She chuckled. "You're right about that."

"You'd have one other job too."

"What would it be?"

"You'd have to try to make me happy. I realize you're spoiled and selfish."

"I am not," she huffed. She paused, then scowled. "Well, maybe just a tad."

"It might be hard for you to shift your attention from yourself to me, but I need you to promise you'll try. If you can promise, then I'll be delighted to wed you."

Apparently it was the correct comment, because tears filled her eyes. "Oh, Kit, that's the prettiest speech I've ever heard, but what about Mr. Drummond? You claimed he'd never let you marry me."

"That's between him and me. You shouldn't worry about it."

He couldn't predict how Damian would react. For a bit of time, he'd probably be furious, but Kit would persuade him to accept the match. Their history was lengthy and poignant, and they were closer than two brothers could ever be. He owed Damian everything, but Damian owed him a few things too.

Kit had always been devoted and loyal. He'd stood as Damian's friend, had bandaged his wounds and calmed him after vicious fights or terrifying nightmares. Kit had supported Damian in his every endeavor and had never asked Damian for a single favor in return.

He didn't suppose Damian would throw it all away over a female, even if it was Sophia Marshall. They'd grown up in a world where there weren't many females, where men had vastly outnumbered the women so they'd witnessed how foolish men were over women. They'd agreed that a woman wasn't worth so much bother.

Yet what if Kit explained and begged and pleaded, and Damian still warned him not to proceed? Kit refused to consider that Damian would behave that way. They were friends, and he had to assume Damian would understand.

"You have to provide me with some facts about your background," she said.

"Why? You were prepared to debase yourself in an affair without knowing any specifics at all."

"Yes, I was, but matters have become more serious."

"I don't remember sufficient detail to give you much information."

"How old were you when your mother died?"

"Five? Six?"

"Where did you live after your mother lost your home?"

"In London."

It was a lie and it wasn't. He'd foraged on the streets of London until he was ten, until he and Damian had been arrested. But he'd been thoroughly punished for his crimes, and he wasn't about to confide that portion of his past. If he did, he'd be confiding Damian's story too, and if Damian decided to let anyone at Kirkwood learn the truth he could tell them himself.

"You've obviously been educated," she said.

"Yes, I went to school."

The authorities had been adamant about it, viewing it as part of his rehabilitation.

"You dress well and speak well." She blushed charmingly. "I'm not certain how to ask you this."

"Ask away," he replied as she had earlier.

"Have you any...ah...any money?"

"I have more than enough."

It had been a surprise gift bestowed once Damian had returned to England. Gold, from Damian's gold mining ventures. A veritable fortune for a man of Kit's station. He hadn't expected it and would always cherish it.

He'd have his post at Kirkwood too, and it was more important to him than the gold Damian had shared. Kit wanted to work and be useful, wanted to prove to himself and his deceased parents that he was a good person, a reliable person.

He was ashamed of his conviction and incarceration, and while he realized he'd merely been a boy struggling to survive, he hated that he'd disgraced his name and his family. He would spend the remainder of his days wiping away the taint that had attached in Botany Bay.

"You could support me?" she inquired. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, I have some assets of my own, and I'll have the salary from running Kirkwood."

"It will be a step down for me," she absurdly mused.

At the snotty remark, he scoffed. "A step down from where? From where I'm standing, you don't have anything, not even a gown to call your own. I'm offering you a place, a husband, a home."

"Don't get yourself in a tiff," she scolded. "I was destined to be Harold's bride and lady of the manor at his estate. Now I'll be the estate agent's wife instead."

"A few minutes ago, you were slated to be the estate agent's mistress."

"Wouldn't my cousin, Georgina, suit you better? She seems to be precisely who you're looking for. I don't see that I have any of the traits you need in a wife."

"Don't you?"

"No."

"I simply want you to try to make me happy. That will be your only job, and I'm not demanding you succeed. I'm asking you to try. It doesn't sound very hard to me, and I'm convinced you have the skills for it or I wouldn't have proposed."

She smiled and shook her head. "Deep down, you might be the sweetest man in the world."

He shrugged. "I might be, but you'll have to wed me to know for sure."

She gazed at him, and her focus narrowed as if she was clairvoyant and peering into the future, but who could guess how it would unfold?

"Take a chance on me, Sophia," he said.

"My mother will kill me."

"I don't give a damn about your mother."

An impish gleam came into her eye. "Neither do I."

"Is that a yes? Is that what I heard?"

"I think that's a yes. I'll marry you."

"Good, but it means I'm walking you back to the cottage."

She stared at the bed as if she couldn't bear to leave it. "Are we finished for the evening?"

"Yes. I'm about to make an honest woman of you, Sophia. When that's my goal, I shouldn't debauch you right before the ceremony."

"You could debauch me a little bit, couldn't you? Enough to get me excited for our wedding night?"

He grinned, her comment indicating he'd chosen correctly. "Yes, I can definitely do some debauching, but only a little, you minx. You have to wait until after the vows for the whole surprise."

"Will I like it?" she saucily asked.

"I betting you will. In fact, I'm staking the rest of my life on it."

He pushed her down and joined her on the mattress.

"Hello, Portia."

"Augusta."

Augusta forced a smile and motioned for Portia to sit. They were in the dining room at Drummond Cottage, Georgina having straightened it sufficiently that the windows were open, the table dusted, the chairs neatly arranged. It wasn't much, but it was better than being seated out in the dirt on the ground.

There wasn't a spot in the dilapidated residence that was suitable to entertain a guest, but she hadn't invited Portia, and if the accursed girl didn't like the surroundings she didn't have to stay.

Portia had grown up next door, and Augusta had viewed her as a sort of second daughter. Yet after her last visit when she'd been rude about Miles's financial troubles, Augusta would have been delighted to never see Portia again.

"Has there been any word from Miles?" Portia asked as she plopped down in a chair. She wrinkled her nose as if she couldn't abide the smell. Augusta had no sympathy for her. She couldn't abide the smell either.

"No."

"Have you any idea where he is?"

"No, so if that's all you came to learn there's no reason to tarry. If I hear from him, I'll send you a note."

"Aren't you scheduled to depart tomorrow?"

"I am."

"What plans have you made?"

"I have made no plans."

"Why not?"

"I will not leave Kirkwood."

"Mr. Drummond might have something to say about that."

"He might."

"Have you spoken to him?"

"I wouldn't lower myself."

"But...what do you suppose will happen?"

"I don't care what happens," Augusta insisted, though she was terrified.

She kept hoping a miracle would occur, that a savior to ride up and rescue her. She kept expecting Miles to appear with the news that the disaster was ended or that Georgina would seduce Mr. Drummond and win concessions that would include Augusta.

So far, Georgina had had no success and Miles hadn't arrived.

Augusta was frozen with indecision, not able to move from the spot where she was currently located. It was beyond her imagination to picture herself climbing into a cart and bumping down the road with Kirkwood fading in the distance behind her.

Sophia claimed they wouldn't even have a cart to use. They had to walk. Well, Augusta wasn't walking anywhere, and Mr. Drummond could jump off a cliff.

"I met Mr. Drummond," Portia said. "He's quite an imposing fellow."

Augusta scoffed. "How could he be? He is the son of servants."

"He may be the son of servants, but he's traveled beyond that history."

"What do you mean?"

"He's very...stern, very forbidding."

"It's not possible."

Portia's description had Augusta wishing she'd caught a glimpse of Damian Drummond. In her mind, he was still the quiet, polite boy he'd been when he lived in the cottage with Walter. She couldn't visualize him as an adult-forbidding or otherwise.

"He's handsome too," Portia went on, "and he brags about being very rich."

"Rich!" August scowled. "How could he have acquired a penny? Walter was no fiscal genius. How could they have accumulated any money?"

She wasn't eager to discuss the debacle. Walter had been a competent man who'd kept the estate on a prosperous path. Since he was fired, there had been nothing but chaos.

Once Walter had given up on Kirkwood and headed to London, there had been numerous rumors about his plight, but that's all they'd been: rumors.

He'd slinked away in disgrace, and no one had received a single letter from him afterward. Augusta had assumed it was because he was working at a position too humiliating to mention, but there had been no way to verify his situation. He and his grandson had vanished off the face of the Earth.

"You may swear he hasn't a penny," Portia said, "but he's offered to show my father some financial information."

"Why would he?"

Portia blushed a deep shade of red. "He's asked to marry me."

"Marry you! You're engaged to Miles."

"Yes, but we were engaged because he was the owner of Kirkwood and I was to be mistress here."