Diana opened the morning room door and peeked in, her face alive with curiosity. “Well? Did you accept him?”

Helen was sitting very still on the sofa, gazing into space. “No.”

Her sister plopped down beside her. “You didn’t? You refused that magnificent man? After he saved us all? After he declared his love for you?”

Helen stared down at her hands. “He didn’t say he loved me.”

“Did you give him a chance to?”

“There was no point. I am not going to marry him.”

“Why ever not?” Diana shook her head. “I don’t understand you at all. You never show any emotion. Don’t you want to be in love? To be loved? Love is the most glorious sentiment on the earth!”

Afraid to answer, Helen sagged in her chair and fiddled with the braid on her sleeve.

“Do you really want to become one of those spinsters with a dozen cats?” Diana persisted. “And live at Cherrywood caring for Harry until he marries? And once he marries, knit items for your nieces and nephews? I suppose you could then take care of Toby when he is a young bachelor. Is that a life worth living?”

“Stop!” Helen leaped up, tears coursing down her cheeks. She sucked in a shaky breath. “I would very much like to be married. Married to Peyton, if you must insist on having me admit it!” She covered her eyes with her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

Diana hurried to hug her. She pulled the damp hair from Helen’s face. “Then why won’t you accept him?”

Helen drew away with a hiccup. “Because he believes me to be untouched.”

Diana gaped at her. “You’re not a virgin? When on earth did that happen? Who was it?”

Her eyes awash with tears, Diana’s image blurred. Helen gulped to relieve the ache at the back of her throat. “Remember my first Season when I came home ill with that head injury?”

“It was then? No one would tell me anything.”

“Of course not. You were thirteen years old. It was hardly fitting.”

“I am not thirteen now.”

“It was at my first ball. I foolishly went into the garden with a man, and he, and he…” She bit her lip.

Diana took her hand and led her back to the sofa. “He hurt you? Who was it?”

“Lord Lawley. I struggled with him and hit my head. I don’t remember much about it.”

“It’s a wonder Papa didn’t have him thrown in Newgate.”

Helen shook her head. “Papa doesn’t know the extent of it. Only that the man made ill-mannered advances to me and I panicked.” She covered her face with her hands. “He now thinks me timid and doesn’t respect me, although I know he loves me.”

“Then why didn’t Mama tell him?”

“She was afraid if he knew he would call Lawley out. He is younger and known to be a good shot. Papa would have been killed. Then Lawley left the country, and it was too late.”

“But Mama wants you to marry. She often says so.”

“She wants me to put the past behind me. I cannot do that, Diana. I would have to tell my prospective husband the truth. I’m too ashamed.”

Diana muttered one of their brother’s favorite curses. “I don’t see why you should feel ashamed. It was entirely that rake’s doing.” She raised an eyebrow. “You know, I don’t think Peyton would care, although I’m pretty sure he would go after Lawley.”

“He would.” Helen curled her fingers into her palms. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Peyton can handle himself. Certainly, he is better able to than some dissolute rake.”

“I can’t be sure of that. He might get hurt, or worse. The whole thing would be utterly horrifying.”

She gripped Helen’s shoulder. “But, dearest, only think. This dreadful attack has blighted your life. I thought you had no passion in you. That has changed since Peyton came here. And I, for one, approve!”

“Nevertheless,” Helen said, drawing in a shuddering breath. She didn’t have the energy and thought it unwise to tell the whole of it. “I won’t subject Peyton to that. I have made up my mind.”

 

***

In no mood to deal with his siblings, Jason eyed Charlie with a frown. “Why are you seated behind my desk, drinking my best brandy?”

With an apologetic shrug, Charlie removed his feet from the leather desktop. He vacated Jason’s chair and dropped onto the sofa, brandy glass in hand. “I have had some unwelcome news,” he said with a lowering glance as Jason took the seat and sorted through his mail.

“Oh?” Jason found it hard to raise a level of interest.

Putting down his empty glass, Charlie folded his arms and leaned back to study him. “You look in even worse shape than me.”

“Do I? I can’t look too good then. I hope you’ll abandon that affecting Brutus and get your hair cut before you return to university.”

“Amelia Groton has just married some aging nabob,” Charlie said, emphasizing every syllable.

Jason put down the pearl-handled letter opener. Seeing Charlie’s bloodshot eyes, he suffered a moment’s anguish for his young brother, knowing how much rejection hurt at that age, and even at thirty-two, it still cut like a knife. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I really am.”

“I’ll survive, Jas.” He unfolded his long legs. “Shall I pour you a brandy?”

“If you would.” Jason sliced open a letter from Mr. Gillies. It appeared that the expert, John Smith, considered the Albrecht Dürer work to be a forgery. He frowned and tapped the knife on his blotter. This opened a Pandora’s box, and he would have to act quickly to deal with it before he met with Bianchi. He put the letter to one side and opened another. It was from his friend, Robert Vale, in Italy. He quickly perused it. “Good God!”

Charlie handed him the tumbler of brandy. “What is it?”

“Is Lizzie at home?”

“Yes. She’s organizing her wardrobe for Italy. You know, I still haven’t taken to her fiancé. Do you like him?”

“Go and fetch her, will you? You’ll have to wait until I’ve spoken to her, Charlie. Alone.”

Charlie accepted this request with newly acquired patience and departed on the errand.

Jason read the letter again. It appeared that all three Peytons were to suffer some measure of heartbreak. Vale’s letter from Florence was unequivocal. I’m a trifle confused by your letter, Jason. Bianchi is here in Florence. Spoke to him yesterday as a matter of fact. As to the drawing by Albrecht Dürer, I’ve never seen one in his collection. And I must say I know every one of his pieces almost by heart.

Lizzie came in some minutes later. She glanced at his face and then at the letter he held. “It’s unwelcome news, isn’t it? I feared it might be.”

After reading the letter, she shook her head in confusion. “Does this mean that the Bianchi we know is not the real one?”

“There can be no other explanation.” His hands formed into fists as a tear ran down Lizzie’s cheek.

“But why would he want to marry me under false pretenses?”

Jason had employed the few minutes while he was alone to consider that. The answer was too dreadful to voice. “He’s a forger, Lizzie. And he doesn’t work alone. I suspect this Barrett is in league with him. He’s most likely the artist behind the works.”

“But still, it doesn’t explain...” Her face grew pale, and she bit her lip. “Once we married and he took me away, he could take control of my fortune, couldn’t he?”

“Yes, he could,” he said gently. And heaven only knew what the nasty piece of work would do to Lizzie when he had complete control over her. Jason tamped down his wrath and moved to the sofa to comfort her.

She took his proffered handkerchief and blew her nose. “How dreadful,” she murmured. “And to think I believed him. How gullible am I?”

“I thought he might be a fraudster, but never for one moment suspected this. I will deal with him. You will never see the man again.”

“You’re probably right that I shouldn’t see him. But how much I would like to. If only to spit in his eye,” Lizzie said, with a sharp intake of breath.

“That’s the Lizzie I know,” he said with a smile. He was pleased to see she still had spirit.

Charlie came into the room. “Is everything all right?”

“Sit down, Charlie,” Jason said. “Your instincts have been proven right about Bianchi.”

 

After dinner, when Charlie had taken himself off, Jason sat with Lizzie in the library.

“I’d forgotten to ask you about Lady Diana Kinsey,” Lizzie said. “Since we’re invited to her debutante ball on Saturday evening, I hope that, at last, you might be considering what you reluctant gentleman term the parson’s mousetrap.”

He rubbed a hand through his hair. “No. Not Lady Diana. Lady Helen. But she has refused me,”

With a concerned huff, Lizzie frowned. “She refused you? For what reason? I’m surprised any woman in her right mind would do that.”

“Well, thank you, Lizzie,” he said with a ghost of a smile. “But alas it is true. Do you know Lady Helen?”

“I have met her. She came out a year or so after me. She was one of the more interesting debutantes, amusing. I remember her first Season. Very sad business.”

“How so?”

“You don’t know?”

“Evidently I don’t. Are you going to enlighten me?”

“Apparently, that rakehell, Albert, Lord Lawley ravaged her in the Chillinghams’ garden. She hit her head and was taken home to the country concussed. I last saw Lady Helen at Lady Newley’s ball, just before Greywood died. She seemed very much changed, quite subdued, and, to my knowledge, didn’t dance.”

“Lawley, you say? Jason growled.

“Yes. His father was furious. Lawley left England shortly afterward.”

“How wise of him.” He thought for a minute. “Godwin at Horse Guards was a cohort of his. They were known to hunt in a pack, picking on vulnerable women. Nasty pieces of work the lot of them. I wonder…”

She eyed him carefully. ‘What will you do about Bianchi? You are not to call him out, Jason. I couldn’t bear it.”

He sighed with frustration, wanting to take the man apart piece by piece. “Very well. I don’t have the authority to arrest him. I’ll notify the Bow Street magistrate. He’ll invite Bianchi, or whatever his real name is, and his accomplice, in for questioning. I’ll alert Mr. Gillies, whom I expect will want to learn of this and give evidence if required. Mr. Smith, the foremost expert in art forgery, might be willing to inspect the rest of the works, although I suspect many would have been sold.”

When Lizzie, who seemed more relieved than heartbroken, left the room, Jason, at last, allowed his thoughts to dwell on Helen. Learning what had happened to her all those years ago explained so much. He intended to broach the subject with her. He would have the truth. Was it because of her past that she wouldn’t have him? He could deal with that, for although he was in a murderous rage at what had happened to her and would happily run the man through, it didn’t matter a damn to him if he wasn’t the first. But if she did not love him, he would have to accept it. Strange, how his once-wished-for, quiet life now seemed so dashed unpalpable.