"Simply dreadful of me to cause you such a fright." He wet his lips nervously, the color rising in his cheeks.

"Please. It's I who should apologize. I'm the one who knocked you down."

"No, I won't hear of it. I stumbled… woolgathering. Horrible habit. Are you sure I didn't hurt you? I could never forgive myself."

"Please, no more apologies. I'm perfectly all right, really. Can you stand?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure I can."

"Then let me help you inside." She dropped an arm behind his shoulders and braced him as he sat upright.

Quinn's voice coming from the doorway startled them both. "I look forward to hearing the two of you explain this."

Dismayed, Noelle gazed upward to see the mocking grin that was becoming so unpleasantly familiar. "I was about to send for a physician," she said coolly, trying to make it evident by her tone that she wanted no further assistance from him.

"No need for that," Tom replied, feeling his head as he stood upright. "I'm feeling better already. Your kindness has worked wonders, Miss…?"

"Forgive me," said Quinn, coming down the steps. "The two of you haven't been properly introduced." To her chagrin, Noelle felt him slip a proprietary arm around her waist. "I want you to meet Tom Sully, a good friend and one of the few Englishmen I can tolerate. Tom, Dorian Pope-my cousin."

"Delighted, Miss Pope. Can you ever forgive me for causing you such a fright?"

"Of course she forgives you," Quinn interrupted. "Dorian has survived many a tumble. Haven't you, cousin?"

Noelle's cheeks burned at his lazy taunt. She tried to pull herself away, only to be drawn closer, her cheek brushing against the wool of his coat, her hip sensing his thigh. "Let's say no more about it, Mr. Sully," she finally managed. "Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have an engagement." Her magnificent eyes challenged Quinn to delay her any longer. With a slight bow, he released her, and she stepped quickly aside. "It has been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Sully."

"Do you have to go so soon?" Thomas's boyish face was crestfallen. "I mean… that is to say… of course you must go. I wouldn't think of delaying you. However… would it be terribly presumptuous of me on such short acquaintance to invite you to the opera next Saturday? With your uncle's permission, of course. It's The Marriage of Figaro."

"Saturday, you say?" Noelle stalled as she tried to think of a polite excuse. He was so friendly and guileless, so obviously smitten with her that she knew it would be kinder to refuse his invitation than to encourage him.

"Impossible, Tom." Quinn folded his long frame into a chair. "My cousin is busy that night. She has an engagement with Simon."

Noelle's delicately arched eyebrow shot upward at this blatant lie. "I fear you misunderstood, cousin. My uncle and I have no engagement that night. I should be delighted to attend with you, Mr. Sully. Absolutely nothing could keep me away."

"Smashing! I'll call at eight."

"I shall look forward to it." The carriage drew to the curb. Quinn took her arm and led her to the vehicle. When they could no longer be overheard, Noelle snapped, "Mr. Copeland, your interference is intolerable."

"Since we're so closely related, don't you think you should call me Quinn?"

"I don't think I should have to call you anything. Don't you understand? I want you to leave me alone."

"I was beginning to get that idea. What I don't understand is why."

Noelle yearned to scream the full measure of her loathing at him, but she satisfied herself with a more restrained indictment. "Because I dislike you, Mr. Copeland. I find you arrogant, overbearing, and insolent."

"In addition to being beautiful, you're an excellent judge of character, cousin." With a polite nod of dismissal, he held the carriage door open for her, and Noelle set off for Constance's new residence on St. James's Park.

Constance was still in her dressing gown when Noelle burst into the sitting room.

"He is detestable! I have never met anyone I despise more." One of the blue velvet ribbons on her bonnet came off in her fingers as she yanked angrily at the bow under her chin.

"Faith! What has he done to set you off?"

Restlessly pacing the room, Noelle recounted all that had happened since Quinn had appeared at the ball. "I just hope I can have the satisfaction of being present when Simon boots him out of the house," she finally concluded.

Constance swung her slippered feet over the side of the lavender chaise and then walked toward the window, where she stopped to inspect a fern sitting on a plaster column. "I would not count on Simon evicting Quinn," she finally said carefully. "You will only be disappointed."

Noelle stopped her pacing and stared incredulously at Constance. "Surely you don't imagine that Simon will let him stay?"

"I'm certain of it. Quinn is his son."

"But, Constance, they detest each other. Quinn has been a dreadful son."

"Simon has not been the best of fathers."

"You sound as though you are defending Quinn!" Noelle exclaimed.

"I am not defending him, nor will I chastise him. Noelle, I have the deepest affection for you. Surely you know that."

"Why do I have the suspicion I'm going to hear something I shan't like?" Noelle said dryly.

"Because you're an uncommonly perceptive young woman. However, at the moment you're behaving like a peagoose. Simon won't remain in England forever. What will you do when he leaves? Go to America with him? Stay here and try to make your own way?"

"I don't know, Constance. If you are right about Simon permitting Quinn to remain in the house, I will consider leaving immediately and finding other employment."

"Nonsense! He has been supporting you for almost two years on the understanding that you would repay him by serving as his hostess. Can you have forgotten that?"

"Of course I haven't. I would repay him from my wages."

"Very noble, my dear, and very, very silly. At best you would find a position in a shop or as a governess. In truth, it doesn't bear thinking on. You'd not make enough to live, let alone have sufficient funds to repay your debt."

At the truth of Constance's words, Noelle slumped dejectedly down on the settee. "Nothing at all has changed. I'm still trapped between the two of them. Constance, what happened to make them hate each other so much?"

"I wish I could enlighten you, but I have only the vaguest notion, and that is purely conjecture. Benjamin knew, but he refused to discuss it other than to say it involved Simon's wife. When she died, he felt it best to let the matter die with her."

"Only it didn't die, did it?"

Constance went to Noelle and sat beside her, speaking gently. "Noelle, in truth, you must consider assuming your proper place as Quinn's wife."

"Constance, I cannot believe this of you." She sprang up angrily. "How can you even suggest such a thing?"

"Because I am a practical woman. Faith! Don't look at me so. It's time you opened your eyes. Quinn is very wealthy. As his wife, you would never again have to trouble yourself about anything."

"I don't want his money!"

"Noelle, you must listen to me. Quinn is not an ordinary man, nor is he an ordinary shipbuilder. He has vision. There is a brilliant future in store for him. As his wife, you can share in that success."

Observing the stubborn set of Noelle's chin, Constance sighed. "At least consider it. Not for him and not for Simon but for yourself."

Noelle could see the compassion in Constance's face and knew that she was speaking from her heart. "I wish I could do as you say, Constance, if for no other reason than to please you. But I would rather live the rest of my life as a pickpocket in Soho than spend a day as his wife."

Several hours later Noelle walked from the gray stone building that housed the London offices of Copeland and Peale. The rain that had been falling steadily since noon had stopped, although the day was still gray and cloudy. Across the street, she spotted Fisby's Tea Room and remembered she had had nothing to eat since the night before. She stepped toward the curb just as one of the maroon and black mail coaches, not yet dry from the day's showers, shot by, its rear wheels sending a jet of dirty water over the front of her pelisse. The day that had started out so badly was drawing to an even grimmer conclusion.

Stabbing dourly at the stains with her handkerchief, Noelle thought how right Constance had been when she had warned her that Simon would not send Quinn from the house. Constance had even predicted his words.

"He is my son," Simon had said. Then, when Noelle had pressed him about the divorce, he had again put her off with vague promises.

"A plank of wood ter 'elp yer cross the street, mum?" Two dirty ragamuffins, a boy and a girl, stood at her side, carrying a long board. Noelle's mind slid back in time to two other children who had carried a board on rainy days and looked for wealthy customers to help across streets.

"Thank you," she said, managing a smile. When she was across the street, she pressed a shilling on the surprised urchins. "Buy yourselves a kidney pie and some gingerbread." The little boy thanked her and even managed an awkward bow before the two scampered off.

Noelle chose an inconspicuous table in the rear of the tea room and soon had a sliver of lemon tart and a steaming cup of tea in front of her. She took a slow sip and pondered the mystery of the animosity between Quinn and Simon. What had happened to make Quinn hate his father so? She rubbed her temples wearily.

"Did you know Quinn is back?"

Noelle's eyes shot to the adjoining table, where two women were seating themselves. All that she could see of the one who had spoken was the back of a well-cut silk pelisse. It was the other woman who held Noelle's attention. In her early thirties, she was extravagantly beautiful with hair as black as a raven's wing and a small mole clinging seductively near the corner of her left eye.