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“So suspicious. Gill, I believe we should be getting back to the meal. No one, most especially your eagle-eyed husband, believes you suddenly felt faint. In fact, for as long as I’ve known you—”

“‘As long as you’ve known me’ being our entire lives, Allie. Which is exactly why I know you’re planning something, and before I have another discussion with Father, I mean to—”

“You spoke with Father?”

Allie pulled her more deeply into the stone alcove. Though most everyone would still be dining in the great hall, the wagging tongues of errant servants had gotten them into trouble more than once before. At least, gotten Allie into trouble. Gillian usually managed to stay out of it.

“Of course I did. Do you honestly believe I will leave Lyndwood knowing you are still betrothed to that man?”

“Gill, please. Please, I’m begging you. Will you stay out of this?”

She shook her head, not understanding. “No, I will not. It’s my fault you’re in this mess at all. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be betrothed to that man. And . . . what? Why are you looking at me that way?”

Allie’s face, only partially visible courtesy of the wall torch, fell. She looked miserable. But not, oddly enough, because of Covington. Her sister really didn’t want her to intervene on her behalf.

“Because I’ve never lied to you before today.” Allie took her hands. “Look at me.”

Gillian did, wishing they could go back to simpler days. Conspiring to get out of their lessons. Walking to mass together, giggling as they tried to predict how long the hymns would be.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” she said, automatically.

“Then will you let me handle this on my own?”

“Allie, I—”

“Please, Gill?” Her sister squeezed her hand.

“Will you at least tell me why you’re being so secretive? Why you can’t tell me what’s happening? Because I can’t do it, Allie—I can’t watch you marry that man—”

“I’ve asked you to trust me. Does the rest really matter?”

Allie had never looked more serious in her life.

The chill that ran through her had nothing to do with the draft of the empty corridor. Her typically carefree sister appeared so much older suddenly. When had that happened? She was desperate to know the answer to her question, but ultimately it didn’t matter. She and her sister were similar in that way—when they gave their word, it meant something. As Gillian had told her so many times, they had precious little else to give.

“Nay, I suppose it doesn’t matter,” she relented. “But that doesn’t mean my heart is whole. Not knowing. Or understanding.”

“And not being the one to protect me,” Allie finished. “Trust me,” she repeated. “It will all be well in the end. Though I do worry for Mother and Father.”

“But why should you worry for them?”

“Losing Lyndwood will kill father. I did ask Mother once if it would be so bad to have the title stripped away. To live at Ashwood Manor, with a smaller staff. She admitted that it would suit her just fine if it meant neither you nor I would have to marry such a man as Covington.”

Gillian was shocked. “Mother said that outright?”

“Aye, she did.” Allie’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “And I believe her.”

They should be getting back. But Gillian knew she and Graeme would be returning to Highgate in the morning, and the idea of simply leaving her sister here . . .

Allie grabbed both of Gillian’s hands once more. “You’ve protected me our entire lives. We’ve learned to rely on each other. Can you not trust that meant something? Our late-night discussions under the stars, devising ways to please Father . . . pacify Mother. Understand our place in all of this? Trust me, Gill.”

Gillian nodded. “I do.”

“I will come to you as soon as I’m able to explain everything.”

“Come to me? To Highgate End?”