Page 13 of Souvenir of Love

“The brandy, then.” He was, he realized wryly, talking out loud to himself.

Does that explain why even now you’re as hard as a…

“Bloody hell!” He flopped back on his pillows, disgusted. Even histhoughtswere indecent. “It’s true,” he said to the shadows. “I’ve no sense of decency, no sense of honor, nosense of responsibility. Everyone knows it… Ask Lounsbury, ask Ashton. Christ, just ask Elizabeth’sbrother.”

What about your sister?

Anne?

What about all the things you’ve given up for her?

James frowned. He hadn’t given up all that much. Anne was his sister. He did what needed to be done to make her happy. Lord knew she had little enough of that… God, what was it he was feeling? Was itguilt? He put his hands over his eyes and groaned.Why didn’t you say no, Elizabeth?

Other people might believeJames Dinsmore was a conscienceless cad, but Elizabeth had faith in him. She sat up in bed. He would come for her this morning—she felt sure of it.

It was an intuition based on a vague, but never quite forgotten, memory.

A slim blond boy holding his fragile sister, reassuring her that the other children really did like her, that they teased her because they were jealous of her wit, her creativity, and her elfin beauty.Elfin beauty—Elizabeth recalled those words most vividly. They hadn’t only sounded magical; Anne had cheered up, and Elizabeth had found herself suddenly, ragingly jealous. She wanted to be told she was wondrous, too—and not, as Rafe seemed overly fond of saying, a disaster waiting to be unleashed.

At the thought of disaster, Elizabeth threw off her covers. She needed to get up and get ready. She needed to figure out what to wear. She yanked the embroidered bellpull hanging near her canopied bed. Then, yanked again for good measure. Her maid, Molly, rushed nearly breathless into the room, a cup of chocolate and a roll teetering precariously on a tray.

“What is it, my lady? You’re up so early, what do you need? I brought you something to eat, in case you were hungry.”

“Molly, you’re a marvel. Iamfamished.”

Elizabeth tore a corner off the roll and began chewing thoughtfully, her eyes surveying the contents of her armoire, like a general studying a battle plan.

“Are you expecting someone special to pay a call today, my lady?” Molly settled the tray on a table near the hearth, carefully arranging the silverware. “It’s been very quiet downstairs. Hardly anyone’s come round to leave a card.”

“The white muslin with the roses,” Elizabeth said firmly. She pulled a length of gauzy rose fabric from a drawer. “And could you see that this fichu is pressed for me?”

“I’ll take it downstairs this moment. And then I’ll return and help you dress.”

“Good morning, all.”Elizabeth glided into the breakfast room an hour later, a vision in rose and ribbons. She picked up a plate from the sideboard and began peering under the lids of the silver chafing dishes. “Smells delicious.” She inhaled the fragrant steam rising from a dish of sausages. Piling her plate high, she turned. “Did everyone sleep well?”

Rafe, Alix, Louisa, and Madeleine stared at her as if she were wearing garters on her head.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I awaken after these late nights feeling as if I might devour the contents of the kitchen.”

“It’s the shock,” Rafe said dourly. “The shock of the scandal has sent her completely round the bend. She’s mad. Mad as Ophelia. Next thing you know, she’ll come skipping in with a bouquet of weeds.”

“There’s rosemary for remembrance?” Elizabeth shook her head. “Not to worry, I know that rosemary is meant for chicken.” She set her plate down next to Louisa and drew up a chair.

“It’s also lovely baked in bread,” Louisa offered. “I’ve some growing in the herb garden I planted at Moreham Hall.”

“Now they’ve both gone off.” Rafe brought his hand down on the table and the crystal jumped. “This isnota tea party. We have not gathered to chatter about Shakespeare, the culinary arts, or gardening. We are here to discuss what is to be done about Elizabeth.”

“Now that you mention gardening,” Louisa ventured, “I would be willing to take her back to the country, away from this dreadful, noisy city. Perhaps we might putter about in the gardens until this whole dreadful thing has blown over?”

“No, no, no.” Madeleine put down her coffee cup and joined the fray. “She should not run away from the scandal. She should face it head-on, chin up. And with a dramatic story.” She pursed her lips. “I shall think of something.”

“I can only imagine,” Rafe said with a mock shudder.

Madeleine held up a hand for silence. “Elizabeth is ill. Something chronic, incurable… She swoons, frequently, often without warning?—”

“People will say she is with child,” Alix said.

“Too much champagne then…”