Reggie looked thoughtful. "You have given me an idea."

"I have?"

Reggie crawled on her knees across the bed to the other side and sat cross-legged beside her. "I know how to lure Uncle Marcus's future wife to Blackthorne Abbey."

"You have someone in mind already?" Becky asked, sitting up, astounded.

"Of course. She already knows Uncle Marcus. If you will only think for a moment, you will come up with the name yourself."

"Eliza! But how can we get her to come here?" Becky asked.

"Uncle Marcus will surely advertise in the Times for another governess. We will simply make sure Miss Sheringham gets a copy of the Times with the advertisement circled, along with a note from us begging her to come and save us from Uncle Marcus."

"From Uncle Marcus?"

Reggie nodded, a mischievous smile on her face. "She will surely have heard rumors about the monster."

Becky's eyes went white around the rims. "Monster?"

"The Beast of Blackthorne. We will simply embellish upon them and make Uncle Marcus seem as fearsome as the rumors. Tell Eliza we fear for our very lives, that the Beast of Blackthorne scares us to death."

"Like spiders frighten me," Becky said with a laugh. "I see. It will work! I know it will. I mean, to get her here. But how are you going to get her together with Uncle Marcus?"

"We will worry about that when she arrives."

Chapter 13.

"I will not do it!" Eliza balled up the Times advertisement seeking a "qualified governess to attend Lady Regina Wharton and Lady Rebecca Wharton at Blackthorne Abbey in Kent," and pitched it into the fire.

Aunt Lavinia sat knitting in an overstuffed chair placed close enough to the fire to catch the additional heat as the newsprint briefly flared, before turning to ash.

"I despise Captain Wharton. With good reason," Eliza said. "I have no desire to seek employment from him."

"Captain Wharton is no more, my dear. Enter the Duke of Blackthorne. His Grace, or the duke, if you please."

"I am the last person His Grace would want in his home, caring for His Grace's children," Eliza said.

Aunt Lavinia's lips puckered as though she had just sucked on a lemon.

"Don't kick up a dust at me," Eliza chided her aunt. "They are his daughters. I do not doubt he seduced his brother's wife. After all, he thought nothing of seducing an innocent like me!"

"That is all in the past. You must move forward, my dear."

"I cannot do it!" Eliza insisted.

"Hummingbird!" Aunt Lavinia replied.

Eliza felt the urge to laugh at Aunt Lavinia's rendition of "Humbug!" but choked it back. "I tell you, I cannot! And it is humbug, not hummingbird."

Her aunt harrumped. The knitting needles clacked furiously. "You can work for him. And you must. Or we are lost."

Panic rose in Eliza's breast. She was being urged willy-nilly toward a situation fraught with danger. She paced a well-known path before her aunt's chair, holding Charlie's letter, which had accompanied the Times advertisement, clutched in her fist.

Thanks to the Countess of Denbigh, Eliza had been the recipient of each of the previous six Times advertisements for a governess placed during the past year by the newest Duke of Blackthorne. On each occasion Charlie had prompted Eliza to apply for the position of governess.

It had been easy, at first, to throw the advertisements-and Charlie's notes-away. She would do nothing to help His Grace. Blackthorne had not kept his promise. He had not watched over Julian. The Beau had come home alive. And Julian was dead.

Eliza had mourned Julian as though he were her husband, rather than merely her fiance. She had draped the hunting box-and herself-in black. During her year of mourning, the scandal had returned to haunt her. Country folk hid their children's faces from her when she walked down the aisle at church. The gentry excluded her from their holiday celebrations. The Quality gave her the cut direct. Even with her aunt's company, she had never felt so alone.

Charlie had insisted Eliza come to Denbigh Castle for a visit, but Eliza had not allowed herself that comfort. She did not deserve it. Because the first thing she had felt upon hearing of Julian's death had not been grief. It had been relief.

From the moment she had accepted Julian's proposal, Eliza had known it was a mistake. It was all so clear to her-after it was too late to change what she had done.

She had thought she loved Julian. She had been so certain she did! When she had her heart's desire in hand, when Julian had proposed to her, she had realized what she felt for him was not love. It was admiration. And amity. Regard. And respect.

That should have been enough for a good marriage. It would have been enough. If the Beau had not kissed her that last time.

Something had happened inside her, something she did not understand, could never have explained, but knew had been life-altering. He needed her. And God help her, she needed him. Somewhere inside her was a void she had not even known existed. When she looked into the Beau's blue eyes, when he held her tight in his embrace, when he gave her that final, devastating kiss ... the void had been filled.

Eliza had grieved mightily over the past year. For the loss of her one true love. And for the loss of Major Sheringham.

She had been careful to hide her true feelings for the Beau from everyone. He was a confirmed bachelor. He had proved that by refusing to marry her, even though he had ruined her reputation. She had conceded the futility of loving such a man. But she could not seem to stop. It would be humiliating to have anyone find out what an addle-cove she was.

Eliza had accepted blame for her part in the kiss that had mined her. She had flaunted the rules, not realizing-or to be perfectly honest, not caring-how catastrophic the consequences might be. But her sin was not nearly so great as his. The Beau had known full well what would happen to her if they were caught, and had selfishly, thoughtlessly, taken the risk.

She could not forgive him for that, or for abandoning her to her fate. But she still loved him. Would always love him. Eliza fought that weakness every day. It was why she had not responded to any of the advertisements for a governess at Blackthorne Abbey.

She did not trust herself near him.

Her reputation had been blackened so badly by scandal, there was nothing left to preserve. Eliza was afraid she would give in to the Beau's blandishments-she had no doubt he would tempt her-and become his mistress. His whore. She knew she would hate herself-and him-if she did.

Late this afternoon, Eliza had received the seventh Times advertisement. Charlie's accompanying note had been laced with capitals to emphasize her sentiments.

Dearest Eliza, I heard Marcus Wharton called the Beast of Blackthorne in my drawing room last night. I understand his face is Horribly Scarred. He lives in the Dark, and No One is allowed to see him. Imagine the plight of those Two Little Girls!

I am not asking you to Forgive the Beau. I doubt whether you would even see him, since he is playing Least in Sight. You must consider the Children. They need Someone like you to Love Them.

At least go see him. I have no doubt he would hire you Forthwith.

Affectionately,

Charlie

Eliza forced back the pity she felt for the scars that had turned the Beau into a beast. He had suffered a terrible calamity. But a great many men had not returned whole from Waterloo. And a great many more had not returned at all.

She forced herself to speak calmly to her aunt, but her voice vibrated with feeling. "I am sorry for the twins. But I cannot go to Blackthorne Abbey. I am not certain what I would do if I ever laid eyes on the Beau again. I would rather not find out. Believe me, Aunt Lavinia, anyone who applies for the position would make a better governess than I would."

"What about the correspondence you received from Lady Regina and Lady Rebecca?" her aunt challenged, knitting needles clacking noisily. "Are you planning to disregard it, as well?"

Eliza bit her lower lip. "I will simply have to tell the twins I cannot help them."

Her aunt stopped knitting and focused her gray eyes on Eliza. "Then you're a worse ninnypoophammer than I thought!"

"It's ninny. Or ninnybammer. Or nincompoop," Eliza said.

"You know what I mean," Aunt Lavinia replied, bristling. "How can you refuse their plea? Those two little girls seem genuinely frightened of what their uncle might do to them in one of his rages. Their safety must be considered first in any decision you make."

"Surely there is someone else-"

"Rhubarb! Those helpless babes did not write to someone else. They wrote to you. Their uncle has apparently deserted them. Will you desert them as well?"

"I am not the person to remedy the situation. I have responsibilities here. And it is Rubbish!"

Her aunt harrumphed. "I can take care of myself. And there is no coin to take care of anything else. We cannot even afford to buy meat to-"

"I would rather starve than work for him!"

Aunt Lavinia made a disapproving sound. "You say that with your belly full from supper. Wait a few weeks and tell me that when hunger gnaws at your bones."

The vegetables Eliza had grown in her summer garden last year were nearly gone, and it would be months before a new crop could ripen. They had eaten meatless stew for a month.

Eliza looked around her. She and Aunt Lavinia were using less than half the space in the two-story hunting box, since that was all they could manage to heat. She remembered what it been like-was it only three years ago?-before her father had died. A cheery fire, sparkling windowpanes, the acrid smell of his favorite pipe tobacco, which she still caught a faint whiff of now and again.

When she was very little, her father had let her help him blend his tobacco, showing her exactly how much of each type of leaves to mix together. Sitting in his lap, smelling all the different smells, measuring, oh, so carefully. It was one of her fondest memories of him.

This had been a safe refuge when Julian left to fight Napoleon in Belgium. In this quiet, solitary place, she heard no scandalous gossip about herself and the Beau. It had become her sanctuary when news of Julian's death arrived a mere three weeks later.

And it had been her prison since Cousin Nigel had come nearly a year past with the spiteful announcement that he would no longer be providing the generous stipend Julian had insisted upon for her living expenses. Nigel had halved and halved again and yet again the amount of her quarterly allowance.

Eliza and her aunt were, of course, invited to return to Ravenwood at any time they wished. She knew Nigel hoped they would be starved or frozen out. He would welcome her return to Ravenwood and his lecherous advances.

She would die first. She would willingly starve or freeze or-Eliza glanced guiltily at Aunt Lavinia, huddled beneath a blanket and shawl before the small fire. It was all very well to make sacrifices herself. But it was unfair to force cold and starvation on her aunt.

She crossed and rearranged the woolen shawl over Aunt Lavinia's shoulders and the plaid blanket over her knees, then waved away the smoke coming from the green wood that was all she had to burn. The June day was surprisingly cold, and the warped, drafty windows stole what little heat there was.

She leaned over Aunt Lavinia's shoulder and put her cheek next to her aunt's cold flesh. Her throat was clogged with remorse. This was all her fault. She should never, never have let the Beau kiss her-or have kissed him back.

"I am so sorry, Aunt Lavinia," she whispered. "So very sorry for everything."

Aunt Lavinia laid down her knitting needles and reached up to press a hand against Eliza's tear-streaked cheek. Eliza came around the chair and sat at her aunt's feet on the worn Turkish carpet. She curled her cold toes beneath her and laid her cheek on her aunt's knee.

"Dry your tears, sweeting," Aunt Lavinia said, gently brushing Eliza's hair back from her face. "There is no help for it. The cupboard is empty, and there's no coal to burn. We cannot survive here another year. You must find a living."

"Can we not go into trade?"

Aunt Lavinia shook her head. "I am afraid you are far too notorious, my dear."

"If I am so notorious, what makes you think His Grace will hire me as a governess?"

"Because he has reached the point of desperation. Because you will convince him you can best serve his needs. And because the twins will plead your cause."

"You don't understand, Aunt Lavinia. There are reasons why I cannot go to him."

"But it is not to him you go, but to those two innocents who wrote to you, begging for your help. I do not believe you can refuse them, even though you bear such enmity toward their uncle."

"Their father," Eliza muttered.

"That is not at issue," her aunt reminded her. "I believe we must think first of the children's welfare. And of course, our own survival."

"I cannot face him," Eliza murmured.

"I do not believe you will have to," her aunt replied. "Lady Denbigh's letter confirms that Blackthorne is never at home to company, not even to the children."

"No wonder Reggie and Becky are so distraught," Eliza murmured, raising her head to stare into her aunt's sightless eyes. "How can he forsake his own daughters like that?"

"I would guess he is suffering as much as his nieces are," Aunt Lavinia said, making the correction again.

"He is a grown man. They are children. He has a duty-"

"Perhaps you are the one to remind him of it."

Eliza realized she would have no peace until she agreed to go. There was no denying she must find a source of income or return to Ravenwood.

"Very well," she said. "I will travel to the Abbey and apply for the job of governess. If His Grace hires me-which I cannot quite believe-I will insist that you be included in the package."

"I can return to Ravenwood," Aunt Lavinia protested.

"And be hidden away from sight like some-" Eliza bit back her anger. Her aunt was not a freak or a monster. She merely looked at the world with sightless eyes.

"Please, Aunt Lavinia. I need you with me. I will make whatever bargain with the devil I must. It cannot be worse than what we face here."

"Very well, my dear. We will both make the journey to Blackthorne Abbey."