Bella had seen the marbles a number of times over the last few months, and each time she was struck anew by the craftsmanship and the sheer talent of the ancient sculptors. But today, she’d been too nervous to give the marbles the attention owed them. How could she possibly focus on them when a sense of dread refused to leave her?

Why had Johann followed them? And what, exactly, had he said to Greg?

The Marquess of Haversham had long since departed their little group, saying something along the lines that their company was not beneficial to his well-honed reputation. Bella had liked him, despite herself. After all, they wouldn’t have known Johann had even been following them if it wasn’t for him.

The last thing she wanted to do was return home to Chatham House, to Johann, to Grandfather, but she didn’t have a choice. If only Mr. Bailey had been at St. George’s today, she was certain her unease would have abated by now. But each second they got closer and closer to home, the more her belly twisted with trepidation.

“You have sighed at least a dozen times,” Greg said across the coach from Bella and Prissa. He had insisted on escorting the two of them back to Chatham House and had whispered to Bella that he really should speak with her father before they visited St. George’s again the next day.

“Anxious,” she said.

“It’s just one more day, my dear,” he said.

And though she knew he was right, that feeling of dread had only increased ever since they’d spotted her cousin at the museum that afternoon.

The Avery coach rambled to a stop in front of Chatham House, and Greg alighted from the conveyance before a footman could even open the door. He helped Prissa to the ground and then offered his hand to Bella.

“It will be all right,” he said for her ears alone.

She met his green gaze and did find some solace there. So she nodded in agreement, wanting to believe his words.

“Just keep to your room and avoid that man at all costs.”

She nodded once more. Then she linked her arm with Prissa’s and the two of them climbed the front stoop with Greg right at their back.

Even before the butler opened the door, they could hear a furious argument from inside.

“Elliott?” Prissa glanced at Bella.

And, indeed, it did sound like their brother’s voice. “He must have finally returned home.”

Goodness, it was going to be a very long night.

The front door swung open, and with it the bellowing from inside Chatham House spilled out onto Berkeley Square, into the late afternoon air. Bella took a staggered breath and Greg placed his hand on the small of her back. “I’m right here,” he said softly.

And while his presence did bring her some peace, she was beyond embarrassed that he was witnessing any of this.

Just as the three of them crossed the threshold, Elliott’s voice clearly rang out from a nearby parlor. “…No! You never did. Not one day of my life! You let him belittle me. You let him belittle all of us.”

“Elliott,” Papa began, sounding more than tired. Heavens, he’d been under such duress for more than a day. “That tactic won’t work this time. I have spent my life trying to do the best for all of—”

“Bollocks!” Elliott screamed. “You’ve spent your life cowering from that bastard. Turing a blind eye to how he treats me for fear that he’ll turn his venom on you. You even let my mother run from here instead of being a man and protecting all of us as you should have.”

“So you want to blame me for your choices?” Papa bellowed back. “It’s my fault that you drink yourself into such a stupor your sisters don’t recognize you? My fault you’ve gambled away everything you have. My fault you’ve bedded every whore from—”

“It is your fault, you blind old fool. All of it. Open your goddamned eyes and look around. I have lived in constant terror my whole life. All of us have. Bella, Prissa. All of us. So do I drink to excess? Absolutely! Do I gamble and bed whores as often as I can?” A mirthless laugh drifted from the parlor. “Something has to dull the pain of being your son!”

Bella and Prissa gasped in unison.

“Get out!” Papa’s voice rang loudly.

“You’re a spineless, impotent coward.”

“And do not ever come back, Elliott,” Papa continued, sounding a bit weaker than he had a moment before. “I am through defending you. I am through trying to protect you. I am—”

“Gladly.” Elliott stalked from the room into the corridor, but halted briefly when he spotted Bella, Greg and Prissa near the entryway. “There. I hope you’re both very happy now. I won’t be begging money from either of you anymore.”

“Oh, Elliott,” Prissa said softly, reaching a hand out to him.

But he paid her no attention as he increased his pace and brushed past them in his haste to escape Chatham House.

“Goodness,” Bella breathed out as her stomach twisted. Then she glanced up at Greg. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

“I’m so sorry you had to live it.”

It wasn’t always as bad as Elliott made it sound, though there was more than a little truth in his accusations. Papa had never defended them as he should have, but Elliott couldn’t blame him for his own choices. That wasn’t fair.

Prissa started for the parlor and once inside, she gasped. “Oh, Papa! Are you all right?”

What in the world, now? Bella raced after her sister and found her father splayed across the settee. He was clutching his chest and seemed unable to catch his breath.

“Oh!” Bella raced toward the settee, dropping onto her knees once she reached Papa’s side. Please, God, let him be all right.

“A doctor!” Greg called loudly, somewhere behind them. “Send for a doctor right now! Alyesford is not well.”

“Papa.” Bella grasped her father’s hand and squeezed. “Take a deep breath. Doctor Watts will be here soon.”

But she wasn’t certain if he even heard her as his eyes didn’t seem to see her at all. His breathing came slower, and then his body seemed to go limp.

No, no, no. Papa couldn’t be gone. He couldn’t be. When Doctor Watts got there, he’d revive Papa and all would be fine. It had to be. Bella squeezed her father’s hand again, but he did not squeeze back.

Prissa began to cry but Bella couldn’t. Crying would make it all too real, crying would mean she’d given up, that she’d surrendered—and she wasn’t prepared to do that.

Greg’s hand landed on her shoulder. “One of your footmen has gone for Watts.”

But there was no point. She could hear that in Greg’s voice. She glanced up at him and shook her head. “He’ll be all right.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Bella,” he began.

But she shook her head. “He’ll be all right, Greg.”

* * *

It seemed like a lifetime had passed by the time Doctor Watts arrived at Chatham House, but once the old doctor finally stepped into the parlor, it took only a moment for him to declare what Greg already knew. Aylesford was dead. “A weak heart,” the doctor suggested.

A weak heart or a broken one, they both amounted to the same thing.

“He’s…gone?” the Duke of Chatham stuttered out, his voice filled with emotion. “My son?”

Watts cast His Grace, Bella, Lady Priscilla and Hellsburg a pitiful expression as he said, “I am sorry.”

“No!” Bella wailed, her hand trembling as she covered her mouth while Lady Priscilla fell into a puddle of tears.

Greg wasn’t certain if he’d ever felt so helpless in his life. He slid his arm around Bella’s waist and held her tight. “I’m so sorry,” he said against her ear. “My sweet girl, I’m so sorry.”

She was crying too hard to respond, so Greg just held her as she sobbed against his cravat, wishing there was more he could do. But there wasn’t a blasted thing he could to make anything better.

“Can’t you do something for the two of them?” Chatham grumbled, sounding much more like his usual acrimonious self than he had a moment ago.

Watts winced slight. “Your Grace, I—”

“They are distraught and making it impossible for me to hear my own damned thoughts.”

“A bit of laudanum might calm their nerves,” the doctor suggested.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad suggestion, not if it would help the ladies’ despondent state. “Come on, sweetheart, let me help you to your chambers,” Greg said softly to Bella.

“You will go nowhere!” Chatham barked.

Oh, for God’s sake. Greg wasn’t about to take advantage of Bella in her current state. “Your Grace—”

“Except out of my house,” the duke continued. Then he gestured to Bella with a dismissive sweep of his hand. “And you can consider this so-called betrothal of yours cancelled. My granddaughter can do better than a mere baron.”

“No!” Bella screamed.

Stunned, Greg instinctively tightened his arms around her.

But Bella pushed out of his hold and nearly stumbled as she turned to face her grandfather. “You can’t do that!”

“I can do anything I like,” the duke snapped. He glanced to his strapping Prussian grandson and said, “See to him, won’t you?”

“No, no, no!” Bella threw herself back into Greg’s arms. “Please don’t leave,” she begged.

The last thing in the word Greg was going to do was leave her. But Hellsburg wrenched Bella backward, tossing her to the floor behind him as he reached for Greg.

Greg lunged for her, but her giant cousin’s fist was the last thing Greg briefly saw before the world went black.