Like the previous day, Sunday morning continued beautifully mild, the sun shining as if it had never known a moment of dark clouds. It was so unlike the end of October that one would be a fool to remain indoors. At least that was what the servants were saying, and Lily agreed with them.

She sent word to the stables that she and the children would ride. Knight, it appeared, had already gone out. She wondered if he'd gone riding. She wondered, too, where he had gone off to the previous evening. When they'd returned from Richmond, he'd bidden her a polite good-evening and left.

This morning she felt buoyant, more optimistic, ready to take on anyone and anything. She had indeed overreacted the previous day. She'd made everyone miserable just because two very rude ladies had had nothing more important to do than shred someone's character.

She was humming as she dressed Laura Beth. She listened intently to Theo tell her about the wondrous properties of something called the omaya root. Even Sam's carping at Theo for his bossiness drew nothing more than a mild reproof from her.

Sam, incensed, declared, "I'm six years old. I don't need Theo to tell me to fold my shirts. Why, Papa would have told him to go prose to an ant, Mama."

That, Lily thought, was probably the truth. Tris had had the gift to tease Theo out of his overadultness. However, Sam's shirts did look a mess. She just shrugged, such was her excellent mood.

She gave both Sam and Theo firm instructions when they reached the gate to the park. "You will remain with me or else we will return home immediately. Do you promise?"

They promised, but Lily knew Sam forgot things like promises very quickly.

There were few riders in Hyde Park this morning and they were all gentlemen. They touched the tips of their hats as they passed. One man drew his horse to a halt, stared at Lily for the longest time, then sighed dramatically, his hand over his heart.

"Bloody ass."

"Sam, where did you hear that?"

To her surprise, Theo filled the uncomfortable silence. "Well, Mama, he's right, and it's not his fault. Cousin Knight's stable lads all talk like that. But the point, Mama, is that the man was stupid." Theo paused, his head cocked to one side, the way Tris used to do. "But you're the problem, Mama."

"I?"

"Yes," said Sam, looking at her critically. "You're too pretty. Men can't help but stare at you and act like ass-fools."

"Bloody ass," Laura Beth said clearly.

Lily simply stared at them, then laughed. "You are the greatest pair-what a corker. Laura Beth, don't repeat that again. It isn't nice. Enough now; let's canter a bit."

They were enjoying themselves immensely until Lily turned to see a lively chestnut mare draw up beside her. Atop the mare sat a young lady, quite beautiful, with the exotic dark coloring that made Lily think she was either French or Italian. Just behind her rode a gentleman on a startling pure white gelding. His expression was bland, his manner seemingly detached. He was older, perhaps forty, handsome, she supposed, were it not for the coldness of his eyes, a winter gray. She recognized the signs of dissipation; she'd lived with them long enough with her own father. He was dressed entirely in white. He didn't smile, he simply looked from the lady he was with to Lily and waited silently.

"You are Mrs. Winthrop, are you not?" the young woman asked, neither smiling nor frowning at Lily.

"Yes, I am. These are my children," Lily added, sweeping her hand to include Theo and Sam.

To Lily's surprise, the lady didn't introduce herself. Nor did the gentleman. Her dark eyes narrowed, and Lily braced herself. For what, she wasn't certain, but it wasn't long in coming, and it was awful. The lady said very calmly, "You are Knight Winthrop's whore, and I for one am appalled that you would remain here-in his very house, with your farrow of little bastards-whilst he is ostracized. Talk grows, and soon every moral gentleman and lady of London will cut him dead. You are despicable, madam. Take your brood and leave London."

Lily saw red. "How dare you. None of that is true, none of it."

"I will not stand by and watch you destroy a man everyone admires. You miserable harlot." The lady sent a contemptuous glance that encompassed all the children, dug her heels into her mare's flanks, and was off. Belatedly, Lily saw that the gentleman had not as yet galloped after her. He studied Lily's furious flushed face and said after a long moment, "Should you like to leave Lord Castlerosse, my dear, I would be delighted to take you in. I'm a generous man and I'll see to it that your bastards are well fed, if you please me."

Lily stared at him, dumbstruck. Just as he rode away, torrents of words streamed from her mouth, but it was too late. She shut up, aware of Sam and Theo sitting quietly on their mounts, both boys as rigid as statues.

Laura Beth removed her thumb from her mouth and announced, "I think I'll roll that lady into the Tims."

"Mama, she's nothing but a stupid bitch." Sam looked ready to spit nails. "How dare she say those things about us."

"What about that miserable man?" Theo all but snarled, making Lily blink with his unusual display of anger. "What did he mean by calling us bastards? We're not bastards."

"What's bastard?" Laura Beth inquired mildly.

"Oh, stick your spoon in it, Laura Beth."

"Now, Theo, he's gone. He and the la-female were both horrid, but we shan't see them again." Odd how calm she sounded. Lily supposed she had really been waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. It had-and a hundred boots with it.

"He was the bastard," Sam said, shaking his fist toward the retreating pair. "Not us."

"Mama," Theo said, his voice suddenly as gentle as a spring shower, "let's go home now. I want you to forget what they said. All of it was silly. Come on."

Lily nodded. Dear Theo, recognizing that she was nearly blank-brained with shock. She heard him say something to Sam but couldn't make it out. A moment later, Sam cleared his throat loudly and said, "I'm sorry for saying that word, Mama. I shan't do it again."

"Which word, love?"

"Bitch, Mama."

"Oh. Thank you, Sam. But you want to know something? I should like to ride after the both of them and tell them exactly what I think of them."

"Throw her into the Tims!"

Lily laughed, and Theo felt himself relaxing. He prayed that Cousin Knight was home. He was worried. Very worried. Lily was pale as wax and he knew that she was holding herself together by a thread. Horrid, horrid people. Why couldn't things be fair?

Knight was home, but Lily forestalled Theo and his good intentions. They were still in the stables, ready to go into the house, when she said quietly and very firmly, "Theo, Sam, neither of you is to say a single word about this to his lordship. Do you promise me?"

Theo looked troubled.

"Promise me."

"All right. I promise."

"Sam?"

Sam nodded.

"Good," Lily said, hugged each of them, and strode off toward the house, clutching Laura Beth's hand in hers. Only Sam noticed that two of the stable lads stood very still, admiring Lily. Stupid oafs. She was his mother, for mercy's sake.

Knight was coming down the stairs when Lily and the children entered the house. He paused, his eyes covering every inch of her in a brief instant. Something was wrong.

"Where have you been?" He'd meant to sound mildly curious but heard the underlying worry in his voice.

Sam started to say something until Lily sent him a look that could fry him. "We've just been riding in the park," she said. "I think all of us will now breakfast, then dress for church."

"Oh, Mama."

"No whining, Sam. You will not grow up to be a heathen. May we borrow the carriage, my lord?"

"Certainly," Knight said. It was on the tip of his tongue to offer to accompany them to St. Paul's, but he did have an appointment that couldn't be missed. "I will see you for dinner, Lily?"

"Perhaps," she said and forced a smile.

"I should appreciate it. There is much, I believe, that we have to discuss."

Lily was deep in thought the remainder of the day. The homily given at the service was sufficiently erudite to allow her mind to wander freely. Luckily, Laura Beth held her peace. By the benediction Lily had made up her mind. She would leave-Knight, his beautiful, safe house, and the children. But then she realized she couldn't do it. She couldn't leave Sam and Theo and Laura Beth.

What to do?

Actually, something very silly changed her mind that evening. Laura Beth wanted Betty to tuck her in for bed. Lily felt a stab of pain, then just after it a sense of relief. She could be separated from the child for a little while. Laura Beth wouldn't miss her; she had Betty, and Betty was a good-hearted girl.

Lily wrote a letter to Sam and Theo. She sent word to the viscount that she had the headache and wouldn't be joining him for dinner. She purposefully stressed that she wanted to see him in the morning to discuss all the matters at hand. The note she wrote him was much shorter. She realized that she didn't know where to put it. She stood blankly in her bedchamber, the envelope in her hand, staring at nothing. In the end, she tore it up. He would learn about her departure from Sam and Theo.

She packed one valise. At precisely eight-thirty that evening, she slipped down the servants' stairs and out the back entrance. She heard Cuthbert, the cook, in a Gaelic tirade directed at the scullery maid, but saw no one. She hurried to the street corner and hailed a hackney that had just left off a passenger. She told the driver to take her to the Tottingham posting house, where she and the children had arrived the week before. Only a week. It seemed impossible. It felt like years, as if she were leaving everything she loved and held dear.

A coach for Brighton was scheduled to leave at ten-thirty. Lily settled herself in the waiting room, oblivious of the men's stares. Her expression was so forbidding that she was left alone. She accepted a cup of tea from the innkeeper's spouse and removed herself to a small table in the corner of the dining room.

It required only thirty more minutes for her to fully grasp the extent of her folly. "Oh, God, have I lost my wits?"

An older woman, her single black valise clutched to her enormous bosom, started at her words. "'Ere now, dearie, ye got a worry?"

Lily automatically shook her head. She'd been completely and utterly stupid, thoughtless-She grabbed her valise and rushed out the door of the inn. The yard was well lit but she could see no hackneys near. She ran out of the inn yard toward the corner. And right into Ugly Arnold.

Knight frowned down at his nearly full dinner plate. He wasn't hungry. He wanted to see Lily. He wondered if she was truly ill or just avoiding him. He cursed softly at the green beans.

"My lord?"

"Oh, nothing, Duckett."

"My lord, Mrs. Allgood informed me that Betty informed her that Mrs. Winthrop was behaving oddly. Obviously her headache was pulling at her and-"

Knight shoved his plate aside and waved Duckett to silence. "It doesn't matter, damn you. Mrs. Winthrop will do just as she pleases. As to my lack of appetite, tell Cuthbert I'm in mourning or something." He tossed down his napkin and rose. "I'll be in the library."

Damn Duckett and his impertinence, Knight was thinking as he strode across the white Italian marble entrance hall. He heard what sounded like a squeak and looked up to see Betty clutching at the railing as she careened down the stairs, her cap askew.

"What the devil?"

"My lord! Oh, dear, oh, dear."

He drew on his patience. "What's the matter, Betty?"

"It's Laura Beth, my lord. She's very upset."

"Why?"

"Mrs. Winthrop, my lord, she's gone."

Knight froze. "Where?" he heard himself inquire and marveled at how calm he sounded.

"I don't know," Betty wailed at the top of her lungs. "She's just gone."

"Very well," he said. "I'll see to the child."

It made no sense, he told himself over and over. Betty was mistaken. Lily was probably tucking in Sam and Theo. She was probably reading them a story. She was-no, she was ill. He hurried down the corridor to her bedchamber and pushed open the door.

A branch of candles was lit. Laura Beth was sitting up in the middle of the bed, Czarina Catherine clutched to her chest, her hair in two skinny braids over her shoulders, her small face blotched from crying.

"Cousin Knight." She hiccuped loudly as she came up onto her knees.

"What is this all about, snippet?"

Czarina Catherine fell to the counterpane unnoticed. Laura Beth held out her thin little arms and Knight, without thought, gathered the child to him. Her arms went around his neck, her legs around his waist, and he felt her wet cheek press against his. "It's all right, snippet. I swear it's all right. No more crying; it smites me right down to my knees."

She giggled and ended up with a hiccup. Knight carried her to the chair in front of the lazily burning embers in the fireplace. He sat down, holding her close, and rocked her, not really realizing what he was doing, acting purely by instinct. "Now, what is this about your mama not being here?" He must sound calm; he mustn't alarm the child.

"She's gone," Laura Beth wailed and pressed herself even tighter against him.

"I'll find her," Knight said confidently, and he was confident. Lily would appear at any moment in the doorway. She would be embarrassed that he was here in her bedchamber, holding her daughter, but she- "It was because of that awful lady," Laura Beth said.

"What? What did you say, snippet?"

"Mama took us riding in the park this morning. It was nice until this awful lady and a man on a big white horse stopped us. I wanted to toss her in the Tims. She was horrid and rude and called us names, and Mama was awful upset."

"What names? What did the lady say to your mama?"

His heart was pounding. He was afraid to hear what was bound to come out of the child's mouth. He knew, he knew what it would be.

"She called Mama a hore and a har-let and me and Sam and Theo bastards and she said that you were a good man but people would orsta-orchestra-"

"Ostracize?"

Laura Beth nodded and her thumb found its way back home to her mouth.

He wanted to curse the house down but he couldn't, not with a four-year-old baby in his arms. So Lily, in a spate of martyrdom, had fled the scene, a bloody stupid thing to have done. Curse her for being so damnably sensitive. Didn't she realize he could bloody well take care of himself and her and the children?

"Laura Beth, you and I are going to see Theo and Sam. I'll just wager that your mama left them a letter."

"Why not me?"

"You can't read, that's why. Come along now."

She was a clinging monkey, but Knight didn't notice. He told her to keep as quiet as she could and together they tiptoed into Theo and Sam's room. Sure enough, Knight spotted an envelope propped up against the washbasin atop the commode.

He carried the child downstairs to his library. He held her even while he tore open the envelope and read Lily's letter to her boys. It was what he'd expected. It tore at him and at the same time made him want to wring her neck.

My dearest boys, Your cousin Knight is now your legal guardian. You are fond of him, I know, and he is fond of you. Try to behave and don't make him angry with you. I'm leaving for a while so that the dreadful gossip will stop. Please try to understand. It isn't fair for me to stay when your cousin is being treated so horribly by all his friends. Please forgive me and try to understand. I love you and I want you to be happy and safe. Take care of Laura Beth. I will write to you soon.

All my love, Mama Knight's fist crumpled the single sheet. Laura Beth was asleep, sprawled over him. He kissed her lightly on her temple, then strode back upstairs and put her to bed. His movements were decisive and calm, although he was terrified that something dreadful would happen to Lily. She was a beautiful woman and she was alone. In London. Damned stupid woman.

He wanted to beat her senseless.