"I'll simply have to buy it back from him, won't I?" Miles retorted.

"With what? Fairy dust?"

"I'll gamble with him again."

"Gamble...again?"

Augusta was so outraged that little red dots formed at the corners of her vision, and she wondered if she was about to suffer an apoplexy.

"Yes, gamble again," Miles cockily stated as if it was an incredibly sensible plan. "He has to give me a chance to win it back. It's only fitting."

"Why would he give you a chance?"

"Because we're gentlemen and it's how gentlemen behave."

"You think Mr. Drummond is a gentleman? If so, you've obviously been walking around with blinders on. I suggest you remove them so you can see what's really occurring."

"I see what's occurring, Mother. I've been kicked out of my home by a brigand, and I'm living in a servant's decrepit, abandoned house. Don't scold me as if I'm a lad in short pants."

"Well, you're acting like a child."

"Where's Drummond been all this time anyway? How did he accumulate the funds to purchase Kirkwood? That's what I'd like to discover."

"How can it matter how he accumulated them?"

"He's always had criminal tendencies. It wouldn't surprise me if he robbed a bank. If so, the authorities could arrest him. Kirkwood would be returned to us immediately. A fellow can't acquire property with ill-gotten gains."

Augusta scoffed with disgust. Miles had an excellent way of rewriting history, of changing facts to suit his version of events.

Damian had been a polite, quiet boy who'd told the bitter truth when forced to tell it, and Augusta still chafed when she recalled the calamity he'd set in motion.

Not because she had sympathy for Walter and Damian. They deserved what had happened to them. No, she was angry because she'd ceaselessly warned Edward that the episode would come back to haunt them. And it had-in spades.

Walter had grown up at Kirkwood, had been liked and respected, and it had taken years-literally years-for the incident to fade in people's memories. Now, two decades later, it had blown up in their faces. If she'd known how to parent Miles, she'd have marched over and shaken him until his teeth rattled.

"I don't wish to stay in this horrid residence another second, Miles. It's demeaning."

"Of course it is. It's what Drummond intends-that we're demeaned. He wants us to feel awful, but the joke's on him. I don't feel awful at all."

"I demand to be reinstated to my proper place." She hurled her most grievous complaint. "He hasn't even supplied us with a cook! Are we to starve?"

"Is that your greatest worry? That we don't have a cook?"

"It's just one of them. The servants are laughing at us, and if they dare revel in our misfortune, imagine what our acquaintances will say. I'll never be able to attend church again."

"Heaven forbid that you not be able to attend church," he sarcastically spat.

"Are we to be evicted or what?"

"Where would we go, Mother?"

"I have no idea."

"Then he can't evict us."

"Why can't he?"

"It's simply not allowed."

Augusta truly thought it was the stupidest comment he'd ever uttered in her presence. Edward had evicted Walter and Damian with no notice and no concern for what would become of them. Edward had done it to Damian Drummond, and Damian Drummond was prepared to do it to Augusta and Miles.

How could Miles not recognize the similarities? The sole difference was that Mr. Drummond was permitting them several days to make plans. When he'd been kicked out with his grandfather, he'd had minutes to pack and depart.

"Have you spoken to Portia?" she inquired.

"No."

"Shouldn't you ride over to her father's and tell her what's occurred?"

"Why upset her needlessly?"

"I wouldn't say it's needlessly. She has to be told."

"Why?"

"I wouldn't want her hearing gossip."

"She wouldn't believe it. She's smarter than that."

After news of the disaster circulated, Augusta was terrified that both Portia and Harold would cry off from their engagements. Augusta had arranged exceptional matches for her children, but they'd delayed their weddings because they'd hated Augusta's spousal choices.

Look at the result! The details about Mr. Drummond would spread like wildfire, and people would snicker over their difficulties. Miles and Sophia were about to be jilted. Who would have them once they were beggared?

"Have I mentioned," Miles asked, "Drummond's scheme regarding Portia? It's hilarious."

"What is it?"

"He claims he'll propose and marry her himself." Miles scoffed. "The bloody cur! As if he could lure Portia away from me."

Augusta's head nearly exploded. "Why would he be interested in her?"

"He was spewing nonsense about taking everything from me. Apparently everything includes my fiancee."

"This just gets worse and worse."

"Portia would never toss me over for that violent fiend."

"You seem dreadfully certain of that."

"She wouldn't. Trust me." He stood suddenly and started out.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To the manor. I have to confer with Drummond."

"About Portia?"

"No. About a game of cards."

"Cards!"

"Yes, Mother. I told you I'll try to win back the estate."

"Miles, don't you dare. You can't gamble again."

"Don't worry, Mother. I have it all under control. I will have retrieved the title to Kirkwood before the sun rises. Just you wait and see."

With that boast, he strutted out, and she sat in the dark, moldy parlor, peering out the window to where the chimneys of Kirkwood Manor were visible through the forest. She'd always loathed the place, feeling as if it was beneath her, as if her father should have found her a higher, better situation.

But now that she'd lost it, she realized how desperately she'd enjoyed being mistress there. How would she ever regain her rightful position?

She tarried forever, drowning in her miserable contemplation, but ultimately there was motion on the lane leading to the front door. It was Portia, marching toward her like the wrath of God.

She blanched and wondered if she might be ill all over the tattered rug.

Kit dawdled in the woods, staring across the park at Kirkwood Manor. It was a splendid property, with its fountains and groomed trails, cut grass and manicured flowerbeds, grey bricks and sparkling windows. It could have been a magical castle in a children's story, the sort of spot where a prince and princess might live happily ever after.

Damian had always insisted he'd own it someday. In the horrid years when they'd been sentenced to hard labor, Damian had been a brooding, silent boy. If he'd bothered to speak at all, he would talk about Kirkwood, how beautiful it was, how he'd eventually wreak vengeance on everyone.

Kit had never believed Damian. His tales had sounded like the blathering of a lonely orphan, but Kit shouldn't have doubted his friend. Damian always managed to achieve whatever goal he set for himself.

He'd certainly kept Kit safe-well as safe as a boy could be under such trying circumstances.

For reasons Kit had never understood, Damian had protected and watched over him. He'd dealt with bullies and deflected the rage of the worst guards. Kit owed Damian so much, and he was thrilled that when Damian had finally come back to England, he'd wanted Kit to join him.

Kit had returned much earlier than Damian. He'd had his own orphan's dream, namely that he could find his siblings, but it had been impossible. When their mother had died, their small family had been split apart. He was supposed to have gone to live with a relative, and though he'd been very young and didn't recall how or why it had transpired, he'd ended up a homeless waif instead.

It was silly and nave for him to assume he could have located his siblings, but it hadn't stopped him from hoping. He was an optimist that way, and he still expected he'd succeed in his quest.

He spun away from the manor and walked farther into the woods. He was waiting for Sophia Marshall. She'd left to visit her fiance, Mr. Bean. She was likely apprising him of what had happened to Miles, and Kit would have loved to be a mouse in the corner when that news spilled out. He was a great judge of character, and he didn't imagine Mr. Bean would continue his betrothal to Sophia.

She really ought to have been more circumspect, but then Damian's seizure of Kirkwood wasn't exactly a secret.

Kit had reviewed the estate books. She probably presumed she had a dowry and could use it to convince Mr. Bean to wed immediately and rescue her from the tragedy. Unfortunately her brother had already spent the money so she had no funds to offer to Mr. Bean that would encourage him to proceed a little faster.

She wasn't much of a catch now, and she was definitely in a pickle-though she didn't realize how bad it was yet. She was snooty and condescending and pictured herself as being very grand, but she wasn't rich or entitled any longer so she had few options. If she was scared, if she was anxious, she might make choices she wouldn't normally make, and Kit was happy to steer her in a different direction-that being in his direction.

He followed the cleared path, and before too many minutes had passed, he saw buildings through the trees. He went over to a fallen log and sat down. She'd been away for nearly two hours, and he figured she wouldn't be able to stomach Mr. Bean's company much more than that.

Shortly he noted her coming, and she trudged slowly, lost in thought, so she didn't notice him. She was about to head on by when he said, "Good afternoon, Miss Marshall. Fancy meeting you here."

She jumped a foot. "Mr. Roxbury? Why are you loitering in the forest?"

"I was looking for you."

"You scared the life out of me."

"Sorry."

He wasn't actually. He liked her to be discomposed. She was entirely too conceited, and he'd enjoy bringing her down a peg.

"How'd it go with Mr. Bean?" he asked. "How did he and his mother take the news?"

She scowled, pretending to be confused as to what he referred. "What are you talking about?"

Kit pushed himself to his feet. "Do they know you're beggared? Do they know your brother has squandered every last penny?"

"Honestly! You are the rudest man."

"You don't have to share any details. I'm fully cognizant of the state of your affairs." He marched over to her. "What have they advised?"

"If I thought it was any of your business-which I don't-I'd tell you that I have their greatest sympathies."

"What does that mean? Is your devoted swain planning to rush to Kirkwood and chase Damian away?"

"No."

"Is he prepared to let you stay with him to save you from residing in that decrepit cottage?"

"Ah...no."

"Has he set a wedding date so he could marry you at once?"

Her scowl deepened. "You're speaking in riddles, Mr. Roxbury, and I've never been adept at deciphering them. What are you implying?"

"Mr. Bean won't help you, and he doesn't deserve you."

"And you know this because...?"

"Because I know his type."

"His type?"

"He's a weak boy who's been gripping his mother's apron strings since the day he was born."

"If that's what you suppose, then you're not as smart as you assume." She flashed a rigid smile. "It's been marvelous chatting with you, but my mother is expecting me."

She strutted off in a huff, but he grabbed her and slipped her hand into his arm, forcing her to stroll with him. When she tried to pull away, he simply held her tighter, and she bristled with affront.