"Yes, they decided to proceed on the spur of the moment. You knew Damian and Walter Drummond, didn't you?"

"Yes. We heard that old Walter had perished, but that Damian was back."

"Miles gambled away the estate."

"Gambled! My, my."

"Yes, he's lost everything, and Mr. Drummond bought it all as bad debt. So he owns Kirkwood now. Miles can't seem to come to grips with the situation though."

"We had heard all of that too."

"But he had Mr. Drummond arrested and taken away-wrongly arrested, I might add-then he and Portia thought they should wed to...achieve stability at Kirkwood or some such idiocy. I have no idea what they were thinking. My brother is mad, and I'm sure Mr. Drummond will return soon and end Miles's nonsense."

"It appears Mr. Drummond might be there even as we speak."

"Are you certain?"

"Not about Mr. Drummond, but an odd event has occurred at the manor. Shortly after the vows were exchanged, Master Miles and Miss Smithwaite were headed to the dining room for the wedding breakfast, but Miles was seized by brigands."

"He's been kidnapped?"

"Evidently."

"That's the best news I've had in ages."

She laughed and laughed, and Mr. Turner gaped at her as if she was deranged. She had to admit she was feeling a tad unhinged. Recent circumstances had left her with no foundation. What would become of her? When she landed on her feet again, where would she be?

Motion in the yard caught her attention. A rider recklessly galloped in, heedless of the people, animals, and vehicles that were scattered about. Before his horse had completely halted, he leapt to the ground and tossed his reins to a boy who was standing nearby.

She peered up at Mr. Turner. "Would you excuse me? I have a visitor."

"Of course, Miss Sophia."

He bowed out, and she stood as her visitor rushed in.

"Hello, Mr. Roxbury." She had a saucy gleam in her eye. "I didn't think you'd ever get back."

He looked furious. "Tell me you're all right."

"I'm fine."

"The servants at the manor said you'd sneaked off on your own, without even a maid for company. I could have expired from shock."

"I couldn't stay there after what Miles did to your friend."

"I appreciate it."

"Nor could I abide what my mother and Portia did to my cousin, Georgina."

"Oh, no..." he murmured. "What did they do?"

"It's a long story, but I'm afraid I'll need your assistance to bring her home."

"She's not at Kirkwood?"

"No. They made her leave."

He blew out a heavy breath. "Then I'm doubly glad I hurried over to fetch you. We have to move them out of the manor before Damian returns. If Miss Fogarty has experienced any difficulties because of them, I can't predict how he'll react."

"I'm told he's back."

"He is."

"Is it true my brother has suffered a mishap?"

"He has."

"Will I ever have the displeasure of seeing him again?"

"I doubt it."

"Perfect."

There were numerous guests in the parlor, waiting for coaches or acquaintances. They had begun to furtively eavesdrop, and she sauntered over to him, liking how everyone was watching her. She kept coming until she was close enough for her skirt to tangle around his legs.

"My answer is yes," she said.

"To what question?"

"A few days ago, you asked me to marry you, but I gave you the wrong reply. So ask me again-if you're still interested. Let's discover what answer you'll receive this time."

He scowled. "It better be the one I want."

"It will be."

"Whatever fickle impulses seem to drive you, you should rid yourself of them. If you consent, but try to renege later on, I'll simply drag you to Gretna Green and force you into it."

"You won't ever have to force me." She wagged a coaxing finger at him. "Ask me. See what happens."

He studied her, then a slow grin spread across his face. "Miss Sophia, I realize I'm not worthy of you."

"I disagree. I think you're very worthy."

"I've had a hard life and a rough past, but I'm steady, loyal, constant, and true. And-wild as it sounds-I believe I might be in love with you."

"You are?"

"Yes. Will you marry me and be Mrs. Christopher Roxbury?"

She didn't respond immediately. She liked how her audience was on pins and needles over how the encounter would conclude. When they were practically falling from their chairs in anticipation, she grinned too.

"I would be delighted to be Mrs. Christopher Roxbury. So yes, I will marry you. It's a fine idea."

"The best one I've ever had. I can guarantee you that."

Then he was kissing her and kissing her, right there in front of all the guests. The room exploded with applause, and the clapping only increased in volume as Kit swooped her into his arms and carried her away.

"I should have known not to trust her," Georgina muttered.

She sighed and stared up at the grand house that had once belonged to her grandparents. They'd been landowners, had successfully farmed a large acreage and had been esteemed and respected in the neighborhood.

She'd come too late though. They'd been deceased for years, and while she had an uncle-her father's brother-he'd sold the property after they died and sailed to America.

After Augusta had supplied Georgina with their information, it had never occurred to her to question whether they were at the same spot. She'd simply been so excited to flee Kirkwood, to finally meet her father's family.

It was too pitiless an ending, and she wondered if she wasn't cursed. Why was the universe allied against her? Why was Fate so cruel?

She stood in the driveway, too stunned to weep, too disappointed to grieve.

What was she to do now? Where was she to go?

The housekeeper had been very kind. She'd invited Georgina into the kitchen and had been gracious enough to feed her. But when the new owners took possession of the place, they'd brought servants with them so there wasn't a single person in the home who'd been acquainted with her relatives, who could have waxed nostalgic about her grandparents, uncle, or father.

The absurdities were piling up.

She'd allowed Augusta to chase her away from Kirkwood, and she'd been glad to leave. She was still glad, but she was terrified too.

She was all alone in the world. If she dropped dead that very second, who would notice? She'd be tossed in an unmarked pauper's grave, and there wouldn't even be anyone to lay flowers once in a while.

It was the saddest thing she could imagine.

She spun away and started down the lane to the road. For a moment, she let her heart race, let her panic spiral, but she refused to waste energy being alarmed. She'd always been smart and pragmatic. She had to calm down and think rationally.

The housekeeper had said there was a boarding house in the nearby town that was clean and reasonably priced. Georgina had a few pounds in her purse. It was the blood money Augusta had used to bribe her into departing without a fuss, but money was money, and she would spend it without hesitation.

She had to find a room and a job, then she would begin asking after her lost kin. Surely there were people in the area who would remember them, and she might have distant cousins close by who would assist her.

She'd play on their sympathies, would beg them for mercy. Her pride had to be buried. It was difficult to show up in a strange locale and hope to be welcomed. This was rural England where families lived in the same residence for generations, and they were suspicious of outsiders.

But she had a way of charming others, of putting them at ease, and she would ingratiate herself, would prove herself worthy of any help others might offer to provide.

Her portmanteau felt heavy in her hand, too heavy to carry, but she tightened her grip, straightened her shoulders, and continued on.

What choice did she have?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

Where is Miss Fogarty?"

Portia Smithwaite coolly glared at Damian. "Miss Fogarty? Why would you ask me about her? In my mind, the better question is: Where is Miles Marshall?"

"How would I know where Miles is?" Damian replied.

"You horrid man! You kidnapped him!"

"How curious that you would assume so."

"Don't deny it! People saw you make off with him."

"Who? A few servants? Bring them forward if you feel they can prove your accusation."

Exactly three servants at Kirkwood had observed Damian as he removed Miles from Kirkwood: the butler and two footmen. All three hated Miles and had been handsomely bribed not to remember what they'd witnessed.

"I will bring them forward, and then you'll be sorry," Portia huffed.

"You really suppose so? I don't believe I've been sorry about anything my whole life."

It was a lie. He'd been sorry for many things, but never when he was avenging himself against someone who thoroughly deserved it.

"You think you're so smart," she said.

"Yes, I do."

"You think you can lord yourself over others, that you can barge in and take charge where you're not wanted."

"I've done precisely that and you're trespassing."

"I am mistress of Kirkwood!"

"It's interesting to me that you, Miles, and Augusta, are so deranged. You can all read, and I delivered the appropriate legal documents to Miles. The property is mine and has been for ages."

"You liar."

They were in the library at Kirkwood. Damian was seated at the desk, and Portia was in the chair across. Michael was standing behind Damian, lurking like an evil specter.

"If you call Damian a liar again," Michael said, "I will give you the thrashing you deserve."

"You wouldn't hit me," Portia scoffed.

"If that's what you imagine then you're an idiot," Michael responded.