“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?”
