view him more objectively. He had worked hard to please her during tea, and his attentive behavior was suspicious. All that charm wasted on a schoolgirl by such a sophisticated gentleman?

No, Lord Carlyon was playing a deep game. Her guess was he planned to fix her affections before she was exposed to other eligible bachelors. It was hardly surprising he supposed he could. He was the most annoyingly attractive man, and his manners were above reproach. Worse, his affection for his aunt seemed wholly genuine. Someone more naive and less informed than Cassie would have been completely enamored of the man before she'd drained her first cup of tea. And Lucinda, always the romantic, would have forgotten all of Georgie's warnings the second she'd laid eyes on Lord Carlyon.

With a great deal to think about, and the first skirmish of a long battle behind her, Cassie removed her shoes and dress, slipped into a wrapper, and lay down for a nap. What was needed, she decided, was a plan of action.

Three hours later, she awakened to the sound of Polly setting a tray on the table nearest her bed.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, miss. If I'd known you was so tired, I wouldn't--"

"Nonsense, Polly. You haven't disturbed me at all. And if you'd let me go without my supper I should have been ravenous by morning. No lady should appear ravenous, or so I am told."

"Yes, miss. I'm sure you're right, miss. Why don't you have some of this before it gets cold, and I'll stoke the fire?"

Cassie watched her work. Polly's naturally quick movements deliberately slowed to a pace the girl thought ladylike. Now and then, she forgot herself and punctuated her actions with a rapid motion. Watching her was like watching a strange, symbolic dance.

"How large a household is this?" Cassie asked to distract her from her struggles.

Polly's angular shoulders lifted and fell. "Oh, there's jist her ladyship. Of course, Lord Carlyon is stayin' here, too. But you knows that, seein' as you're as good as betrothed to him and all." Polly peered curiously at Cassie's reflection in the mirror. "Lady Tyndale says it's a love match. I thought all toff weddin's were arranged."

Cassie felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Goodness. Even the servants were aware of Lucinda's fate. "It is not yet arranged," she told Polly firmly. "Before today, I had never met nor seen the man. My parents sent me to discover if he was someone I could love."

Polly eyes widened but her lips pursed together tightly.

Cassie shot her a conspiratorial smile. "I assume you've encountered his lordship. Tell me, what do you think of him?"

Polly thought for a minute. "He's ever so handsome. Like a prince in a storybook. And there's niver a harsh word, and he's generous to the staff..." She trailed off reluctantly.

"What is it Polly?"

She hesitated, then sighed heavily. "He goes out. Sometimes all night. And Lucius, the coachman, says how he spends all his time goin' from gamin' 'ell to gamin' 'ell. And how it seems that he's flash on the go, but he be sober as a judge when he gets out the coach at the house." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And sometimes he takes her with him." Her hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes started to fill with tears. "Beggin' yer pardon, miss. I dinno what came over me. Knolls allus says how my tongue runs on by itself."

She broke down into gusty sobs.

Cassie sprang up from the bed and gave Polly a hug. "There, there. Don't go on. You've told me no more than I already suspected." With a few pats and more friendly reassurances, she persuaded the girl to cease her crying.

"Now, Polly, we'll have no more apologies. If you are to be my maid, it is your duty to take care of me. If Lord Carlyon is a rake and wastrel, I would not care to marry him."

"But Lady Tyndale's maid says as how her ladyship says--"

"Bear in mind, Polly, my parents have the final word. They will allow me to follow the dictates of my own heart. I have heard much of Lord Carlyon that gives me pause. I need to make certain exactly what sort of man he is before I am foolish enough to fall in love with him."

"I'll go bail I can find out anythin' for you, miss." She clasped her hands to her thin chest in ecstasy. "This is better than them books Cook taught me to read. Even better than the play them street players did for the May festival." Eyes shining, she began to rattle the coal scuttle with such vigor that Cassie soon had to beg her to calm down.

Polly left Cassie with more to digest than her supper. She could imagine the Sinclaires' chagrin when they discovered Lord Carlyon was a hardened gamester like his father. She only hoped she could contain her contempt for the fortune-hunting villain until he fell into the trap she planned to lay for him.

* * *

Lady Tyndale had promised the fittings would be tiresome, and she'd been right. Cassie hardly knew if she were on her head or her heels. For eight wearisome days she'd been little more than a dressmaker's dummy. If one more pin stuck her, she couldn't be answerable for the consequences.

There were so many dresses: carriage dresses, walking dresses, riding habits, ball gowns, even gowns one wore to try on gowns. Several times, she'd protested the expense, but Lady Tyndale gave her such a look she dropped the matter and assuaged her guilt by telling herself all the gowns would fit Lucinda with only the slightest of alterations. Whenever possible, Cassie selected colors she knew would flatter her friend, but Lady Tyndale thwarted her at every turn with the gentlest shake of her head and a soft word.

"Didn't you see this shade, my dear? I know it will be much more to your liking."

And of course it was. Lady Tyndale's eye was above reproach.

Polly, too, was of no help to her. For days, the girl had restricted her conversation to monosyllables, saying little more than "Yes, miss," or "No, miss," or even the occasional garrulous, "Whatever you say, miss."

At last, unable to bear the long silences, Cassie had taken her aside and announced, "Polly, I can endure no more of this coldness. Whatever is the matter with you?"

Tears welled up in the girl's eyes. "Oh, miss, I was so afeerd as how you'd turn me off for sayin' all those things."

"How ever could you believe that of me? It is as I said before. A lady's maid is loyal to her mistress. You were merely pointing out some character flaws that were being hidden from me."

"But Cook said I shouldn't be tellin' tales about my betters or I'd be back on the street without a position." She couldn't meet Cassie's eye and stood before her, the picture of shame.

"Ah, I see. Well, I give you my promise not to repeat any information you pass on to me regarding Lord Carlyon. There is no reason for Cook to be privy to our conversations."

"But, miss--"

"Remember, Polly, you are the only person I can trust. I need you to stand by me."

"Well, there is something, miss," Polly said, a trace of her recent hesitance still in her voice.

Cassie took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "You must tell me, Polly. You must."

Her young abigail glanced surreptitiously about the bedroom as though Cook or possibly Lord Carlyon himself was hiding behind the curtains. Cassie would have smiled if the girl's thin face hadn't been so terribly serious. "For heaven's sake," she pleaded. "If you keep me in suspense a moment longer I believe I shall go completely round the bend."

Satisfied she wouldn't be overheard, Polly nodded. "It's his valet, miss. The servants hall don't know what to make of him. He don't care a fiddle for his lordship's clothes. He's gone for days on end without tellin' no one. An' he don't respect his betters like he should. I even heard him swearin' at Knolls."

"Goodness. He does sound like a queer fish. What else can you tell me?"

Dillon, she learned, had been the talk of the servants hall since his arrival two weeks before Cassie herself had come to London. The man was surly, often rude, and as careless of his lordship's appearance as he was of his own. Even Knolls had unbent enough to pass judgment.

"He says Dillon is an inferior servant and not what we're accustomed to. Warned us girls to stay right away from him. He's got a fair wicked scar on his cheek and a patch over his eye." Her abigail paused dramatically. "I say as how he might have been a pirate."

At this pronouncement, Cassie's tension dissipated into a fit of giggles. Polly, very much on her dignity, sniffed and said, "You'll see."

Cassie hastily apologized. "I fear my nerves are getting the better of me."

Polly nodded, her hurt feelings forgotten. "Ain't surprisin'. Yer a lady. You ain't tough like me." Having forgiven Cassie for her faux pas, she vowed her undying loyalty one more time and hurried off to the duties she'd been neglecting.

Cassie made her way to breakfast. Having the entire table to herself, she languidly drank her tea and nibbled on toast and red currant jelly. Her dawdling came to an abrupt end when the housemaid appeared and announced she was wanted upstairs for a final fitting. Horrified that she'd kept both Lady Tyndale and the seamstress waiting, she gulped the last of her tea, pushed herself away from her plate, and bolted upstairs.

In her haste, she collided with a man who was leaving one of the bedrooms. The boots he was carrying flew off in opposite directions. Only his quick grasping of her elbow prevented her from collapsing on the carpet at his feet. She gave a squeak of surprise at his appearance, but recognized him immediately from her abigail's description.

Dillon.

Polly was right. He looked like nothing less than a pirate captain. A puckered scar sprang from beneath the black patch covering his left eye. Thin and white, it ran down the planes of his cheek to his chin. His features were lumpish, as though a sculptor had slapped balls of clay on his face to shape his nose and lips, then forgotten to finish what he'd begun.

"Eh, watch where you're goin'," he said, completing the shock he'd given her. His voice was none other than the voice she'd heard at the inn. Lord Carlyon was being blackmailed by his own valet!

"Forgive me," she managed to say, and realized she must have looked like a wantwit, staring at him as she had done.

"You ought to watch where yer going, you do." He gathered up the boots and headed down the stairs.

"Should you be using the front stairs?" she asked, not to remonstrate but out of genuine surprise.

He stiffened and turned back to her. His surly expression knocked her back a step. Knolls's comment regarding Dillon's lack of respect for his betters echoed in her mind. She almost expected a rebuke.

"Stairs is stairs," Dillon said coldly, then continued on the route he'd chosen.

She watched him go. Knolls had been correct. The man wasn't a proper servant for this household--or any other she had known! Goodness only knew why Lord Carlyon employed him. Possibly Dillon had insisted and he'd been unable to refuse, although it was an odd sort of blackmailer who insisted upon employment as part of his ill-gotten gains.

Thoroughly perplexed, she continued on to the fitting and made her apologies. Those accepted, she fell silent and her thoughts distracted her from the prick of the pins.

As his lordship's valet, Dillon would find himself in a position to note the activities of the men and women in his master's exalted circle. Not bad positioning for someone inclined to blackmail. But would Lord Carlyon sacrifice his friends to keep his own activities concealed?

Apparently so.

It was a curious look from Lady Tyndale that drew her from her reverie, and Cassie realized some response was expected from her. "Forgive me, Godmama. I was woolgathering. Did you say something?"

"I simply reminded you Roland is to take you driving today."

"Thank you. I had forgotten."

"Forgotten?" For once, Lady Tyndale looked discomfited.

"There have been so many fittings," Cassie explained hurriedly. "These past days have all run together."

"Ah, of course. No matter. All is in readiness. I've had Polly lay out your clothes. As soon as we are done here, you must go and change."

As usual, the fitting ran late, but Polly quickly buttoned Cassie into her new carriage dress, tilted her plumed bonnet at the proper angle, and tied the bow. Feeling like a well-dressed sacrifice, Cassie descended to the salon to meet Lord Carlyon.

Who hadn't arrived.

Cassie waited a few minutes, but tiring of her enforced idleness, she informed Knolls she would be in the library where she thumbed through a Minerva Press.

Lord Carlyon appeared fully twenty minutes late. He leaned against the door frame, and the rays of sunshine spilling through the mullioned windows lit him as though he were the entire reason for their existence. As much as she would have liked to have done so, Cassie found it impossible to ignore him. Her gaze left her book and fixed on him in spite of her.

He smiled. "Miss Sinclaire, you are very prompt."

"As you, sir, are not," she said tartly, her recent encounter with Dillon still fresh in her mind.

"Forgive me. It was not by choice, I assure you."

He crossed to her chair and bowed over her hand, lingering just long enough to start her pulse pounding in her veins. By the time he withdrew, she could feel a prickling warmth across her cheeks and her annoyance doubled. Despite the dressing down she'd given him, he led her out to his phaeton with an amused smile upon his face.

Chapter Three

A high-perch phaeton, slung at a rakish angle akin to the line of Cassie's bonnet, stood outside Tyndale House. The wheels were picked out in yellow and contrasted sharply to the glossy black body. A perfectly matched pair of chestnut geldings, their coats brushed until the coppery highlights glistened in the sun, tossed their heads and shifted restlessly in their harness.

No wonder the phaeton is considered dangerous, Cassie thought. It sits precariously upon the undercarriage and wobbles fiercely at any disturbance.

Lord Carlyon handed her up then ascended himself and took up the reins. As the carriage jolted forward, Cassie gripped the edge of her seat and squeezed her eyes shut. A few minutes later, when she realized the horses had settled and the carriage still remained upright, she dared to open them again.

They had joined the procession of carriages sedately circling the park. Every few minutes a group of Lord Carlyon's acquaintances stopped to pay their respects, and she was introduced to more people than she had met in the past five years. In a quiet moment, he turned to her with a face most sober. "Miss Sinclaire, I had a selfish reason for inviting you on this drive. I wish to broach a subject that is quite...delicate."

"Proceed, Lord Carlyon," she said and took a deep breath to steady herself. His gravity, instead of diminishing his charm, made him seem more intelligent and high-minded. He appeared to be exactly the sort of gentleman any parent would cherish--a responsible suitor for their daughter's hand. In fact, exactly the kind of gentleman who impressed Cassie. She gave him her full attention while determinedly clinging to her misgivings about him. She wasn't fully satisfied with her success.

He, clearly having no notion of the turmoil inside her, regarded her soberly. "I am aware of my aunt's intent in bringing you to stay at Tyndale House. It is my hope that a little plain speaking will quell any embarrassment that might arise due to her matchmaking schemes."

"This is plain speaking indeed, sir."

"I wish to add that I am willing to allow you every opportunity to persuade me of her discernment."

Guileless blue eyes gazed into hers with nary a cloud of guilt to mar them. Luckily, the effect was tempered by Cassie's blurred vision, as her spectacles lay in the top drawer of her dresser. She smiled sweetly. "How very kind of you. But there are two of us who need convincing, Lord Carlyon."

His brows shot up, then his features smoothed and he returned her smile. "I shall do my utmost."

The coach ahead of them lumbered forward, and he turned his attention to his driving. "So, Miss Sinclaire, let us hold a proper conversation. How do you find the sights of London?"

His abrupt switch to company manners startled her, but she answered coolly, "I hardly know. I've seen nothing of Town yet, save for those scenes I glimpsed through the window of the carriage that brought me here. I would dearly love to see the British Museum and the Tower."

He gave her a curious look. "I would think the shops, balls, and Vauxhall Gardens would be more to your liking."

Cassie shook her head firmly. "I've always been fascinated by history. One needs to know the history of a people to understand them. Or of a person so as not to be fooled by him." She met his gaze directly.

He chuckled. "I fear if every woman knew the true history of their prospective husbands, they would never marry them." He bowed and nodded to a mature gentlewoman in a barouche as they swept past.

"Perhaps the best way to judge a man is by his servants," Cassie suggested.

"How is that?"

"If he keeps a superior sort of servant, one who knows his duties, that is one thing. But if the servant be slothful, or dishonest, or arrogant, it says much about the master. Tell me, how did you come by a valet like Dillon?"

A look of affront crossed his face, but he said civilly, "He was my batman. When I left my post to return to England, I brought him with me. He is a bit odd, but a good man in a pinch."

"My maid has decided he is a pirate."

Lord Carlyon gave a shout of laughter. "I shall have to tell him. What a jest. Why, he is as honorable as I."

"Gentlemen tend to think of honor in different terms than ladies. In my opinion, many so-called honorable actions are extremely foolish."

He shot a glance her way. "And what, pray tell, falls into that category?"

"It is unacceptable for a man not to pay his gambling debts immediately, yet to allow a poor tradesman to wait an inordinate amount of time to be paid his due is the common practice."

"It is a practice I do not support," he said with an emphasis that impressed her. "Tradesman need to be repaid in a timely fashion. Yet, if one has a debt of honor, that must take precedence over all. A gentleman must settle those debts any way he can."

"Including thievery?"

"Good Lord! Where do you come by these notions? Any man who takes the property of another should be horsewhipped." His brows slammed down over his eyes, and his grip tightened on the handle of his whip.

Cassie barely refrained from shivering. An angry Lord Carlyon would be a man to be reckoned with. She did not care to push his temper beyond its limits, but as Mme. Aubert had so often pointed out, her tongue was rarely curbed by good sense. "Do you not think that a man who marries solely for money should be included in that punishment?" She kept her tone light. "After all, he is taking a lady's fortune."

"But he gives his heart in return."

"Gentlemen bestow their hearts as indiscriminately as the wind scatters the leaves."

"He also gives his name, and that is of no small consequence."

"Not if that name has been blackened by ill-considered behavior."

He turned and laid a devastating smile upon her. "The love of a good woman can sometimes redeem the worst of blackguards."

"I would find the risk greater than the reward," she retorted, but his smile left her feeling light-headed. Lord Carlyon was going to be a formidable challenge.

To her dismay, he reined in the horses and took her hand. "Any gentleman who is fortunate enough to win this hand would not be so foolish as to play fast and loose with its owner."

"Fie, sir, unless you have gypsy blood, you have no way of knowing my fate."

"My aunt has one idea of what your destiny may be."

"I might have another."

His gaze caught and held hers. "This idea, would it include a secret attachment?"

"Why no," she replied, wanting to challenge, not discourage, him. "I am planning to open a superior sort of school for young ladies."

"Indeed?"

With a cheerful smile, she assured him, "I shall be a very successful headmistress."

Her announcement ended their idle chatter. Lord Carlyon took up the reins again, and they were drawn back into the promenade of horses and carriages. Every few minutes, he cast surreptitious glances her way, as though he had no idea what to make of her, but he remained relentlessly charming. When they found themselves back at the point where they had begun, he turned and asked, "Would you care to go around again or shall we return home?"

"Home, I think," she said, feeling they'd battled enough for one day.

Obligingly, he guided the horses to the nearest gate. "I would like to escort you to the Tower in two days, Miss Sinclaire."

"Godmama may have accepted an invitation for that day, but I shall check to see if I am free."

"You will be."

His calm assurance that plans would be made around him was irritating in the extreme. Cassie did the only thing she could do. She turned away so as not to stick her tongue out at him.

He handed her safely down when they reached Tyndale House and escorted her up the steps to the door. To her surprise, he refused to come in but said his good-byes and departed.

It seems you are rid of him for the rest of this day, she said to herself then wondered why her satisfaction lacked its usual warmth. Perhaps because she had not yet discharged her duty to Lucinda. Determined to be more obliging on their next drive, she hurried upstairs to her room.

It was awash in silver paper and hat boxes, and dresses of every hue and description lay across the bed. Lady Tyndale stood near the window like a captain at the helm of his ship, directing the unpacking of Cassie's new wardrobe. Polly, the only member of her crew, scurried this way and that, never once seeming to hold a clear notion of where she was going or what she was doing.

Spotting Cassie, Lady Tyndale's bright mood ratcheted up several notches and she promptly insisted on hearing about her drive.

"It was quite nice," Cassie admitted. "And Lord Carlyon has agreed to show me the sights two days hence. Have we anything planned?"

"Nothing is more important than driving with Roland," Lady Tyndale declared. "Except deciding what you will wear." She turned back to Polly. "Hurry and find the gown we shall want for tonight, girl. Lucinda needs to rest now. We'll be going out this evening."

With Cassie to help them, Lady Tyndale had the room shipshape in less time than either young woman would have thought possible. Satisfied, she reminded Cassie of her orders and swept out of the room with Polly in her wake.

Cassie obediently lay down on her bed. Still, she was not in the least bit tired, and sleep was impossible. Instead, to her annoyance, her thoughts kept returning to Lord Carlyon.

* * *

Their first outing was to a small musicale at Lady Mainwaring's townhouse. When the coach pulled up and they were handed down, Cassie could scarcely keep from rushing up the stairs, and though she tried to stop, she couldn't resist stealing glances at her image as they passed the gilt-framed looking glasses that adorned the walls.

She floated in a cloud of pale yellow muslin with her newly cropped hair tumbling about in curls. A gold ribbon was threaded through them and matched the knots of ribbon at her sleeve and hem. A soft brown pelisse kept her warm, and a simple strand of pearls wrapped her neck, each bead perfectly matched--a gift from Lady Tyndale.

Lucinda will love them, she told herself sternly. They'll go well with the drop earrings her parents gave her for her sixteenth birthday.

She peeped down at her stockings. They were wondrous fine and worked with clocks of gold. Indeed, she felt like Cinderella. All she lacked was a prince.

Lord Carlyon's image invaded her thoughts, but she firmly ousted him. He shouldn't have been any young lady's notion of a prince, and he was certainly not hers. Why, better she married Lucinda's cousin Georgie. He, for all his physical faults, was unfailingly honest.

Candles and chandeliers with sparkling lusters lit the bright salon. Here, the mirrors reflected a glittering crowd, all pressed together in a flood of bright color and brilliants. It seemed as though no one could take a step without trampling on someone's slipper or stepping on someone's hem.

A sad crush, she thought as she and Lady Tyndale found chairs a comfortable distance from the orchestra. Then she smiled at herself. She sounded quite jaded, as was the mode.

Her inexperience soon resurfaced, for the musicians were excellent. They played a selection that included some of the new Austrian composers. There was one piece in particular by Haydn that Cassie was determined to master, even if the task required hours on the pianoforte. But she seemed alone in her enjoyment of the piece. Most of the company ignored the musicians and chatted unceasingly. Naturally, they joined in the applause, but Cassie doubted they'd heard a note.

Lady Tyndale nudged her with her fan. "You need to cultivate a pleasant expression. Frowning is most distasteful in a young lady."

"I'm amazed the musicians agreed to play at all."

"They do as they are paid to do. If you wish a concert, I will take you. This is a social evening."

Halfway through the evening, the musicians took an intermission, and a Mrs. Tucker joined Lady Tyndale. It seemed they were old friends with many acquaintances in common and much to discuss. Mrs. Tucker's daughter, who had followed her mother across the room much as a determined chick follows a hen through a busy farmyard, sat down next to Cassie. The ruffled low-cut neckline of Miss Tucker's dress accented her narrow chest and bony shoulders, and the gown--an unfortunate shade of pink--highlighted her sallow skin. Despite her less than prepossessing appearance, she had a superior air, but that disappeared as soon as she and Cassie discovered they shared a mutual admiration for music.

After she'd unbent, Miss Tucker regaled Cassie with her knowledge of the latest on dits. She'd just begun a particularly scandalous bit when Roland entered. On his arm was the most beautiful woman Cassie had ever seen. Her ebony hair and sapphire blue eyes were a dramatic contrast to her gown--a carmine confection that glowed like a flame. From a distance, she didn't appear to be wearing petticoats, and her dress clung in a most improper manner. Lord Carlyon looked splendid in black evening dress and made a perfect foil for his companion's good looks. By comparison, the rest of the company seemed drained of color.

Miss Tucker gasped. She glanced quickly at her mother and Lady Tyndale who were intent upon their own conversation, and her pointy nose twitched with excitement. She leaned toward Cassie. "That's Lady Atwater. With her husband in Brussels, she's behaving most indiscreetly with Lord Carlyon. I've heard that the patronesses mean to revoke her vouchers. Rumor has it that she's addicted to gambling." She gave Cassie an arch look. "And Lord Carlyon."

"But you say she's married."

Miss Tucker sniffed. "To a man more than fifteen years her senior. Lord Atwater was said to be a confirmed bachelor in the years before his marriage. His young cousin fully expected to inherit the title. No one was more shocked than he by the marriage. Nor disappointed, I should think. And as he himself has said, any heir she produces will likely have less claim to the estates than he--for all the good that will do him. And don't think Lord Atwater isn't aware of the mistake he made. When he went to the continent, he made certain to take her along, but now she's back again and likely to prove all the warnings well-founded."

Her last words reached Lady Tyndale who leaned over and rapped the young woman's knuckles sharply with her fan. Glaring at the unfortunate Miss Tucker, she said, "Gossip is the province of sour old maids, not properly bred young ladies. I suggest you restrict your conversation to the music."

This effectively squashed any talk at all. Miss Tucker met Cassie's tentative attempts with tight-lipped silence. Sighing, Cassie settled back into her chair and waited for the musicians to start up again, but her gaze kept straying to Lord Carlyon and his companion.

To her dismay, he caught one of her glances, nodded, and began to lead Lady Atwater toward their party. A tremor coursed through Cassie, and she heard Miss Tucker's sudden intake of breath. Lord Carlyon, however, continued on his path across the room. Conversation broke off among the clutches of guests as they approached, then restarted with renewed vigor after they'd passed. Lady Tyndale must have sensed the change in the room's atmosphere for she looked up.

Lady Atwater swept along at Lord Carlyon's side, her serene smile fixed to her face with suspicious tenacity. As they drew nearer, Cassie squinted to keep her in focus. Lady Atwater did, indeed, wear petticoats, but they had definitely been dampened.

Lord Carlyon halted in front of them and made an elegant leg. "Aunt, you remember Chloe Spalding, don't you?"

Lady Atwater curtsied. "Lady Tyndale, it's a pleasure to see you again," she said in throaty tones that made every male within earshot turn his head and stare wistfully.

Lady Tyndale raised an eyebrow and quietly inspected the woman. Cassie almost sympathized with Lady Atwater, having so recently undergone a similar procedure. Around the salon, voices dropped and those gazes that had not been turned to them focused on the mirrors at such an angle, Cassie felt certain it was not their own reflections that fascinated them.

Lady Tyndale smiled. "Why, Chloe, the last time I remember seeing you, you and Roland had uprooted half the rhododendrons on my brother's estate digging for Viking plunder."

"I told her Vikings wouldn't have come so far inland," said Roland.

"That did not stop you from digging."

"But Aunt, what if I'd been wrong?"

She nodded and gazed on him fondly. "Now go and enjoy your evening. It was a pleasure to see you again, Chloe."

"The pleasure was all mine, Lady Tyndale." Gratitude for the warm reception shone in her eyes.

Roland bowed to his aunt and gave her a speaking look as he said, "Thank you."

Cassie's mind was a jumble. The woman who was said to be Lord Carlyon's mistress was actually a childhood friend? Was this a long-standing attachment? This made Lord Carlyon even more unsuitable in her mind. He must have some genuine affection for the woman; he'd been exceedingly grateful to Lady Tyndale for not giving her the cut direct. Although why Lady Tyndale was willing to give her cachet to a woman who was supposedly beyond the pale escaped Cassie's understanding completely.

Under the pretext of viewing a Reynolds landscape hanging on the opposite wall, Cassie made her excuses and escaped from Miss Tucker. The painting hung near the balcony. Several potted palms stood to either side, and cool air seeped past the heavy draperies covering the open windows. She pretended to admire the fine rendition of the Lake District when voices on the balcony caught her attention.

"More money, Roland? I thought the last payment was enough." Lady Atwater's seductive voice sounded strained. "I cannot stand much more."

"Hush. We cannot discuss the matter here. For heaven's sake, Chloe. Use some discretion. Take my arm and smile."

"Please, do not make me do this," she pleaded pitifully.

"You have no choice." The implacability in Lord Carlyon's voice made Cassie shiver.

They entered the room, and it was all Cassie could do to stop herself from denouncing him. What an absolute rotter! Lady Atwater's begging had almost brought tears to Cassie's eyes. Then and there, she vowed to discover his awful scheme and expose him.

Fuming, she obtained a glass of lemonade for herself and champagne for Lady Tyndale. As she carried them back to the chairs, she passed Lord Carlyon and his unfortunate companion. Lady Atwater was surrounded by a group of admiring gentlemen and laughing at some remark. The laughter sounded hollow, and Cassie wondered that no one saw the haunted look in the woman's eyes. Lord Carlyon smiled and nodded at Cassie as she passed. Cassie glared back and continued on to her chair.

"Lucinda, are you feeling quite the thing?" Lady Tyndale asked over her glass of champagne.

"I must confess to the headache. Perhaps it is the room being so heated."

"Lady Mainwaring's salons are always too warm. In the summer she cannot count any rout as a success unless three of her friends faint. Come, we shall make our farewells."

The coach was brought to the door, and the night air was as welcome as the darkness. Closing her eyes and leaning back against the leather seat, Cassie tried to think of an innocent way to open a discussion of Lord Carlyon's behavior.

Lady Tyndale forestalled her. "Child," she began. "I hope you will not dwell upon Miss Tucker's remarks. She set her cap at my nephew last season and was bitterly disappointed when he did not ask for her hand. I am certain she sees you as a rival."

"Then I would think she would be more concerned over Lady Atwater. Is she a long-time friend of Lord Carlyon?"

"Yes. Her family's estates border his. She was the most engaging child. Always getting into scrapes and dragging Roland with her. I was surprised to hear she married Atwater. He was a bachelor for so long, and didn't seem to be the sort of man a lively girl like Chloe would choose. But he was besotted with her from the moment he laid eyes on her. She's so very lovely, I suppose it isn't surprising. And she seemed equally taken with him, although from the outside, the match seemed an unlikely one. But there is no understanding people's hearts. Of course, Atwater was fabulously wealthy, but I never thought his money was the reason she accepted him. It wasn't as though she didn't have other choices. Still, his mother suspected the worst and opposed the marriage from the start, but Atwater was determined to have her."

Cassie digested the information in silence. A wealthy, older man absent in the wars. A bored, spirited wife. And a dashing childhood sweetheart. The perfect scenario for an indiscreet liaison. But Lord Carlyon must be desperate, indeed, if he would seduce an old friend and then take money from her, to say nothing about the liaison.

But if he, too, were being blackmailed...

She wondered if Lady Atwater had learned of his predicament and volunteered to help, then discovered Lord Carlyon had come to depend on her gifts and was driven even to demand them.

It occurred to Cassie she was making excuses for him, and she was greatly annoyed with herself. Even if Lord Carlyon had made one mistake, a true gentleman would not compound that mistake with a second.

"They did seem very close," she said, hoping more information would be forthcoming.

Lady Tyndale gave a short laugh. "Do not go missish on me, girl. Men are easily drawn to women of a certain type. But they bestow their names on another. Do not refine upon it. Ladies must learn to turn a blind eye to some things in a man's past."

"Why did you countenance her if you think she is that sort of female?"

"Because it was what Roland wanted. That scapegrace has caused her to be the subject of a great deal of talk. My recognition will help squelch the rumors."

"He would have been better served to think of that earlier."

"Men are illogical creatures at best."

It was a good thing Lucinda was beautiful, Cassie decided. At least she wouldn't be courted solely by gentlemen who were dangling for an heiress. What if she were plain or clumsy? She would always know she was being sought out for the sake of her dowry.

But if Cassie took satisfaction in knowing her actions would save Lucinda from pain, she despised herself for deceiving Lady Tyndale. That good woman would be shocked and dismayed when she learned of her nephew's perfidy. She cared for him deeply. Oddly, Cassie suspected Lord Carlyon cared as much for his aunt as she did him. Strange, when she considered his many failings. Even in the blackest heart, some good must lie, she decided.

And if she were truly honest with herself, she had to admit Roland did have points to his credit. He was intelligent, possessed a sense of humor, and enjoyed excellent manners. Even Polly had said he was kind to the servants. Life would have been far simpler if he'd been a wholly unprincipled blackguard.

This, she thought, must be the sharp sting of deceit I have heard about. She didn't look forward to the unmasking.

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