“Are you all right?” she asked.

Gritting his teeth, he slowly released her arms. “Fine,” he said, more brusquely than he’d meant to. He took an awkward step back from her, careful to keep his weight balanced on his good leg, then jerked his jacket back into place.

Her gaze shifted to the pile of letters. “I guess we know what those are. More cancellations.”

Not yet trusting his voice, he merely nodded.

“Poor Meredith,” Charlotte said. “She’s worked so hard, she doesn’t deserve to be cast away like this.” Her eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed into a thin line. “But that’s how people are. They use you, then toss you aside like so much trash. You and I know that better than most, don’t we, Albert?”

“Yes. But not all folks are that way, Charlotte.” He savored the sound of her name on his tongue. “Miss Merrie ain’t like that-you and I know that better’n most.”

Her fierce expression relaxed a bit. “If only everyone were like her.”

“Impossible to wish that all folks were good,” he said gently.

She looked at the floor, twisting her hands together. “Yes. But sometimes I can’t help but wish for impossible things.”

Her quiet voice grabbed him by the heart, and unable to stop himself, he gently touched his fingers under her chin to raise her face. He held his breath, waiting for her to recoil, but to his surprise she stood her ground. Her skin felt like… he didn’t know. Like the softest thing he’d ever felt. Her gaze met his, and his heart thumped so hard he knew she had to hear it. “Wot do ye wish for, Charlotte?”

For a long moment she said nothing, and he simply stood, absorbing the feel of her warm skin beneath his fingertips, the sight of her eyes, so fathomless and full of shadows from past hurts and pains. The desire to make all her dreams come true, to destroy anyone or anything that would ever dare hurt her, throbbed through him. His gaze roamed her face, touching on the faint scar bisecting her left brow, and the slight bump on the bridge of her nose. An image of her, beaten and bruised, flashed through his mind.

Never again. He’d never allow anyone to ever hurt her again. To be near her and never be able to touch her, love her, would be nothing short of torture for him, but it was the way it had to be. She deserved so much more than the likes of him.

And even if, impossibly, his ruined leg and physical limitations didn’t matter, her words, those fervent words he’d heard her speak to Miss Merrie when she first came to them, haunted him, making him know that there was no future for them. I’ll never let another man touch me again she’d said through her cracked, swollen lips. Never again. I’d kill myself, or him, first.

It had taken a long time for her to come to trust him, but trust him she did-at least as far as she trusted anyone. He’d do nothing to risk that. Ever. If this was all he could have of her, so be it. But God forgive him, he wanted so much more.

“What do I wish for?” she repeated softly. “All my wishes are for Hope. I want her to have a good life. A safe life. Happiness. I don’t want her to ever have to do… the things I’ve done.”

Her voice went totally flat, as did her eyes, and Albert’s heart squeezed. “Hope is goin‘ to have a grand life, Charlotte. You, me, Miss Merrie, we’re all goin’ to see to it.”

The hint of a smile touched her lips, warming her eyes. “Thank you, Albert. You are a dear boy. And a wonderful friend.”

He tried hard not to let his idiotic disappointment show. Damn it, he wasn’t a boy. He was man. Soon to turn one and twenty. He wanted to remind her, but what was the point? Forcing a smile, he said, “Ye’re welcome. ‘Tis an honor to be yer friend.”

The clip clop of an approaching carriage caught his attention. Walking to the narrow window beside the front door, he moved the curtain aside.

“A fancy carriage,” he reported. “Stoppin‘ in front. Must be another note delivery from another of them fancy ladies wantin’ to-”

His words sliced off as a footman opened the carriage door and Miss Merrie emerged, followed by a tall gentleman wearing spectacles.

Albert’s eyes narrowed as he watched the gentleman escort Miss Merrie up the walkway. Because the walkway was narrow, they proceeded single file, with the gentleman falling in behind Miss Merrie. The man’s gaze wandered down Miss Merrie’s back, taking note of her backside in a way that set Albert’s teeth on edge. Without waiting for them to climb the steps, he flung open the door.

“Everythin‘ all right here, Miss Merrie?” he asked, scowling at the man.

“Everything is fine, thank you, Albert.” After climbing the steps, Miss Merrie performed a quick introduction.

To Albert’s surprise, the Greybourne bloke extended his hand. “Good to meet you, Goddard.”

Albert wasn’t certain he returned the sentiment, but, scowl firmly in place, he shook the gentleman’s hand.

“Thank you for seeing me home, Lord Greybourne. Are you certain I cannot offer you some refreshment before you leave?”

“No, thank you. However, I look forward to seeing you later this evening. Shall I send my carriage? Say at eight?”

“That will be fine.” She inclined her head in a regal fashion. “Good afternoon.”

Lord Greybourne bowed, then returned to his carriage. Albert stood on the porch and glared at him until the carriage was no longer in sight. Entering the foyer, Miss Merrie was handing Charlotte her shawl.

“So that bloke’s Lord Greybourne,” Albert said.

Meredith turned toward Albert’s stern voice, a tone she was not accustomed to hearing from him. His severe frown paused her fingers in the act of untying her bonnet. “That was Lord Greybourne, yes.”

“And ye’re seein‘ him this evenin’?”

“Yes. I’m joining him and his sister and one of his antiquarian colleagues for dinner at Lord Greybourne’s townhouse.”

Albert’s brows collapsed even farther. “I’d watch myself with that one if I were you, Miss Merrie. He’s got designs on ye.”

Heat scorched Meredith’s cheeks, and she prayed neither Albert nor Charlotte would notice. “Good heavens, Albert, what a thing to say! Of course he does not. I’m trying to find him a bride.”

“Ye already found him one. But based on the way he was oglin‘ ye, it appears he’s forgotten all about her.”

She barely kept herself from pressing her hand against her chest where her heart thudded. Was Albert correct? Had Lord Greybourne ogled her? Something that felt suspiciously like a smile tugged at her mouth, and she clamped her lips together. Good heavens, she should be outraged! Being ogled was highly uncouth. Certainly she should not feel… flattered. Nor be experiencing this rush of warm pleasure. No, of course she was outraged.

“What do you mean, ‘ogling’?”

“I saw the way he looked at ye. Like ye were a treat in the confectioner’s shop, and he were cravin‘ a bit of sweet.”

Another unwanted, inappropriate, inexplicable wave of pleasure washed through her. Botheration, this was what happened when one did not get one’s proper rest. She’d make it a point to retire early this evening and sleep late tomorrow.

Adopting her most prim expression, she said, “He was doing nothing of the kind. His expressions are easy to misinterpret due to his thick spectacles.” When Albert appeared about to argue the point further, she quickly added, “I have some news.”

She quickly told Albert and Charlotte about the search for the missing stone, Lady Sarah’s marriage, and her plan to find Lord Greybourne another wife. “We shall discuss plans to meet that goal at dinner this evening.” Out of the corner of her eye she spied the pile of letters resting on the table. Putting on her bravest face, she smiled at both Albert and Charlotte. “I’m certain everything is going to be just fine.”

But she could see in their worried expressions that she’d failed to convince them.

Yet how could she hope to do so when she herself was far from convinced?

Six

Philip paced in front of the fireplace in the library, and stared once again at the mantel clock.

“You seem nervous,” Andrew remarked in an amused drawl.

“Not nervous. Filled with anticipation. I haven’t seen Catherine in ten years.” He watched Andrew tug his midnight-blue jacket into place. “Speaking of nervous, that’s the dozenth time you’ve straightened your attire.”

“Wouldn’t want your sister to think you’ve befriended a disreputable ne’er-do-well.”

“Ah. In that case you’d best leave before she arrives.” Ceasing his restless pacing, he stared into the flames dancing in the fireplace, childhood memories washing over him. “She always looked like an angel, but good God, she was a mischievous devil. Always sending the butler off on some false errand so we could slide down the curving banister at Ravensly Manor, or convincing me to join her on late night raids of the kitchens to filch biscuits.”

Yes, one year his junior, Catherine had been everything he was not as a child-fun-loving and playful. She taught him how to laugh and smile, how to take time for fun, coaxing him from his shyness, and accepted him exactly as he was-awkward, clumsy, diffident, serious, bespectacled, and pudgy.

“You’ve spoken of her so often over the years, I feel as if I know her,” Andrew said. “You were fortunate to have each other.”

“She was my best friend,” he said simply. “When I left England, leaving her was the most difficult part. But she’d been recently married, and was expecting a child, and I’d been assured of her happiness.” His jaw clenched. “But as you know, her letters indicate that her cordial relationship with her husband changed drastically when she presented him with a less-than-physically-perfect heir.”

“Yes. It’s hardly the boy’s fault he was born with a clubfoot. The man should be happy he was blessed with a child.”

At Andrew’s sharp tone, Philip turned to his friend and offered a grim smile at his dark scowl. “I appreciate the outrage on Catherine’s behalf. Believe me, it cannot possibly match mine. I greatly look forward to engaging in a little private discussion with my swine of a brother-in-law.”

“Happy to participate in that ‘chat’ should you require any assistance.”

A knock sounded at the door. At his call to enter, Bakari opened the door. “Lady Bickley,” he intoned, then stepped aside.

Catherine stepped over the threshold, and a lump clogged Philip’s throat at the sight of her. Clad in a pale green muslin day gown, her shiny chestnut curls framing her lovely face, she looked very much like the image he carried in his mind and heart, only more so. More beautiful, more slim, more elegant. An air of regal serenity surrounded her-not unusual for a proper English lady. Yet it had always been the flashes of deviltry so often present in her golden brown eyes that were so unexpected. And endearing.

He walked slowly toward her, across the expanse of the Persian rug to where she remained framed in the doorway, like a stunning portrait. Before he’d taken half a dozen steps, however, her lips twitched in that infectious, engaging way of hers, and she ran toward him. He caught her up in his arms, swung her around in an exuberant manner, and was instantly inundated with her delicate floral scent, exactly the same as he recalled. No matter what sort of mischief Catherine had engaged in, she’d always smelled as if she’d just stepped out of the garden. After one final twirl, he set her down, then they held each other at arm’s length while giving each other a thorough look-over.

“You look exactly the same,” he declared, “only more lovely, if that is possible.”

She laughed, a delightful sound that filled him with nostalgia. “Well, I’m afraid you look completely different.”

“For the better, I hope.”

“For the much better.”

“Is that to insinuate my appearance was lacking before I went abroad?”

“Not at all. Ten years ago, you were a darling boy. Now you’re a-”

“Darling man?”

“Exactly.” She squeezed his shoulders. “And so strong,” she teased in the exaggerated way he so vividly recalled. “Clearly, living in rustic conditions agrees with you.” Her smile faded, and her eyes turned misty. A myriad of emotions flashed in her eyes, so quickly he couldn’t decipher them. Resting her palm against his cheek, she said, “It is so wonderful to have you home, Philip. I’ve missed you very much.”

Her voice hitched, and looking into her eyes, he realized that there were subtle changes. This was not the carefree girl he’d left behind. Shadows flickered in her eyes, shadows a casual observer wouldn’t notice, but he knew her very well. Clearly Father’s illness and her unhappy marriage had taken their toll on her vivacious spirit. He looked forward to speaking to her privately, to hear about her son and husband, things she wouldn’t confide to him in front of Andrew.