"Yes, ma'am," said Tilney, unable to take his eyes off her.

"Tilney, do get yourself together. You're embarrassing Mrs. Winthrop, and me, of course."

Lily pulled her hand from Mr. Jones's grasp.

"Shall we proceed?" asked Knight at his most sardonic.

NEAR HARROWGATE, ENGLAND.

OCTOBER 1814.

"Aye," said Monk Busch, "we're 'ot on 'er trail now, Boy. 'Er and the brats. We'll get 'em."

"I'm thirsty," said Boy, running his dry tongue over his bushy whiskers. "And 'ungry."

"Ye always are. Skinny as a gallows tree, ye are, and eat like a bloody fat whore. Jest shut yer trap. We'll go to this Damson Farm, make sure Tris's little lovebird is there, then 'ang back a bit."

Boy took up his familiar refrain. "We don't know she's got anything to do with it, Monk. Old Tris could have 'id 'em anywhere. Jeez, back in Brussels, for all we know."

Monk gave his partner a look of acute dislike. "We tore up 'is damned house, looked everywhere, even in the mouse hole. Nothing. And 'is little tart takes off with the brats awful soon after 'e's shoveled underground. No, she's got the goods, aye, she does."

"Then why she'd come 'ere? To a relative's? Why doesn't she set 'erself up, what with all the stuff?"

That bothered Monk as well. "Don't know," he admitted. "Don't matter anyways. She's a smart piece, that one. Tris was head over arse in love with her, let it slip once, 'e did, when 'e was deep in 'is cups."

"She's a looker," said Boy. "I wonder if poor Tris got in 'er before 'e croaked."

"Poor Tris? You're a booby! 'E double-crossed us, Boy, bribed that damned magistrate, and left us to rot in a stinking Frenchie prison! 'E deserved the skewer in 'is back! As for 'is little piece, she was living with 'im, wasn't she? For Gawd's sake, she was living and sleeping in 'is house...looking after 'im and 'is brats. Tris weren't no monk-"

"No, not like you!" exclaimed Boy, pleased with his witty effort.

"Shut yer trap, Boy. I don't find ye at all amusing. Ye're a bloody dolt. Now, maybe this little piece will want to do for us. Ye know-we let 'er keep a bit of the goods in return for a tumble or two in the 'ay."

"She's a looker," said Boy again. "I wouldn't mind plowing my rod in 'er, I tell you."

"Ye don't have enough between yer legs to make it worth 'er while, not like me. But why not? Another thing, Boy. I wouldn't be surprised if she told Tris to do us in. A looker like 'er. Sees 'er chance and takes it."

Monk was rather pleased with this analysis and continued after a moment. "Yep, she took in poor Tris. I'll bet ye it were all 'er idea to buy off them coves and 'ave us in-car-cer-ated in that damned prison."

"She ain't as smart as we are," said Boy. "Come right to England, she did; didn't even try to cover 'er tracks. Gawd, every man from Brussels to York remembers 'er, and it ain't just because of the three brats cutting up their peace. No, remember what that coachman said? Just rolled 'is eyes, 'e did, and licked 'is chops."

"She thinks we're in prison. She ain't worried, not at all. Old Tris was jiggered by footpads, that's wot the watch believes, that's wot she believes. Nobody will ever be the wiser."

"How do we get 'er off this Damson Farm place?"

Monk shrugged and his eyes narrowed. He looked mean and cruel and determined. Boy shivered, just a bit; he couldn't help himself. Monk was a serious cove, bent on getting what he wanted. Boy thought of himself as being filled with the gin of human kindness, or whatever the saying was. He wasn't like Monk. No, sir. He would be very polite to everyone once he was rich.

"I'll get 'er," Monk said, and Boy didn't doubt his word for a minute.

WINTHROP HOUSE, LONDON.

OCTOBER 1814.

"That's it, then," Theo said, his shoulders hunching. "I can't imagine what his lordship will do now."

Lily had told the children of their uncle's presence.

"I'll blast his liver," said Sam, but he didn't sound like he really meant it.

"He's not a nice man," Laura Beth said.

Lily sighed. "What's done is done. I tried to have everything tied up as completely as I could with the viscount's solicitor, Mr. Jones. If Arnold vents his spleen tonight, well, perhaps the viscount will feel compelled to keep you three."

"No!"

"I'll plant him a facer!"

"He's young."

Lily tried for a very reasonable, child-convincing voice. "But, my dears, the fact is I've lied to him. Evidently it hasn't occurred to Arnold that I would change my status. If the viscount says something, if Arnold gets distracted, it's over. There will be absolutely nothing I can do about it."

"If he finds out and he gets really mad, then we'll all leave, that's all."

Dear Theo, he didn't know what the real world was like. How cold and difficult and mean it could be. But he and Sam were her protectors, so she tried for a smile and gave each of them a hug.

She donned her best gown two hours later. She kissed the children good-night, promising that she would come and tell them about the dinner. The boys were in a very large bedchamber that adjoined hers and Laura Beth's. She walked downstairs, managed a travesty of a smile for Duckett, and allowed him to open the drawing room doors.

"Lily!"

She paused a moment on the threshold. Standing directly behind Arnold was Knight, and he looked calm, utterly relaxed, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes, she was certain of it. He hadn't guessed a thing. Arnold hadn't said a word against what he thought to be true about her. Realizing this had the effect of eradicating every ounce of fear she'd felt for Ugly Arnold-for all of one minute. During that precious minute she saw him as a rather pitiful man, with ignoble aims and an unfortunate predilection for her.

"Hello, Mr. Damson," she said pleasantly, nodding at him. "I trust you had a pleasant journey here to London? I hope Gertrude is well."

"Gertrude is fine. She is always fine, though she complains of her bile humors, as you know."

"It is kind of you to come and see that we are settled in and comfortable."

"No, it isn't. That isn't it at all."

"You don't wish us to be comfortable? I assure you that Lord Castlerosse is a very polite host. He would never be-"

"That isn't what I meant." Arnold wished the damned viscount would take himself off. He tried to calm himself. Right was on his side. But just looking at Lily made nearly all logical thought fly out of his head. She was tastier-looking than even he remembered. He recognized the pale peach silk gown. It was modest and perhaps a bit out of date, but on her it looked wonderful enough for a bloody queen. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a thick braid. Loose tendrils floated down her neck and over her ears. She looked calm, composed, that serene expression of hers he remembered so well firmly fixed on her face.

"I see. What do you mean, sir?"

"I mean that you and the children-"

"Dinner is served, my lord."

Arnold cursed, luridly, but only Knight heard him. He swallowed the bark of laughter. "Thank you, Duckett. Mr. Damson, would you please give Mrs. Winthrop your arm?"

Lily didn't want Ugly Arnold within six feet of her, but she merely smiled and waited for him to take her arm. He was trembling and she wondered why. It was she who was the fraud, after all, not he.

When they reached the dining room, Duckett was holding her chair for her. She moved toward him, but Arnold didn't release her arm. She tugged, but still he did not let her go.

"Mr. Damson, please."

"Oh," said Arnold and dropped her arm.

Knight looked at Arnold, a brow flaring up in utter astonishment.

Arnold flushed, Lily prayed he wouldn't say anything, and Knight decided to let the farce continue. Once they were all seated, he said to Duckett, "You may serve now."

"Very well, my lord."

It didn't take long for Arnold to drop the first shoe. Over a serving of braised mutton he said, "I wish to leave on the morrow, Lily. You will have the children ready."

It was now or never, she thought, her fork poised halfway between her plate and her mouth. "No, Arnold. We aren't going anywhere with you. We're staying here."

Arnold then dropped the other shoe.

Four.

DAMSON FARM.

HARROWGATE, ENGLAND.

"Yes'm. We're friends of Lily Tremaine, yer brother's little gal. We're awful sorry that old Tris got jiggered, but we'd be mighty glad to see his little gal, yep we would."

Gertrude Damson managed to glean the essence of this unworldly speech, although it didn't much reduce her fear of these two villainous-looking creatures. The large man who had spoken looked mean enough, with his beefy face and flat dark eyes, to steal from the vicar's poor box and then throttle the vicar. As for his weaselly little partner, he looked as if he'd hold down the vicar while his friend was doing him in. She got hold of herself. So they wanted to speak to Lily, did they? They were Lily's friends? Not likely, but Gertrude didn't mind, not one bit. She looked about for that fool, Beem. He was nowhere to be seen. Why had he let these creatures in to see her?

Actually, Beem was five pounds richer, but worried nonetheless. He hovered outside the drawing room, praying that the man wouldn't strangle the mistress.

Gertrude knew deep down that she would have yelled her head off had the men asked to see anyone on Damson Farm except Lily Tremaine, the little slut. She still smarted from Arnold's miserable infatuation for the trollop. So he wanted the children back, did he? A man who had paid little heed to his own offspring now wanted to be the "father" to poor Tris's? Gertrude would have spit in his face if he hadn't been so pitifully obvious. But Lily had packed up the children and simply disappeared. Gertrude had more than a sneaking suspicion of what had caused that flight, but she would never admit it to herself, to the vicar, or to any powers higher than she herself.

Gertrude smiled at the two villains who stood with their grimy hats in their hands in the middle of her pristine drawing room. She said brightly, "Lily Tremaine is in London. I believe she's now living with Viscount Castlerosse. He was my brother's cousin, you know. I don't recall his address."

Monk wasn't prepared for such easy capitulation. He frowned at the blousy, big-bosomed woman and wondered if she was lying to him. "Are ye certain?" he demanded, at his most menacing.

Gertrude blinked. "Of course I'm sure. My husband left to fetch her and the children back here."

"Oh, ah," said Boy and tugged on Monk's sleeve. "Let's scuttle, Monk."

"All right," said Monk, still floored at the ease of his success. No need for threats; no need for the delicate little stiletto, his most valued possession and a long-ago gift from his sainted mother; no need to curse. It was disheartening. It wasn't what he was used to.

After Beem had shown out the two villains, he immediately presented himself to the mistress and told her of their threats to his person if he didn't allow them entrance. Gertrude just looked at him and held out her hand. "Give it to me, Beem, all of it."

Beem fluttered, denied, tried his best to look both affronted and innocent, and ended up placing the five-pound note in his mistress's outstretched hand. It wasn't fair.

"They wanted Miss Tremaine," she said as Beem watched her stuff the note down her massive bosom.

Beem was instantly alert. "Oh, dear," he said. "I hope you don't know where she went, ma'am."

"Of course I know, and I told them, you old fool. Unlike the rest of you absurd men, I don't think they'll melt at the sight of her beaux yeux. Now get out of here before I have you kicked off Damson Farm."

WINTHROP HOUSE.

LONDON, ENGLAND.

"Tell us everything, Lily. Everything."

Lily shook the sleep from her eyes and mind. She looked at the clock on the mantel and saw that it was just six o'clock in the morning, and here were the three children, bouncing up and down on her bed. They'd been fast asleep when she'd checked on them last night and so had not awakened them to relate the events of the evening.

"All right. Just give me a minute. All of you get under the covers. It's cold and I don't want any of you to become ill."

Laura Beth, Czarina Catherine stuffed under her arm, slithered down next to Lily and snuggled close. Theo and Sam got under the covers at the end of the bed, propping themselves up with bolsters.

"Will we have to leave, Mama?" asked Laura Beth.

"I don't-no, we won't." Lily prayed she was telling the truth. She simply didn't know and was afraid to become an optimist. That was what her father had been all his life.

"Tell us," said Theo, and his voice was frightened. "We can take it." Lily wanted to hug him close and vow that she would never let harm come to him, never. Instead she gave him a warm smile, what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Well, Ugly Arnold was himself. Early into the evening meal I thought it was all over for us." She looked toward the portrait of an ugly woman swathed in a stiff farthingale the color of a bilious green. A long-ago Winthrop? With bad taste?

"Mama," said Sam, impatient, and she brought herself back.

"I'll tell you all of it." Not quite all, she amended silently to herself. Not the cursing, the nastiness barely coated with false civility.