She stared at him, her incredulity giving way to shock as she realized he had not spoken in jest. “Why was I not told? Why was I not there?”

“We chose to elope.”

“I don’t understand the haste—or the secrecy. In the time it took to obtain a special license you could have very well informed me of your plans.”

She was the closest thing he had to a mother. He had worried her and now he’d hurt her, all because he’d been too stupid to know he’d been had. “I do apologize. I hope you will forgive me.”

She shook her head. “You have not offended me, my dear—I am thunderstruck. Why this cloak-and-dagger elopement? And why Mrs. Easterbrook? I was not under the impression that you were particularly fond of her.”

“I am not.” At least that was the truth.

“Then why marry her? You have made your choice as if wives were items on a menu, taking the fish when there is no more steak left. I’m—you have baffled me completely, Christian.”

And disappointed her. She did not need to say those words, he knew. For him to exclude her from one of the most significant events of his life, and to have entered into marriage so cavalierly—or at least give the impression of having done so—he must come off as someone she scarcely knew.

He hardened his tone. “I’ve done my duty, Stepmama. I’ve married. Let us not inquire too deeply into the reasons.”

She gave him a saddened but no less astute look. “Are you all right, Christian?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. Then, correcting himself, “I am fine.”

“And your wife? Does she know about your lady from the Rhodesia?”

He could not quite disguise his bitterness. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Does she mind?”

“I do not believe she cares at all.”

“Christian—”

“I hate to be so rude, Stepmama. But my duchess”—saying the word felt like swallowing sand—“and I are departing for our honeymoon posthaste. I cannot linger.”

“Christian—”

He closed his hand over hers. “I am now the most envied man in all of England. Be happy for me, Stepmama.”


Christian had no sooner seen off his stepmother than his butler inquired, “Earl Fitzhugh is here, Your Grace. Are you at home to him?”

Of course, his new bride’s brother, here to make noises of displeasure at how unceremoniously he’d carried off the beautiful Mrs. Easterbrook. The former Mrs. Easterbrook. “I’m at home.”

As Fitzhugh was shown in, he was struck by the family resemblance. What had she said? A brother and a sister—twins—both two years younger than I am. He should have suspected then and there—he knew very well the composition of her family. But the former Mrs. Easterbrook had been the furthest thing from his mind when she’d been lying directly beneath, beside, or on top of him.

“Will you take some cognac to toast my wedding?” he asked as he shook Fitzhugh’s hand. He had no cause to be uncivil to this new brother-in-law.

“Spirits interfere with my digestion, alas. But I’ll take a cup of coffee.”

Christian rang for the beverage to be brought in.

“We were all taken aback,” said Fitzhugh, making himself comfortable in a high-back chair. “Had no idea you’d been wooing my sister.”

Neither did I, as a matter of fact. “We kept it quiet.”

“I find it interesting that you said a great deal that was less than complimentary about her. Yet of the two of you, she is not the one who is angry; you are.”

He didn’t have the luxury of a near-perfect vengeance. “You will forgive me for not discussing personal sentiments with a virtual stranger.”

“Of course I did not expect you to confide in me, sir.”

The earl’s eminently reasonable manner was beginning to surprise Christian.

“My sister, too, prefers to keep personal sentiments personal. But sometimes a brother sees things and draws his own conclusions. Of course, without her express permission, I am not at liberty to discuss private particulars of her life, but I will step on no one’s toes in saying a few things about Mr. Easterbrook’s passing.”

Mr. Easterbrook, her wealthy second husband who had died alone. “What of it?”

“According to what Lady Fitzhugh has related to me, you seem to be under the misapprehension that my sister abandoned her husband on his deathbed. I was there that day. I assure you nothing could be further from the truth.”

“You will have me believe she was at his bedside, holding his hand as he drew his last breath?”

“Nothing of the sort. She was downstairs, along with my wife, holding his family at bay, denying them permission, as the lady of the house, to move a single step beyond the drawing room.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because by his bedside, holding his hand, was someone Mr. Easterbrook desperately wanted to be present as he drew his last breath. His family would have removed said person and denied him his dying wish. Venetia was very loyal to Mr. Easterbrook. We all were. Lord Hastings and my younger sister were stationed on the staircase and I myself directly before the door of Mr. Easterbrook’s bedchamber, in case anyone got past Venetia.

“Mr. Easterbrook’s family was not pleased. Afterward, they made a concerted effort to smear my sister’s good name. To protect Mr. Easterbrook even in death, she allowed it.”

Christian set one finger at the midpoint of a fountain pen lying on his desk. “Mr. Townsend—are you not going to say something about him?”

“He falls under those private particulars that she will not wish me to discuss.”

“Did he kill himself?”

“As I said, it is not my place.”

The coffee tray arrived, but Earl Fitzhugh had already risen from his seat. “I should not take up any more of a man’s time on his wedding day.”


They were all so young in the photograph—except the dinosaur skeleton, which was terribly old. Helena, at fourteen, had been the tallest of them all—this was before her twin had shot up and overtaken her in height. Fitz looked as if he was trying hard not to laugh—his pictures from those years were all full of the suppressed mirth of a boy who enjoyed everything about life. Then there was Venetia, as proud as a general who had won a decisive battle, her bare hand braced—perhaps somewhat indecorously—upon the remains of the Cetiosaurus’s rump.

Had she been headed anywhere else, she would not have hesitated to take the photograph—she’d have packed it before anything else. But she was not sure whether she wanted it in Christian’s house. He would not appreciate the reminder that he’d so enthusiastically encouraged her—the baroness—in her pursuit, or that he’d offered her a place on his next expedition.

She set the photograph facedown and turned around. Cobble, Fitz’s butler, stood in the open doorway of her bedroom, waiting to speak to her.

“Yes, Cobble?”

“The Dowager Duchess of Lexington to see you, ma’am.”

So the duke had informed his stepmother. One could only wonder at her reaction.

“I’ll be down in the green parlor presently.”

Time to play the Great Beauty again.

Sweeping into the green parlor, she smiled. “Your Grace, what a pleasure.”

The Great Beauty had her desired effect. The dowager duchess hesitated—and squinted, as if too bright a light had been thrust into her face.

Venetia took her seat with a flourish of skirts gracefully flounced aside. “Have you come to congratulate me, ma’am? I am beyond thrilled to be married to Lexington.”

This, however, had a sobering effect on the older woman. “Are you, duchess?”

Duchess. Venetia was now the Duchess of Lexington.

“I enjoy fossils, especially those from the Cretaceous Age. The duke has quite a collection of them. I am excited to visit his private museum—and to perhaps someday curate it.”

This was not an answer the dowager duchess had expected. “You married him for his fossils?”

“Have you seen my dinosaur at the British Museum of Natural History, ma’am? A magnificent specimen. I’ve waited more than a decade for the chance to discover another one. By becoming Lexington’s wife I will be able to go on expeditions with him, something I’ve wanted to do my entire adult life.”

The dowager duchess’s fingers dug into her skirts. “What of your bridegroom? Do you also care for him?”

Venetia was at her most charmingly flippant. “How can I not love a man who will take me fossil-hunting?”

The dowager duchess rose and walked to the Japanese screen at a corner of the parlor. A lady in a flowing kimono sat beneath a cherry tree in full bloom, her face in her hand, her melancholy as heavy as the flower-laden boughs that drooped almost to the bare ground.

Tea was brought in. Venetia poured. “Africa, I do believe, shall be our next destination. The Karoo beds are a treasure trove for reptilian remains, from what I hear. Sugar and milk, ma’am?”

The dowager duchess turned around. “Does it not matter to you that he has recently expressed some terribly unfavorable opinions of you?”

“It was certainly heartening that he came to see the light so quickly.”

“Even though he is in love with someone else?”

Venetia set down the teapot and extended her hand toward the creamer. All the years of not digging for fossils had left her fingers slender and lovely. She made sure she showed them to their best advantage. “If you speak of the lady on the Rhodesia, I believe she has disappointed him terribly.”

“And you are content to be his consolation prize?”

If only she were any kind of prize to him. “That is for me to decide, ma’am, and I’ve already decided.”