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by Father’s rather more demanding aristocratic tone.

      “Well, young man?” Father asked.

      Sebastian hesitated, and I wished I could see their expressions.

      “I’m afraid Miss March found herself disinclined to go through with the marriage. She was seeking a place of refuge,” he said solemnly. “I hope I have done right to bring her here.”

      To my surprise, Father’s voice was tight with something that sounded like anger. “I suppose you didn’t think you had a choice.”

      “No, I didn’t,” Sebastian countered, his own voice amused. “I daresay there will be a hue and cry and all sorts of bother before it’s all sorted, but these things can’t be helped.”

      “What do you think you’re doing eavesdropping?” I jumped to find the manservant George lurking behind me, a laden tray in his hands.

      “I dropped my handkerchief,” I lied coolly.

      “I see no handkerchief,” he retorted.

      “That’s because I haven’t found it yet,” I replied. I swept past him before he could make heads or tails of that answer, and fled up the stairs. I returned a few minutes later, face washed and hands clean, and smoothed out the crushed skirts of the wedding gown, wishing desperately that I had something—anything—else to put on.

      “Next time I run away, I’ll plan better,” I muttered. I hurried into the sitting room to find Father and Sebastian sitting companionably. Food and drink had appeared in my absence but had not been touched. As soon as I took a chair the sandwiches and cakes were passed. I loaded my plate and dived in, scarcely breathing between bites. The sandwiches were dainty but stuffed with perfectly roasted ham, and the cake was light as a feather.

      “George is quite something in the kitchen,” Father said, eyeing my rapidly emptying plate.

      I swallowed and shot Sebastian a dark look as he helped himself to the last of the cherry tarts. The cherries had been brandied and glazed to look like jewels and the first two had melted in my mouth.

      “He’s an interesting fellow,” I said politely.

      Father arched a brow. “By that you mean he’s a boor, and you’re entirely correct. But he’s a devilishly good manservant and his company suits me. He frightens away all of the casual callers, and I am left to my work.”

      His tone was light, but I felt the sting of loneliness in his words. I put my plate down, the cake suddenly ashes in my mouth.

      “I don’t blame you,” he said softly.

      I looked up into green eyes that were very like my own. Father was smiling. “It was your wretched mother’s doing. She’s the one I blame.”

      A sharp blow sounded at the front door, and I started. Sebastian jumped to his feet, but Father sat serenely. “That will be the harpy now,” he said mildly.

      “Most likely,” Sebastian agreed. “I drove fast, but I suspect they saw us getting away, and Mr. Hammond has a beauty of a Lagonda. I glimpsed it a few times on the road behind us.”

      I threw Sebastian a horrified glance, and he stepped in front of me as if to act as my shield. From his seat, Father gave us a curious glance and was watching us still when George appeared.

      “Shall I answer that, sir, or send them to Coventry?”

      “By all means, answer it,” Father said, waving an airy hand. “Might as well get it done with now. I have too much experience of Araminta’s temper to think it will sweeten by morning.”

      I rose to my feet, my hand sliding neatly into Sebastian’s. At the warm touch of his skin, I jumped, pulling free and thrusting both of my hands behind my back. All proper behaviour seemed to have flown out of my head, and I found myself wishing I could faint or fall into a fit, anything to avoid the next few minutes.

      “She’ll be frightfully angry,” I warned Sebastian. “This is far worse than the time I kept a pet frog in the bidet at the Ritz.”

      “Courage,” Sebastian murmured.

      I nodded and took a deep breath as George returned. “Mr. and Mrs. Hammond, sir. And I didn’t get the names of all the rest of them. There were too many,” he added nastily. He stepped aside to let Mother and Reginald into the room, and behind them came an avalanche of people.

      “Good God,” Father pronounced. “Am I to be invaded by a whole tribe of Americans?”

      “It’s just the family,” I assured him. “That’s my stepfather, Mr. Hammond, and of course, you know Mother, and those are the twins, Petunia and Pansy, and I think those must be the boys back there, Reginald Junior and Stephen. There’s my maid, Masterman—she’s the one looking disapproving. And oh, yes, there’s Gerald. Hello, Gerald,” I said as calmly as I could manage. “You haven’t met my father, Eglamour March. Father, Gerald Madderley.”

      Father took a deep breath and rose slowly from his chair. He greeted Gerald, then put out his hand to my stepfather. “How do you do, Mr. Hammond. I believe we have something in common,” he said, his voice acid on the last word as he glanced at Mother.

      She was not pleased. Her tone was just as cold as his as she watched her two husbands shake hands. “Yes, let’s all be marvelously polite about this, shall we? In the meanwhile—”

      “In the meanwhile, Araminta, you’ve had entirely too many children for my sitting room to accommodate,” Father said firmly. “Now, those boys will have to go as well as the girls with the appalling flower names. Madderley, I suppose you have a dog in this fight, so you may stay. Hammond, since you paid for the affair, you are welcome to stay, as well. And let’s have the maid in case anyone decides to succumb to the vapours. Araminta, you will stay only so long as you can keep a civil tongue in your head.”

      Mother opened her mouth to reply then snapped it closed. “Very well,” she said through gritted teeth. “Children, out to the car. And mind you don’t get out and go walking about. These English villages are full of typhoid. They have very bad drains.”

      Father gave a short laugh. “Good God, how could I have forgot your obsession with drains?”

      “I think we have more important matters to discuss,” she told him, her voice icy. She turned to me. “Poppy, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

      I looked from my enraged mother to Gerald’s mild face and back again. “Only that I am very sorry for behaving quite so badly. I ought to have said something sooner—”

      “Sooner!” Mother’s voice rose on a shriek. “You mean, you knew? You knew you had no intention of marrying Gerald and you let this all play out like some sort of Elizabethan tragedy—”

      “Oh, for God’s sake, Araminta, a pair of people who probably weren’t terribly suited didn’t get married. I would hardly call that a tragedy,” Father put in.

      “Of course you wouldn’t,” she replied. “You are the very last person who would understand about keeping one’s sacred promises.”

      He raised a silver brow. “A hit. A palpable hit,” he said, his tone amused. “I was waiting for that, and I’m so glad you didn’t disappoint.” He turned to Reginald with an appraising gaze. “You must have the patience of Job, good sir. I salute you.” He raised a glass of whisky in Reginald’s direction.

      “I play a good bit of golf,” my stepfather told him. “It teaches patience like nothing else.”

      Mother opened her mouth, no doubt to blast Father again, but she suddenly seemed to catch sight of Sebastian. “Who are you? I recognise you. You were at the church today. Do you mean to say—” She broke off, her expression one of mounting horror. “Oh, my dear God. I cannot believe it. Not even you, Penelope, would be heartless enough to elope on your wedding day with another man.”

      Sebastian

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