"Good heavens," Felicity breathed.

"There must be some mistake," Aunt Effie whispered.

But Harriet looked straight into Mrs. Stone's eyes and saw at once that the woman was telling the truth, at least as far as she knew it. Harriet felt suddenly ill. "How on earth did St. Justin manage to drive Deirdre Rushton to suicide?"

"They was engaged to be married," Mrs. Stone said in a low voice. "That was before he came into his title. Gideon Westbrook's older brother, Randal, was still alive, you see. It was Randal who was the old earl's heir then, of course. Such a fine gentleman, he was. A true and noble heir for the Earl of Hardcastle. A man worthy of following in his lordship's footsteps."

"Unlike the Beast?" Felicity asked.

Mrs. Stone gave her a strange look and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Some even say Gideon Westbrook killed his own brother to get the title and the estates."

"This is fascinating," Felicity murmured.

"Unbelievable." Aunt Effie appeared dazed.

"If you want my opinion, it is obviously all rubbish," Harriet announced. But inwardly she was aware of a cold sensation in the pit of her stomach. Mrs. Stone believed every word of what she was saying. The woman had a pronounced flare for the dramatic, but Harriet had known the housekeeper long enough to be certain she was basically honest.

" 'Tis true enough," Mrs. Stone said grimly. "I promise ye that."

"Go on, Mrs. Stone. Tell us how the Beast—I mean the viscount—drove the lady to suicide," Felicity urged.

Harriet gave up any effort to forestall the story. She straightened her spine, telling herself it was always best to know the facts. "Yes, Mrs. Stone. Having told us this much, you may as well confide the rest. What, precisely, did happen to Deirdre Rushton?"

Mrs. Stone's hands tightened into fists. "He forced himself upon her. Ravished her, he did, like the Beast he is. Got her with child, he did. Used her for his own lecherous purposes. But instead of doing the proper thing and marrying her, he cast her aside. T'weren't no secret. Just ask anyone around the district."

Aunt Effie and Felicity were silent in stunned disbelief.

"Oh, my God." Harriet sat down abruptly on a small, padded bench. She realized she was clasping her hands so tightly together her fingers hurt. She forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath. "Are you quite certain of this, Mrs. Stone? He really did not seem the type, you know. In fact, I… I rather liked him."

"What would you know of the type of man who would do such a thing?" Aunt Effie asked with irrefutable logic. "You have never had occasion to meet one of that sort. You did not even have a Season because my brother, rest his soul, did not leave us enough money to finance one for you. Perhaps if you had gone to Town and been exposed to a bit more of the world, you would have learned that one cannot always distinguish that sort of man at a glance."

"You are probably quite right, Aunt Effie." Harriet knew she was obliged to admit that what her aunt was saying was nothing less than the truth. She really did not have any practical knowledge of the kind of man who would ravish an innocent young woman and then abandon her. "One hears stories, of course, but it is obviously not the same as having direct experience of that sort of man, is it?"

"You would hardly wish for practical experience," Felicity pointed out. She turned back to Mrs. Stone. "Pray, continue with the tale."

"Yes," said Harriet morosely. "You may as well tell us all, Mrs. Stone."

Mrs. Stone lifted her chin and looked at Harriet and Felicity with watering eyes. "Like I was sayin', Gideon Westbrook was the second son of the Earl of Hardcastle."

"So he was not a viscount then," Felicity murmured.

"Of course not," Aunt Effie put in with her usual air of authority on such matters. "He held no titles at the time because he was only a second son. His older brother would have been the viscount."

"I know, Aunt Effie. Do continue, Mrs. Stone."

"The Beast wanted my sweet Miss Deirdre the first moment he saw her when she made her come-out in London. The Reverend Rushton had scraped together everything he had to give her one Season and the Beast was the one who offered for her first."

"So Rushton decided he'd better grab what he could get, was that it?" Harriet asked.

Mrs. Stone glowered at her. "The reverend told Miss Deirdre she would have to accept the offer. The Beast had no title but he had money and family connections. It was an excellent match, he said."

"All things considered, it would seem it was," Effie murmured.

"In other words, she was going to marry him for his money and the chance to form a connection with a powerful family," Harriet concluded.

"My Miss Deirdre was always a good and obedient daughter," Mrs. Stone said woefully. "She agreed to do as her papa wished, even though Westbrook was only a second son and as ugly as sin. She could have done better for herself, but her papa was afraid to wait. He could not afford to keep her in London for very long."

Harriet looked up, irritated. "I did not think him ugly in the least."

Mrs. Stone grimaced. "Great, monstrous creature. What with that dreadful scar and all, he looks like a demon straight from the Pit. Always did, even before his face was ruined. My poor Miss Deirdre shuddered at the sight of him. But she did her duty."

"And a bit more on the side, from the sound of it," Harriet muttered.

Aunt Effie shook her head dolefully. "Ah, these silly young girls who will insist on following their hearts instead of their heads. Such foolishness. When will they ever learn they must keep their wits and their virginity about them until they are safely wed if they do not wish to find themselves ruined?"

"My Deirdre was a good girl, she was," Mrs. Stone said loyally. "He ravished her, I tell ye. She was an innocent lamb who knew nothing at all of the ways of the flesh and he took advantage of her. And they was engaged, after all. She trusted him to do the right thing afterward when she found out about… about the babe."

"She believed, no doubt, that no true gentleman would cry off an engagement," Harriet said thoughtfully.

"Well, a true gentleman would not have cried off," Aunt Effie observed tartly. "The thing is, a woman cannot always be certain of a gentleman's sense of honor in such situations. Which is why she must take care not to risk being compromised in the first place. When we get you to London, Felicity, you will do well to remember this dreadful tale."

"Yes, Aunt Effie."

Felicity rolled her eyes at Harriet. Harriet concealed a rueful smile. This was not the first time she and her sister had endured this particular lecture from their well-intentioned aunt.

Effie saw herself as the final arbiter of correct social behavior in the household. She had firmly established herself as guide and guardian in such matters, although Harriet frequently reminded her there was nothing of note to guard them against here in Upper Biddleton.

"Like I said, St. Justin ain't no gentleman. He's a cruel, heartless, lecherous beast." Mrs. Stone wiped her eyes with the back of her bony red hand. "The earl's oldest son was killed shortly afore Miss Deirdre realized she was pregnant. He went riding near the cliffs not far from here and they say his horse threw him. Went over the edge and plunged into the sea. Broke his neck, he did. An accident, or so they said. But folks had their doubts later when they saw how the new viscount treated Miss Deirdre."

"How awful." Felicity was still wide-eyed.

"As soon as Gideon Westbrook knew he was going to get the title, he broke off the engagement to Miss Deirdre."

"No. Did he really?" Felicity exclaimed.

Mrs. Stone nodded mournfully. "Abandoned her straightaway, he did, even though he knew she was carrying his babe. Told her that now that he was Viscount St. Justin and would someday be the Earl of Hardcastle, he could do better than a poor rector's daughter."

"Good grief." Harriet recalled the calculating intelligence in Gideon's tawny gaze. Now that she considered the matter, she had to admit it was difficult to see him as one who would be swayed by the gentler emotions, at least not if he had other goals in mind. There was something quite unyielding about the man. She shivered. "You say he knew Deirdre was with child?"

"Yes, damn his soul. He knew it." Mrs. Stone's hands clenched and unclenched. "I sat up with her the night she realized she was carrying the babe. I held her while she cried all night, and in the morning she went to see him. And when she came back from the great house, I knew by the look on her face that he had cast her aside." The tears welled up in Mrs. Stone's eyes and trickled down her broad cheeks.

"What happened next?" Felicity asked in a stunned little voice.

"Miss Deirdre went into the study, took her father's pistol down from the wall, and shot herself. 'Twas the Reverend Rushton, poor man, who found her."

"That poor, ill-fated child," Aunt Effie whispered. "If only she had been more cautious. If only she had had a care for her reputation and not put her trust in a gentleman. You will remember this story when you get to London, won't you, Felicity, dear?"

"Yes, Aunt Effie. I'm not likely to forget it." Felicity appeared genuinely impressed by the harrowing tale.

"My God," Harriet murmured. "It is all so unbelievable." She glanced into the fossil-littered study and swallowed hard as she remembered the way St. Justin had leaned over her desk and put his powerful hand under her chin. "Mrs. Stone, are you absolutely certain of your facts?"