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Chapter Four

Meredee knew she ought to be quivering in her slippers that she was going to dine with Lord Allyndale. At the very least she should be plotting stratagems to get him to confess all. But when she was with him, she found herself talking instead.

How could she not admire a man who wasn’t afraid to share his thoughts about science and philosophy, who seemed to genuinely enjoy her company? He was a refreshing change from the gentlemen her stepmother entertained. They lived at the very surface of life, talking in generalities. Algernon’s friends were worse. To them, she was an antidote—the poor spinster to be pitied. She hadn’t realized until this morning how much she craved more.

A salt-tanged wind was blowing in from the sea as she and Mrs. Price alighted from their carriage in front of the Dearborn house. The moist air brushed the carefully arranged curls at the sides of Meredee’s face. A tingle of excitement shot through her. A sea breeze in the evening often meant a storm was brewing. She might be able to go hunting in the morning! But before she could do more than think about what that would mean to her promise to her father, her gaze lit on the house, and all other thoughts fled.

Most of the people who flocked to Scarborough stayed in lodging houses or inns. A few rented a house overlooking the spa. Lord Allyndale’s house was of square rosy stone, three stories tall, with fluted columns across the front that softened the imposing lines. Candlelight glowed from every multipaned window, casting shadows across the stone steps. Meredee was glad she’d worn her best evening gown, a buttercup-yellow satin, striped with bands of delicate gold embroidery from the square bodice to the narrow hem.

Before she could take more than two steps, the front door opened, and Lady Phoebe rushed down the stairs to enfold Meredee in her arms. “Oh, you’ve come, you’ve come!”

Meredee managed to disengage with a smile. “Well, it truly isn’t difficult to travel the half mile unscathed.”

Lady Phoebe linked her arm with Meredee’s and drew her up the stairs and into the house, leaving Mrs. Price to pick up her amethyst-colored skirts and trail behind. The inside of the house was even more grand than the outside. The entry hall was tiled in black-and-white marble, the pale blue walls edged in white leaves and graced with landscape paintings of rolling hills and stormy skies.

“What a lovely home,” Meredee murmured.

“It isn’t ours,” Lady Phoebe explained, bouncing on her pink kid slippers. The girl was dressed as usual in a becoming shade of pink, her gown boasting no less than three rows of flouncing at the generous hem.

“We didn’t even get to bring our favorite paintings or furnishings.”

“You didn’t get to bring your favorites, you mean,” her brother corrected her, descending the graceful curving stair. “I have an aversion to living in pink.”

Tonight he was impeccable in black, from his tailored coat to the breeches, black satin-striped waist coat, and patent shoes. The dark color made the white of his shirt and simply tied cravat blaze against his skin and the gold of his hair. He bowed over their hands, and Meredee curtsied, mouth suddenly dry.

“We are expecting one more guest,” he said as he released her. “Allow me to escort you to the drawing room to wait.”

Mrs. Price tittered a reply and accepted his offered arm. Meredee and Lady Phoebe fell into step behind them. The girl squeezed her arm. “I’m so glad you could join us,” she said, as if her glowing face and bright smile could have given Meredee any doubt. “I think my brother is smitten with you.”

Meredee missed a step and nearly trod on her hem. “Oh, Lady Phoebe,” she whispered. “You mustn’t say such things.”

“Why not?” Lady Phoebe peered over at her, suddenly serious. “Most women find my brother irresistible. Don’t you?”

Meredee eyed his back, so imposing in the tailored coat. His hair was just long enough that wisps brushed the high collar as he walked. How could a man who was known to be so hard have such soft-looking hair? “I hardly know your brother,” she said aloud, cheeks blazing, “so I’m sure I’m in no position to say.”

Lady Phoebe gave her arm another squeeze as they reached the drawing room. “Then perhaps you can become better acquainted.”

“Perhaps,” Meredee answered, though she was beginning to believe that the most important thing she could do was to determine who exactly Chase Dearborn, Earl of Allyndale, was.

Yet try as she might, she simply could not find the monster Algernon insisted on. Lord Allyndale made polite conversation with her stepmother, his face set in firm lines that said he was listening to every bit of nonsense as if to a speech on an important issue in Parliament. He gave equal attention to his sister’s meandering story about shopping for a new pair of gloves. His patience would have been endearing, if Meredee could forget the scowl he’d worn that afternoon at the spa that had made the tall youth flee as if in fear for his life.

Had he looked at Algernon that way? Would he look at her that way if he knew she was Algernon’s stepsister?

“Still so unhappy?” he ventured when Lady Phoebe had drawn Mrs. Price over to the spinet to show her some new sheet music. “Do you find Scarborough such a sad place, Miss Price?”

She could not give him her thoughts. “A little,” she admitted instead. “My father brought me here every summer. I haven’t been back since he died. It doesn’t feel the same.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” he said quietly.

She could not stand his kindness. “I’ll see him again someday. Until then, there is much to interest me.”

“Such as?”

She glanced up at him. There was that look again, head cocked, blue eyes dark and serious, as if what she had to say was critical to his very existence. The look made her want to be brilliant, if only to gratify his attention. “Good company, new music, the sun on the waves.” She grinned. “And there are always the improving works of Hannah More.”

“Or Mary Wollstonecraft,” he agreed with a matching grin.

The butler coughed from the doorway, and everyone looked up. “Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam has arrived, ladies, my lord.”

Meredee held her smile from long practice, but Lady Phoebe gasped as if she hadn’t seen him in years and rushed to tug him into the room. “Oh, Trevor, come meet Miss Meredee Price. She saved my life.”

“A pleasure to see you again, Miss Price,” he said with a bow. “And this must be your lovely sister.”

“Very nearly.” Mrs. Price beamed as she joined the group.

“Again?” Lady Phoebe interrupted with a frown. “You said it was a pleasure to see her again. Do you know her?”

Meredee glanced at Lord Allyndale. Surely it was his place to explain their meeting yesterday afternoon to his sister. She only wondered why he hadn’t done so sooner. The faintest of pinks tinged his cheeks, as if he’d been caught in an indiscretion. “Sir Trevor and I stopped by the Bell Inn yesterday,” he said to his sister. “Just to be certain Miss Price had not taken ill from her efforts on your behalf.”

“But why should she take ill?” Lady Phoebe persisted. “I was the one in need of rescue.”

“Ah,” her brother said, looking over her head, “there’s Beagan again. Dinner is apparently ready. Shall we, ladies?” He offered his arm to Meredee. Her surprise must have shown on her face, for he smiled. “You are the guest of honor, are you not? The savior of Scarborough Bay, I believe I heard.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Meredee said, wishing Mrs. Murdock had never coined the phrase. But she set her hand on his arm nonetheless and was surprised to feel a tension matching her own. What could possibly have discomposed the earl? Had he come to the inn for some other purpose?

“And I am the lucky one,” Sir Trevor said, offering one arm to Lady Phoebe and the other to Mrs. Price. “I have the pleasure of escorting two beauties to dinner.”

Phoebe’s giggle was nearly eclipsed by Mrs. Price’s.

The dining room was long and high, with the same pale blue walls edged in white and the ceiling painted with puffy clouds and pink-cheeked cherubs. Lord Allyndale led her to a gilded chair on his left, while Lady Phoebe took up the chair at his right and Mrs. Price sat beside the girl, leaving Sir Trevor to sit on Meredee’s other side.

Meredee was spared conversation as footmen brought in a tureen of steaming onion soup, platters of roast beef and salmon, and plates of buttered prawns, fresh asparagus and broccoli. She was a little surprised when Lord Allyndale did not ask her or his sister which dishes they preferred but filled their plates with what must have appealed to him.

“Is the beef not to your liking?” he asked her when she had stared down at the loaded gold-rimmed china for a few moments.

Meredee glanced up at him. “I’m sure it’s delicious, my lord. I would love to try the salmon, too.”

He blinked as if it had never dawned on him she might have a specific preference. “Certainly. Trevor, be a good man and find room on Miss Price’s place for the fish.”

Meredee turned to the baronet before he could reach for the plate. “If you’d be so good as to pass the plate my way, Sir Trevor, I’m certain I can serve myself.”

“Your servant, Miss Price,” he assured her.

She was thankful when Lady Phoebe monopolized the conversation for most of the first course. She had to find a way to ask the earl why he’d come to Scarborough. But every gambit seemed too obvious, too calculated. She glanced his way several times, and each time he smiled as if in encouragement. Yet she couldn’t seem to bring the words to her lips.

“Miss Price was telling me her theories on the earth’s magnetic fields,” the earl put in at one point.

Lady Phoebe blinked as if, for once, she could find nothing to say on the topic. Sir Trevor dug more deeply into his asparagus as if searching for hidden treasure.

“I’m certain you would know far more, my lord,” Mrs. Price said with a warning look to Meredee. “No one in my household could lay claim to being a bluestocking.” She laughed as if the very notion was absurd.

“Interesting,” he replied with a smile. “I’ve always found the study of scientific topics to be commendable, in either sex.”

“Well, well, certainly,” Mrs. Price stammered. “Might I have some more of that delightful salmon, my lord? I must have the recipe for my cook.”

Chase passed her the plate. As he returned to his meal, his left eyelid drifted closed for a second. Heavens, had he just winked at her?

The second course was even more elaborate, with herbed pheasant, sole smothered in mushrooms, a ragout of celery, tart apple pie, sweet trifle and strawberry ice cream in a silver bucket. This time, she noticed, Lord Allyndale made certain to pass each dish to her for her choice, his hands firm on the fine china. Yet she couldn’t help wondering whether they would hold a pistol so steadily if it were aimed at her stepbrother’s heart.

“Still not to your liking?” he murmured. “You have the most determined frown on your face.”

Meredee forced her lips upward. “I have never had so many wonderful dishes, my lord.”

He nodded as if satisfied. “I’ll be sure to pass your compliment on to Mrs. Downthistle.”

So he took the trouble to praise his staff, and he knew their names. Her father, God rest his soul, had found it more convenient to call them by their purpose—Cook or Coachman.

Determined not to wait another minute, she set her fork down. “What brought you to Scarborough, my lord?” she asked.

Mrs. Price, who had been drawn into an animated conversation with Lady Phoebe, broke off in midsentence to listen to his answer. Even Sir Trevor paused, fork halfway to his mouth. Lord Allyndale must have noticed he was suddenly the focus of every eye, because he raised his brows.

“There’s no great secret,” he said. “I dislike London summers. Scarborough is close enough to our estate to be both a distraction and a convenience.”

Lady Phoebe made a face. “He means he can hurry home whenever he likes.” She shook her finger at him. “You lack all spirit of adventure!”

His chuckle made Meredee smile. “Perhaps I do have a preference for my own fire.”

“And what of you, Miss Price?” Sir Trevor asked on her left. “What brings you and your sister to Scarborough?”

Mrs. Price batted her lashes and answered for Meredee. “Why, to be entertained by young scamps like you, sir.”

Sir Trevor smiled at her sally but turned his attention immediately back to Meredee. As Lord Allyndale offered to refill her stepmother’s plate, his friend lowered his voice. “And are you also here for the company, Miss Price?”

Those green eyes were far too watchful. “I go wherever my stepmother needs me, sir.”

“Ah, then you were not left with an independence.”

How rude! Did he think to win an heiress with so bold a question? She frowned at him, but her eyes were drawn to the stickpin in his snowy cravat. It gleamed dully, as if the diamond had been exchanged with paste. And surely those stitches at the lapel of his coat indicated where it had been skillfully patched. The baronet, it seemed, had to economize. Small wonder finances were of such interest to him.

“No,” she said. “My father left me no dowry.”

“A shame,” he replied. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with your father or the Price family. Where are you from?”

Why did he persist? He could not be interested in her. His financial circumstances would demand a wealthy bride. And his pride would likely demand a beautiful one.

“Are you a student of genealogy, Sir Trevor?” she asked, taking up her fork and spearing the sole.

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Genealogy, the study of one’s antecedents. You seem keenly interested in mine. Is it your hobby?”

His mouth opened and closed, as if he could not find the wit to respond.

“Many gentlemen have hobbies,” she offered, taking pity on him. “You may have seen Colonel Williams at the spa—tall fellow, favors his right leg—he studies rocks. Mr. Cranell, who you may have seen partnering my stepmother at cards, deciphers the meaning and origin of names. My father collected seashells.”

“How delightful,” he said, managing to sound anything but delighted. “And what do you collect, Miss Price?”

“Apparently, gentlemen intent on quizzing me,” she replied.

“More sole, Miss Price?” Lord Allyndale put in, forcing her to turn away from Sir Trevor before the baronet could formulate a reply. Lord Allyndale’s mouth was held in a tight line as he offered her the plate, but his blue eyes twinkled. He was obviously trying not to laugh.

But was it Sir Trevor or her who had amused him?

What a cipher Miss Price was. She smiled readily at quips, responded appropriately to most questions. She was the picture of loveliness, all shades of gold, sitting beside him. But when she thought no one was watching, her face betrayed her least emotion. At moments, he caught her gazing at him with such perplexity that he wondered what she was seeing.

“She has no money, no family to brag of and a cutting wit,” Trevor said after the ladies had left them to their conversation. “I see no need to prolong the acquaintance.”

Chase shook his head. “Is that all you noticed? She has a admirable presence, a commendable loyalty and an enviable intelligence.”

“Yes, and strength and vitality. By all means hire her as your sister’s companion, but look for more in a wife.”

“What makes you think I’m looking for a wife?” Chase asked with a laugh.

“Miss Price is obviously no danger,” Trevor replied. “Why else show such interest?” He moved from his chair to the one Meredee had vacated and leaned closer. “Listen—I had word from a friend today. That’s why I was detained. Delacorte is back in London.”

Chase snorted. “His creditors will no doubt be delighted to hear it.”

“But you should not. It seems he blames you for his troubles, or so he confided over too much wine. He claims Phoebe loves him, and you forced them apart.”

Chase felt his mouth tighten. “He has no right to speak of Phoebe, not after trying to force her into marriage.”

“Agreed. I only tell you to warn you.”

Chase nodded. “And I appreciate that. I promise you, I won’t allow the man to hurt my sister.”

But Phoebe would not make his job any easier, Chase thought as he and Trevor went to join the ladies in the withdrawing room. His sister seemed stuck in perpetual girlhood, always focused on her own needs. He’d never told her about Victor Delacorte’s plan to abduct her and force her to marry him. Chase and Trev had stopped him before he could carry through with his plans, and Chase had decided not to explain it all to Phoebe, concerned he might frighten her into a shell. But would she act any more sensibly if Delacorte showed his face again?

Chapter Five

When Chase and Trevor entered the withdrawing room, Phoebe was playing at the spinet while Meredee and her stepmother sat on dainty chairs, listening. Trevor immediately went to turn pages for Phoebe. Chase joined his other guests.

“Your sister is an impassioned player, my lord,” Meredee ventured, her gaze on Phoebe’s flying fingers.

“My sister seldom does anything without passion,” Chase replied. “Do you play, Miss Price?”

“No. My father thought it more important that I memorize the Latin names of seashells than to learn to play. I sing on occasion.”

She said it without rancor, but the way she continued to watch his sister told him she wondered what it would have been like had it been otherwise.

“Perhaps you would care to share a song with us,” he suggested.

Her gaze did not waver, though her cheeks reddened. “I’m sure you would much rather listen to your sister.”

Something in her tone indicated that she’d far prefer to listen. Yet the more he knew of her, the less he believed that she was shy and retiring. She spoke her mind easily enough. Why not sing? Most women he knew loved performing. “We cannot require our kind host and hostess to furnish all the entertainment,” her stepmother put in. “I’m sure you would not want Lord Allyndale to take us in dislike.”

She paled at that, as if losing his good regard meant the noose. Was it her stepmother who was pushing her at him then? He’d certainly met a few marriage-minded mamas since he’d ascended to his title.

He leaned closer to Meredee and caught the scent of lavender from her golden hair. “My sister adores being the center of attention. Sing only if it amuses you, Miss Price.”

She met his gaze, her gray eyes dark and unfathomable. Once again he had the impression that she could see deep inside him, knew every thought in his head. This time he found it far more intriguing.

“Thank you for your kind offer, my lord,” she murmured. “If you’d like, I’ll sing.”

He felt the oddest urge to reach out and press her hand in thanks. Instead, he rose and called to his sister. “Miss Price has agreed to favor us with a song.”

Phoebe immediately stopped playing and clapped her hands. “Splendid! Let’s see what we both know.”

Meredee rose to join her, and the two conferred a moment, Meredee’s golden crown near Phoebe’s darker blond curls. They settled on a song quickly, agreed on the key, and Phoebe played an introduction. Chase took a seat beside Mrs. Price.

Meredee’s voice was high and sweet, the song encouraging. He felt himself leaning forward, nodding along. She kept her gaze focused in the distance, as if unaware of her rapt audience, every part of her tuned to her task. Funny, he’d always wondered how angels would sing. Perhaps now he knew.

Meredee’s heart was pounding so loudly she wondered that anyone had heard a word she’d sung. Yet there was Lord Allyndale, smiling at her as if she’d discovered the way to reach the moon. She wanted to bathe in the glow, drink deeply of his pleasure. But, as she finished, his butler coughed behind him, and he rose to go speak with the fellow in low tones. Sir Trevor joined them.

“Very nice,” Lady Phoebe said, closing the sheet music. Meredee nodded and wandered back to her stepmother. She hadn’t noticed that the room was so dark. It had seemed much brighter when the earl was smiling at her.

Lord Allyndale returned to their sides and eyed Meredee and her stepmother. Gone was the smile, to be replaced by a frown that sent a shiver through her. “I’m afraid I have bad news. I cannot allow either of you to leave this house tonight.”

Meredee gasped. Did he know? Had someone sent word that Algernon was in Scarborough? Had she somehow given them away by singing her stepbrother’s favorite song?

Mrs. Price rose shakily to her feet. “Stay here? Why?”

“I’m told a storm has sprung up,” he replied. “Between Phoebe’s playing and our location at the back of the house, we didn’t notice.” He paused a moment, and Meredee knew she wasn’t the only one listening. Now she heard it, an uneven rising and falling, as if harsh winds drove pouring rain this way and that.

“Oh,” Mrs. Price said, sinking back onto her seat with a strained laugh. “A storm. Of course.”

“My lord, we cannot impose,” Meredee started, but the earl held up his hand.

“And I cannot be responsible for turning my guests or my staff out into this deluge. You and your coachman will spend the night here. I’m sure the inn will hold your rooms.”

“Well certainly, but …” Mrs. Price trailed off and looked helplessly at Meredee.

She was fairly sure she knew her stepmother’s concern. Algernon would be waiting to hear what they’d learned about Lord Allyndale’s purpose in Scarborough. When they didn’t return, what would her stepbrother do?

“It’s settled then,” Lord Allyndale said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll instruct the staff to arrange rooms for the three of you.” As if their agreement was never in question, he strode from the room. Sir Trevor also excused himself to check on his horse.

In short order, Meredee found herself ensconced in an elegant bedchamber. She was surprised that Lady Phoebe hadn’t chosen it for herself, for the walls were a pale pink edged in white like the inside of one of her father’s shells, and the furniture was rosewood with gold appointments. A cheery fire was already burning in the white marble fireplace. How lovely it would be to sink into the thick mattress, snuggle under the pretty coverlet. Yet was it advisable to stay?

She pulled aside the heavy crimson drapes and peered out into a dark night where darker shapes of trees whipped back and forth, and rain pattered on the glass. Staying indoors was definitely safer. If only she could be certain Algernon would do the same!

She wasn’t sure what she was to do about toiletries and sleeping attire, but a harried young maid brought her an ivory-backed brush and comb and a lace-edged white flannel nightgown that smelled faintly of camphor.

“Retrieved from a chest in the attic, miss,” the girl confided as she helped Meredee out of her corset and into the soft folds of the flannel. “The other lady was small enough to wear one of Lady Phoebe’s things, but you’re built on entirely different lines, if I may be so free.”

Meredee was just thankful to have something to wear and told the girl so, then dismissed her so the maid could return to Lady Phoebe. Meredee was sitting in one of the chairs by the fire, combing out her hair, when there was a tap at her door.

“It’s Phoebe,” said a whispered voice when Meredee asked who it was. “May I come in?”

Meredee hurried to open the paneled door for her, and the girl slipped into the room, her filmy white nightgown trailing behind her like wisps of fog.

“Are you all settled?” she asked with a smile undimmed by the lateness of the hour or the circumstances. “My brother wanted to make sure everything was to your liking. I told him to come ask you himself. I think I scandalized the poor dear.”

“You scandalize me, Lady Phoebe,” Meredee said, but she couldn’t help smiling at the girl’s giggle.

Lady Phoebe took both of Meredee’s hands. “I just knew we were going to be friends. May I call you Meredee?”

“Of course,” Meredee replied, touched by the intimacy.

The girl pulled her to the bed and crawled up onto the creamy quilted bedcover. “And now we can have a nice coz.”

“Now?” Meredee stood beside the bed with a frown.

Phoebe spread her hands. “Of course now! That’s why one has friends stay over—to whisper confidences long into the night.”

“I sincerely doubt that’s what your brother had in mind.”

“Probably not,” Phoebe agreed. “But it’s what I had in mind from the moment he suggested that you stay.” She flopped back onto the covers and gazed up at the rosy brocaded hangings that draped the canopied bed. “I’ve always wanted a sister.” She popped up on her elbows. “Do you have any family, Meredee?”

Meredee perched on the edge of the bed. Lady Phoebe was so open, so giving. She hated having to lie. “No sisters, I’m afraid,” she said.

Phoebe sighed. “Well, I suppose brothers have their uses. Sometimes.”

“You’re doing it too brown,” Meredee said. “Your brother seems devoted to you.”

Phoebe plummeted onto her back again. “Oh, he is. Perhaps too devoted.”

Meredee lay back as well and gazed over at the girl, whose honey-colored curls had fanned out on the coverlet. “I haven’t felt like part of a family since my father died. Even then he was fairly busy with his own activities. I think having someone looking out for you would be wonderful. Is there such a thing as too much devotion?”

“There is if it smothers you.”

Meredee frowned. “What do you mean?”

Phoebe sighed. “It’s like he doesn’t trust me, like he cannot believe I might have an idea counter to his.” She waved a hand. “This whole ‘You will stay the night’ thing is a perfect example. He never asked your permission, he never so much as asked your opinion. He decided you’d stay, and that was that.”

Just as he’d filled her plate at dinner, Meredee realized. “But his request was reasonable,” she couldn’t help pointing out. “His decision was made with our best interests at heart.”

“All Chase’s decisions are made with the very best of intentions,” Phoebe assured her. “That doesn’t make them right. If I had my way, I’d never have left London.”

Meredee’s pulse quickened. She’d thought to question Lord Allyndale, and here was his sister ready to tell her all. Yet how could she take advantage of Lady Phoebe’s generous spirit?

Lord, show me how to be a friend to her.

“Why did you leave, then?” Meredee asked.

Phoebe’s hand slapped down on the covers. “Because Chase insisted on it!”

Meredee nodded. “Yes, I understand that. But why? I’ve never heard your names in Scarborough before, so it obviously isn’t your usual summer haunt. You had to rent a house; you didn’t get to set it up the way you liked. You must have left in a hurry.”

“Oh, a terrible rush! I didn’t even have a chance to tell most of my friends I was leaving.”

“But why?” Meredee pressed.

Phoebe smoothed the coverlet she’d wrinkled with her slap only a moment before. “You won’t think badly of me, will you, Miss Price?”

Heavens, what had she uncovered? Had Lady Phoebe committed some scandal? The girl was so impetuous, Meredee could well imagine her tumbling into something before she thought better of it. Lord, give me guidance. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that I think quite highly of you, Lady Phoebe,” she said gently. “And I believe I was to be Meredee.”

Phoebe’s smile was tremulous. “So you are, my dear Meredee.” She scooted a little closer and lowered her voice, as if to keep even the storm from hearing. “We left London,” she whispered, dark eyes intent on Meredee’s face, “because I fell in love.”

Meredee sucked in a breath. “And your brother disapproved?”

Phoebe nodded vigorously, squashing her curls against the covers. “Assuredly! He insists that my beau is completely beneath me. But I don’t care! I’ll find a way. Love cannot be denied!”

Her voice was rising again, and this time it was Meredee who caught her hand and motioned her with the other to calm herself. “Think about what you’re saying. Your brother loves you, and he’s obviously intelligent. If he disliked this young man, he may well have had reason.”

Phoebe shook her head. “No reason that I can see.”

“Is he of good family? Can he support you? Is he of good Christian character?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Phoebe exclaimed. “And he is handsome and charming and makes me laugh.”

There could be worse things, Meredee thought. “And does he share your desire to marry?”

Phoebe sighed. “Yes. Perhaps. I think so.” She sat up. “Oh, don’t you see? I’ll never have a chance to find out. And it’s all my brother’s fault!”

Someone rapped on the door.

Phoebe shrank against the headboard as if defeated. “Oh, pooh! That must be Chase. He’s found me.”

“You are not an escaped prisoner,” Meredee reminded her in a whisper. “I’m certain no one will mind if you come bid me good-night.”

The rap came again, louder. “Miss Price?” Lord Allyndale’s voice was unmistakable. “I’m sorry to trouble you. May I have a word?”

Phoebe clutched her arm. “Please don’t make me leave. I want to stay, with you.”

Was that fear in Lady Phoebe’s puckered face? Was her brother so cruel, then? Meredee knew she ought to be glad she’d learned the truth, yet she didn’t want it to be true. She found his company, his smile, his admiration irresistible. She didn’t want him to be anything less than a man she could admire, too.

But once again, Lady Phoebe’s eyes were large and beseeching. And just as when she’d seen the girl struggling in the sea, Meredee knew she couldn’t ignore her worries. She patted Phoebe’s hand and pulled away.