In Caroline’s opinion, men were often unworthy.

The crumpled sheet of parchment currently seized in her fist was a perfect illustration of why. It was a letter from Lord Braxton, declining Clara’s generous invitation to Lawton Park due to his sudden engagement to Miss King of Norfolk. It seemed they had met during the season and participated in what could only be described as a whirlwind romance. Of course, this was apart from his courting of Caroline prior to her departure from London, but she was certain he did not bother himself, or his new fiancée, with the inconvenient details.

The Countess of Ashworth cleared her throat discreetly from where she stood beside her.

“I am sorry to be the one to relate such unpleasant news, Lady Caroline,” she said, her eyes soft with sympathy, “but I thought you should be the first to know. I understood from Eliza that you held a preference for this man during the season.”

Caroline swallowed hard, willing the rise of her tears back into submission before answering. “Thank you, my lady. I—” Abruptly, she thrust the letter back into the hands of the countess, her mortification robbing her of words. Abandoned by her parents. Replaced by her suitor. How many possible ways could she be exposed to the ton for its mockery? She shook her head. “I’m not surprised, really,” she finally finished.

Clara’s eyes widened. “Why would you say such a thing? Surely you did nothing to warrant such treatment from a man.”

“No, but I did depart from London before the end of the season.” Her gaze flitted about the drawing room and she lowered her voice. “My aunt is unwell. She sees things sometimes . . . hears things . . . has trouble remembering.” Caroline trailed off, then met Lady Ashworth’s eyes once more. “It’s something I’ve worked to conceal these past months.”

“My goodness, I’m so sorry,” said Clara, seating herself beside Caroline on the settee to give her shoulders a comforting squeeze. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you manage to leave London without attracting unwanted attention?”

Caroline smiled ruefully. “In a most unexpected way. Lord Evanston provided his assistance, per Eliza’s request.” Seeing how Clara’s expression changed, she said, “I know, my lady. I too was surprised with the arrangement, at first. But the viscount was committed to keeping our secret and proved himself to be quite the gentleman. Although,” she added reluctantly, “he did impose upon Eliza one condition.”

“Which was?” asked the countess, her dark eyes alight with interest.

“He asked she postpone answering any offers of marriage she should receive, before returning to Kent.”

Clara leaned back against the cushions, lost in thought. “He was buying himself time,” she murmured.

“Yes!” cried Caroline. “I told Eliza the very same thing.”

“So you were aware of his feelings for her?”

She nibbled her lip. “I was. Although now I’ve been questioning the nature of those feelings.”

“What do you mean?” asked Clara.

“At the start of the season, I believed Evanston would attempt to seduce Eliza, if for no other reason than his own entertainment. However, after conversing with him in Hampshire, I was led to believe that he might actually—”

“—be in love with her?”

Caroline’s mouth snapped shut. She stared at Clara, nonplussed.

“Well, yes.”

“Have you been able to speak with Eliza on the matter?”

“She has been unreceptive to talking about the viscount at all since my arrival. Eliza seems almost preternaturally focused on accepting Landry, yet I know she has long nurtured an affection for Evanston. For how long, I am uncertain.” Caroline thoughtfully considered the point. “For years, I suppose,” she finally concluded.

“I think she may hold great affection for him still, and very little for Sir James, which poses an obvious problem,” replied Clara gloomily.

Caroline’s brows furrowed. “What if she is forcing herself to accept Landry when Thomas . . . I can’t believe I’m about to say this—”

“When Thomas might actually be the man who suits her most?” laughed Clara. “I think it’s possible. Although yes, it is a very unlikely turn of events. But what of Rosa?”

Heat spread over Caroline’s cheeks and she cast her gaze guiltily to the ground. She couldn’t help but remember the sweetness between Thomas and the little girl as they had danced in the hallway at Lawton Park. She also remembered keeping the truth of it from Eliza.

“Rosa loves him, I’ve seen it,” she confessed. “What’s more, he loves her too. I believe he’s just inexperienced with expressing his emotions.”

“Yes,” Clara agreed. “Perhaps, if he’d been better at it, we would not be in this predicament, waiting for Eliza to accept an offer from the wrong man.”

Caroline suddenly froze. “But what about the earl?”

The countess nervously ran a fingertip across the gleaming pearl earbob that was dangling from her earlobe. “Yes, things are indeed complicated between my husband and the viscount. I’ve advised Thomas to speak with him, but given the damaged state of things with Eliza, I’m not sure he’ll even bother.” She frowned, then nodded decisively. “Landry arrives in two days. You and I will have to help things along.”

“How?” she inquired. Caroline desperately wanted to help her friend. Given the disappointing result of her own recent courtship, she would do just about anything to spare Eliza from a similar fate, or worse. She couldn’t bear thinking of the smart, vibrant Eliza locking herself into marriage with a man who was all respectability simply for the sake of doing it. A man who would view her as a cold, gleaming trophy rather than the warm-blooded woman she was.

Clara rose to stand, beckoning for Caroline to follow. “It turns out I have helpful friends in many places. Belowstairs being one of them,” she answered with a playful smile.

Within minutes, the two ladies were having a clandestine conversation with a few trusted servants, tucked away in the relative privacy of a west wing bedchamber. Caroline could scarcely believe Clara might attempt such a daring operation for the sake of her husband’s sister. Then, she reminded herself of the woman’s enterprising and dauntless acts performed on her own behalf, which had turned out quite successfully. This scheme would likely be tame when compared to a plot of that magnitude.

“Right,” said Clara cursorily. “I understand this is highly unconventional. But please be assured that any action taken at my request, even one that goes against the rules, strictly speaking, shall be absolved. You are protected.” She sent a meaningful glance to her faithful lady’s maid, Abigail, who nodded taciturnly to her mistress in reply.

“Oh, no,” said the head housemaid, Amelia, smacking a hand faintly against her forehead. “What is this about, my lady?”

Clara pointed at her and smiled. “I’m glad you asked. I am entreating your assistance with a most delicate matter. As you may be aware, Lady Eliza is anticipating a marriage proposal this weekend by one Sir James Landry.”

The dark-haired maid, Stella, glanced at Mrs. Humboldt in apprehension. The cook looked intrigued, however, leaning forwards eagerly.

“Yes, my lady. What of it?” she asked.

“Well, I would like to create an opportunity for Eliza to accept an alternative offer.”

“Who is it?” Mrs. Humboldt asked, her cheeks growing rosy in scandalized excitement.

Clara paused for a moment. “It is Thomas, Lord Evanston.”

A heavy silence pervaded the room before it was cut through by the cook’s short bark of laughter. Soon, Mrs. Humboldt was clutching her generous bosom, lost to gasping fits of hilarity. However, at Clara’s prolonged and serious evaluation of her, she eventually stifled her mirth to view the countess in shock.

“You’re serious?”

“Deadly serious. I’d like to give Eliza one more chance to consider her options before Landry calls on her.”

“Oh!” cried the cook, her surprise having transformed into enthusiasm. “I could serve him up a bad bit of potato. That might keep him occupied—”

“I have an idea, my lady,” Abigail said suddenly. “It’s not terribly complicated but will require accurate timing, for certain.”

If Caroline remembered the story correctly, Abigail had been the one to help orchestrate Clara’s escape from her fiancé, as well as secure her servant’s position at Lawton Park.

She saw Lady Ashworth’s mouth curve upward in sly contemplation of her lady’s maid.

“Thank you, Abigail. I knew I could count on you.”

Guests began arriving on Friday afternoon, with Landry among their numbers.

The house party would have been considered small by most lofty standards, particularly those of the London set. Still, the west wing had been opened and refreshed for the event, and the scale of the gathering felt appropriate for Lawton Park’s first house party in nearly five years.

It was a shame Thomas was going to miss it.

In fact, a great many things were a shame. He thought back to the years he’d spent here, even the dark ones following the tragedies that had derailed them all. How he’d wasted his time with Eliza, allowing himself to dismiss her as simply the sister of a friend when she was the only woman with any substance to her at all. Both William and his father had considered Thomas undeserving of Eliza’s heart, and to be honest, Evanston agreed. Eliza Cartwick had been through enough, and he understood why she was reluctant to open herself up to more suffering with a man who had shown himself to be unreliable. He understood, even as it tore him apart.

So here he was, at this journey’s inevitable conclusion . . . a broken man. Turned inside out by the only woman who mattered enough to affect him in such a way. His priorities had shifted finally, but too late. He hadn’t been able to nurture the trust necessary for her to love him, and now she was somewhere downstairs preparing to marry another. Eliza thought him fickle and unsure, when the truth of it was she was the only thing he’d ever been sure of in his life.

La douleur exquise. A French expression he’d thought to be ridiculous and trite at one time, now seemingly the only apt description of this black existence carved out before him. Literally translated as the exquisite pain, it described the notion of not merely unreciprocated affection, but the indescribable agony of suffering it at the hands of the one you loved.

Well, he was done with it. His trunks were packed and he was leaving tonight. He was both unwilling and unable to watch as Eliza promised herself to another man. This past week of acting as if things were fine around William had already strained his ability to pretend. He had requested that his carriage and horses be brought round in secrecy, as the situation dictated, although he was never sure how well servants could be trusted to keep a secret. Thomas had no desire to cause controversy, only to slip out discreetly so he could take refuge in London and drink himself into oblivion.

He shrugged on his coat and seized his hat. Downstairs, guests would be in the process of assembling in the drawing room prior to dinner. Men in formal black and white, and ladies in their finest gowns. He wanted to leave before he would be overtly missed—

A quiet knock sounded at his bedchamber door and his gaze locked onto it.

Inwardly, he cursed. Whoever was on the other side of that portal could easily interfere with his departure, and once he was seen in something other than his dinner attire, word would surely make its way to William and Eliza.

“Who is it?” he snapped.

“It is Amelia, my lord,” came the muffled reply.

The housemaid. He sighed in irritation, then crossed to the door and cracked it open an inch.

“What do you want?”

The redheaded girl lowered into a brief curtsy. “Forgive the intrusion, my lord, but Lady Ashworth wishes to speak with you in the library.” At his narrowed glance, she added, “Just a quick word before dinner.”

He shook his head in bewilderment. “Why? Is she not busy with the guests downstairs?”

“She would like to join them, my lord, just as soon as she’s had a moment to speak with you.”

Thomas stood there, debating in silence. If Clara had specifically requested an audience with him, it would not do for him to leave without granting it.

He slammed the door shut, muttered an oath, then reopened it again to glare at the startled housemaid.

“After you,” he ground out impatiently.

Her eyes scanned his choice of attire, and then she led him briskly down the staircase, deftly avoiding going within eyeshot of the people within the drawing room. Their boisterous conversation and laughter was audible throughout the foyer, and Thomas felt his insides clench tightly in response. Before long, they would all take to celebrating the joyous occasion of Eliza’s engagement to Sir James, but he would be gone by then. The moonlight was plentiful tonight, and he would ride that bloody chestnut horse as fast as it could take him away from this place.

Upon their approach, he observed one of Ashworth’s other maids, the dark-haired one, exiting the library. She tipped a brief glance in their direction, then scurried off down the hall in the opposite way.

It was curious. However, given Clara’s busy schedule this evening, the maid could simply be delivering some news of import regarding a guest or the impending meal. He slid a look over at Amelia, whose no-nonsense demeanor gave nothing away.

They reached the library door and she pulled it open for him, standing aside as he entered. It was only when the door closed tightly behind him that he realized something was definitely amiss. A woman’s slight intake of breath from the library’s interior confirmed it . . . a woman who was certainly not Lady Ashworth . . .

. . . because it was Eliza, standing near a shelf, looking over her shoulder at him, every bit as shocked as he felt.

She whirled around to face him more fully, the candlelight from the wall sconces catching the sapphire blue of her satin dress and the golden luster of her hair. It went without saying that she was achingly beautiful although increasingly distraught, as they surveyed each other in absolute astonishment.

“I—I’m not certain what has happened,” she stammered, “but I was summoned by Stella the maid, to meet with Lady Caroline—”

Her words were drowned out by the amazement of his own realization, one that had come too late.

Dear God, we’ve been set up.

Privately, he kicked himself for confiding in women he should have known would take it upon themselves to meddle. He forced himself to meet Eliza’s wide green eyes.

“I believe Lady Ashworth and Lady Caroline have had a hand in this supposed mix-up. No matter. I’ll just be on my way . . .”

“Why are you not dressed for dinner?” she asked, her voice wavering.

He clenched his teeth, gripping his hat hard in a white-knuckled grip.

There’s no way to avoid some kind of a scene now, is there?

“As I said,” he forced out. “I am leaving. Tonight.”

The pained look on her face might have been gratifying under any other circumstance, but in this moment, he couldn’t bear it. He pivoted swiftly on his heel and twisted the doorknob, but her softly spoken plea gave him pause.

“Don’t go.”

Evanston turned back with a stare. “Or what? You won’t agree to marry Landry? My faults will somehow become tolerable? Your brother will suddenly step aside to allow our union? Come now, Eliza. This was never going to end well for me, and I, for one, would rather not see just how bad it will be. Now, excuse me.” He turned back to the door.

Her skirts rustled loudly as she rushed over to hook her fingers around his arm, her wounded expression only serving to increase his resentment. “Thomas, I—”

“Don’t touch me, Eliza,” he countered, twitching away from her grasp. “Not now . . . not ever again. I cannot take it.” He jerked the door open.

She reached for him once more. “Please, don’t leave—”

Thomas spun around, dropping his hat to the floor to take her shoulders in both hands. All logical thought vanished as he walked her backwards into the library, pressed her against the nearest bookshelf, and kissed her for one very last time.

It was a mistake. The sweet taste of her mouth was yet another reminder of what he would never have. Her pleasured cry when his teeth caught at her bottom lip was a plea that would forever go unanswered. Still he pulled her closer, knowing that each passing second with Eliza was a sacrifice to his sanity. A sacrifice he was somehow still willing to make.

Had he been seeking to punish her somehow? What a fool. He matched her passion, kiss for glorious kiss, as she punished him instead . . .

The earl’s voice came from the open doorway, low and deadly.

“Step away from my sister, you bastard.”

Immediately they froze, both of them highly aware of what William had just witnessed. When Thomas released Eliza to turn and face him, the fury that greeted him was anything but a surprise. He raised his hands in surrender.

“William, what you saw . . . was not precisely as it appeared.”

The earl’s eyes were blazing. “Really? How many ways can it appear, I wonder?”

“No, of course it was how it appeared, but not for the reason—”

His words were cut short when Ashworth took a swing at him. Thomas stepped swiftly to the side and ducked, narrowly dodging the earl’s fist.

“No!” yelled Eliza, reaching out to stay her brother’s aggression.

The earl shook her off and advanced on Thomas, hands trembling with rage. “Tell me the reason, then,” he fumed. “Have you grown tired of your hordes of women? Did the mood just strike you? Or did you do it simply to ruin her chances with a respectable man?”

“It was none of those things,” Evanston replied cautiously, his hands still hovering in capitulation. “And I know I haven’t been forthright with you . . . regarding my intentions—”

“Oh,” said the earl menacingly, taking a step closer. “And what exactly are those?”

“Stop!” cried Eliza, placing herself in between the earl and Thomas. “This was my doing too!”

Evanston swept her to the side with a stern shake of his head. “No. I don’t want you to get hurt—”

Predictably, the moment Eliza was out of the way, Ashworth charged forwards at Thomas, grabbing him to slam him against the wall. Evanston had roughly three inches on William’s height, but the force of the man’s anger contributed to his strength. That, and Thomas was not willing to engage in violence in an attempt to reason with his friend. William had legitimate grievances that were founded on a sordid past, and he’d just walked in on a scene that would surely upset any protective brother.

William’s teeth were clenched, his hands wound tightly around the fabric of Evanston’s coat. He gave him a shake. “Explain yourself!”

Clara dashed into the room. She stopped abruptly to assess the situation in horror, then came closer to place a comforting arm around Eliza.

“William! He means your sister no harm.”

But Ashworth was not able to hear her. Not yet. Thomas weighed his words carefully under the resentful stare of his best friend, soon to be lost forever, he was sure.

“I made a mistake back in London,” he admitted hoarsely. “I pursued . . . your sister.”

The earl released him with a visible jolt of astonishment, turning to stare wide-eyed at Eliza before his rage came back to settle on Thomas.

“You did what?”

Thomas sighed and tried to speak past the claws of regret that were digging into his throat. “I interfered in her London season. I shouldn’t have, I know,” he said, stepping away from the wall. “Or at the very least, I should have spoken to you of my feelings for your sister first.”

“Your feelings?” William asked harshly.

Thomas felt his hands clenching and he fought against the impulse, uncurling his fingers one by one. “Your sister is worthy of great admiration. Is it any wonder she could evoke the sentiment in anyone, even a sinner like me?”

Ashworth glared at him and stood his ground. “I beg your pardon,” he spat caustically. “I didn’t realize you were given to simply admiring my sister, or any woman, for that matter. With your ironclad sense of morality and your weakness for—”

“I’ve had numerous failings, it’s true,” Thomas interrupted angrily, his old faults coming back to haunt him one more time. “And Eliza sees them all, believe me. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know that my proposal was not a success.” He paused to glance wretchedly in her direction. “She refused me on the spot.”

Evanston found himself distracted by the seriousness of her gaze, by the subtle dread with which she surveyed him now. His attention was torn away once more when William shoved him back against the shelves, knocking the meticulously organized books to the floor, which earned Ashworth a sharp rebuke from his wife.

“When did you propose?”

He grunted against the iron pressure of William’s arm against his chest. “Earlier this week.”

“Trying to beat Landry to it?”

Thomas shifted beneath his friend’s tightening hold. “Obviously.”

“Then tell me this. If my sister refused you earlier this week, why did I find you accosting her in my library tonight?” Ashworth fumed, his face flushed.

Thomas found his own patience was nearing an end. He’d only wanted to leave, spare himself the misery of seeing Eliza’s engagement play out before him like some farcical theater production he couldn’t help but watch. Instead, his suffering had somehow become the production, complete with an audience. The women stared at him now in horrified attention.

He shook away William’s arm. Drawing himself up to his full height, he glowered darkly at the earl. “I wasn’t accosting her, for God’s sake, I was saying good-bye.”

“Oh, I should have known.” William laughed but there was no mirth, the sound rattling indignantly up his throat. “You’re probably incapable of bidding farewell without your lips all over some unwilling woman—”

Infuriated at the unfairness of his charge, Thomas stepped closer, trying to swallow his own temper. “Hold your tongue, Ashworth,” he growled. “I have never forced myself on a woman.”

His words had an immediate effect, as he had known they would.

Evanston had less room to move this time when William lunged at him, driving his shoulder into his chest and knocking him against the wall, where both men slid down to the floor. The earl reared back and struck again, but Thomas still managed to avoid the man’s fist, twisting violently beneath him amidst Eliza’s and Clara’s cries to stop.

“I thought you wanted the truth,” Thomas struggled to say, his breathing labored as he grappled with William, rolling across the carpet. His leg inadvertently swung out and kicked a shelf, sending another cascade of leather-bound tomes scattering around them. “But it does not seem to sit well with you.”

Thomas used the momentum from a lurching turn to pin William against the floor. He knew it would not hold for long; he had to say what was necessary, and quickly. Leaning over the earl, he lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Yes, I have been refused by your sister. And yes, she even rejected my advances in London.” This earned him a foul curse from his friend, but he continued undeterred. “But I returned to Kent after the season, hoping to somehow win her hand at last before Landry could succeed. I only wish I’d have realized sooner . . . had more time to convince her—”

His words trailed off and he let go of Ashworth, whose golden-green eyes were alight with pure venom. Thomas rose up on his haunches, propelling himself to a stand, and turned to regard Eliza. She stood between both Clara and Caroline, who must have joined them at some point during the melee. He held her shimmery gaze and swallowed hard to prevent that same rise of emotion within him.

The earl grabbed Evanston’s shoulder from behind, then spun him around to unleash a powerful right hook, sending stars through his vision and rocking his head painfully to the side. The ladies gasped in unison. Eliza rushed forwards to pull her brother away.

“Stop it!” she yelled.

William shrugged her off and stalked towards Thomas, who stumbled backwards in a daze. “I know what I saw . . . what you’ve told me. What could you possibly say now that would make any kind of difference—”

“I love your sister!” Evanston shouted hoarsely, lashing out blindly, the words booming forth from some primal place deep within him. He shoved the earl away while holding his dumbfounded gaze as best he could with the blood that was flowing into his eye. “No, I didn’t know it, at first. And yes, I went about it all wrong. But I would have followed her anywhere . . . done anything to show her . . .” His throat squeezed shut, but he shook his head and persisted. “Risked any friendship for just a chance—”

He heard Eliza from the corner. “Thomas—”

With a sharp turn of his head, he silenced her with a bleak stare. “I know the opinions of your family matter greatly to you when weighing matters of love . . . perhaps even more than love itself.” He stepped closer to address her in the sudden hush of the library. “You will have the comfort of knowing your family approved your choice when Sir James has no idea how special you really are. That, try as he might, he will never know the real value of having you and Rosa in his life.”

Thomas shut his eyes against the way she blinked at him, how it had sent a lone tear to tumble down her cheek, and turned wearily to face Ashworth. He was tired of this. It was time to receive his judgment.

“We are friends no longer,” William said stonily, his finger shooting outward to point at the door. “Get out.”

He stood staring at the man he’d called friend since they were both too young to recall. Registered the hostility behind his eyes, and the finality of his words. Bending down at the waist, he snatched his hat up from the carpet, shoved it onto his head, and straightened to utter a humorless laugh.

“So, this is the price of honesty,” he said bitterly, glancing around at the solemn gathering for a moment longer. “Well, I’m not sorry.”

With that, he turned and strode from the library. But deep inside, he knew how sorry he really was.